#it's like the universe's punishment for not holding onto your morals

[vikugnavikugna]

im breaking my "only follow people you are friends with" rule just this one time. and only for the worm content.

I do not claim responsibility for the amount of One Piece reblogs that will inevitably flood your following page in the not too distant future

[oatmealwrites]

Catch Kira, NOT Feelings! Ch.1

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L x Fem!Reader

Ch.1 is finallllly done LMAO. This is probably gonna be a medium-long fic but I haven't quite decided yet so buckle up. Eventually some NSFW in later chapter but relative slow burn at the start.

word count: 5.1k

Synopsis:

As a graduate criminology student, you're more than ecstatic to jump at your mentor's offer to join the task force chasing down Kira. Mr. Yagami has prepared you for a successful career in the law and justice system, but with the public disappointment in the police's inability to catch Kira, finding a well paying job will be difficult. But a recommendation letter from L would open doors you can't even imagine. It's simple, you just have to catch Kira... NOT feelings.

Masterlist

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(Post time skip 1 - Aka Light in university now & helping the investigation. Just after ukita death)

November 4 -

You shift your weight from leg to leg inside the elevator, rehearsing your introduction and replaying the instructions from Mr. Yagami over and over again. The red LEDs indicate a higher and higher floor of the hotel and each second feels like an eternity passing.

“You’ll be fine Y/N. I’ve already worked it out with the task force, there’s no unnecessary expectation of you.”

You turn to Mr. Yagami and let out a slow exhale, feeling the pressure leave your lungs but the weight remaining on your shoulders.

“I know, it’s just big shoes to fill. Only the best are working with L to catch Kira.”

“Well Matsuda joined right away,” he replies, a small smirk on his lips, “If that makes you feel any better.”

You look down at your shoes and let out a light laugh, you’ve worked with Matsuda before. Interning under the Chief before he left the police force created lots of opportunities to work with lots of different officers. Matsuda was always one of your favorites.

“Ha, it kinda does. But he’s loyal and committed to the case-,”

“You are too. Don’t sell yourself short. I went through the interview with you regarding the risks in finding Kira and have seen your analysis take down a variety of other criminals. You have great potential to be an officer.”

Mr. Yagami gives you a paternal smile and his eyes hold nothing but honesty, “I’m glad to have you on this task force. I mean it.”

“Thank you,” a grateful tone leaves your lips and you can’t help but feel better at his compliments. It was a reassurance you needed to hear.

The elevator dings softly and the metal doors slide open with Mr. Yagami extending his arm over the sensor to allow your exit before his. As you step onto the plush carpet of the expensive hotel floor, a feeling of guilt washes over you. Mr. Yagami leads the way down the hall and you follow in silence, still comparing yourself to the other members of the task force.

While yes you were determined to catch Kira, the reasoning behind it wasn’t all about morality. To be honest you almost agreed with Kira at first - a new world where people who did wrong actually got punished compared to the slow and tedious bureaucratic pace of justice was appealing. Though after the killings of petty criminals and FBI agents, the resonance of Kira’s message faded to one of selfishness.

Though maybe I’m not much better. Truth be told, catching Kira was a priority for you ethically, but so were the very extensive benefits it offered. Being a graduate student in criminology and psychology there were very few jobs you could pursue upon graduation. That, combined with the over public disappointment in the very justice system you were about to work in, made finding a secure and well paying job almost impossible. But, if you could catch Kira and get a recommendation from someone like L on your CV? The possibilities would be endless.

The heel of your shoes has a muffled ‘click’ on the carpet as you walk behind Mr. Yagami and eventually reach a door near the end of the halfway. Almost no other room doors were present on this entire half of the hall, indicating this room was extremely large and extremely expensive to rent out.

Yagami gives you a small smile of encouragement and knocks a specific pattern before scanning a plastic room card and turning the knob. There’s a glow from the overhead ceiling lights that pour out of the room and into the hallway along with several hushed voices chatting just out of sight.

“I think we should review the – “

“Sshh.. I think Chief is back.”

You follow Mr. Yagami past the room entrance and enter what seems to be a penthouse hotel suite living room scattered with papers and boxes alike. A group of men stand around the coffee table and pause when you and Mr. Yagami walk further into the room.

Matsuda catches your eye and instantly smiles, “Woa, Y/N! I didn’t realize you were going to join us!-”

His expression is cut short when another man smacks him lightly on the back of the head, “Idiot! Wasn’t the first thing that L said to do was not reveal any names?”

Your eyes widen. These guys are serious.

Matsuda looks up at the man in worry and then at you apologetically, “Ah I’m sorry,” he scratches the back of his head sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to put you at risk there.”

You smile lightly and Mr. Yagami walks further into the room to pick up a few papers and scan them over, interested in what the group was working on before you two had arrived. “It’s fine Aizawa, L already cleared us all of being Kira. The only issue would be if Y/N was.”

The statement holds no threat of you actually being Kira but it’s enough to make you feel uneasy and the other members shift awkwardly. Has one of them already been suspected of being Kira? No way… not a member of the police surely?

You snap out of your thoughts and give a light bow to the group, “Hi everyone. My name is Y/N and I’m excited to join you all in the investigation to catch Kira. Let’s work well together.”

The group softens and smiles at your introduction and one by one introduces themself briefly. You already knew Matsuda, the man who scolded him was named Aizawa, and the tall man who was quietly skimming papers was named Mogi.

“This is a small group. You weren’t kidding Mr. Yagami when you said only the most committed are involved.” The statement has a light-hearted joke sense to it but no one moves to laugh.

Mogi shifts his weight awkwardly, “Well.. we actually lost a member, Ukita, not too long ago. Kira killed him.”

SHIT. You want to die right then and there. Kira if you can read my thoughts please strike me down too.

“Oh! Im so sorry I didn’t know-”

“It’s alright Y/N. We purposely keep super tight lips about everything and all our members. It makes sense you didn’t realize. But I hope this serves as a reminder of the gravity of the situation at hand. If you aren’t willing to die for this cause, I recommend you turn away now. You’re still young and have a lot of life ahead of you.”

You turn to Mr. Yagami and blink before shaking your head. A life ahead of me? I have no other career paths and no way to climb and earn a livable wage without doing this. I need this case and this recommendation.

“No- I want to do this. I want to be here. I want to catch Kira.”

The group’s tension dissipates and they all turn their attention back to the coffee table and it’s papers.

“Here,” Mogi starts, handing you a manila folder, “Watari dropped these off earlier. We should get started with the most Kira clues.”

You take the folder gently and sit on the edge of the armrest of the couch, skimming through the papers until a set of photographs tumble out. Gently closing the folder you reach down to retrieve the photos, only hesitating when you see the subject. Prisoner suicide notes.

Carefully you flip through each photo, quietly trying to take it all in. There’s four photos in total each numbered in the corner:

A male prisoner had stabbed himself in the cafeteria with a knife. His suicide note written on the back: “Theives deserve their punishment”

A male prisoner who was beaten to death in the prison yard. He had left a note in his cell: “Dead ends everywhere”

A male prisoner hanging himself with a note in blood on the wall behind him “The victims deserve justice”

A female prisoner who had jumped from the roof. Her suicide note written on the back: “Are you watching, L?”

You examine the photos and their suicide notes for a few minutes, your brows furrowed in focus. At first you lean over to the coffee table and place them all note-side up; after a moment you flip them over to show the images. A bead of sweat drips down the side of your face and you bite the edge of your thumb nail without realizing.

Before you can properly go through the rest of the contents of the folder, Matsuda speaks up, “Oh the photos? Those have stumped me all morning. But-!” He leans down to flip the images once again. He places them in the order 3,1,4,2. “In this order they say something. “The. Thieves. Are. Dead.”

You nod and look up at Matsuda, “Yes, in this order we can assume Kira is trying to convey a message to us.”

Something isn’t right; this feels off somehow.

You release the nail from your teeth and shake your head, eyes never leaving the images, “Yes we could, but it wouldn’t make any sense. Are all of these inmates thieves? Or is Kira referring to someone else?”

Matsuda looks at you wide-eyed and a bit embarrassed, “Oh, in the folder it mentions two of them were murderers now that you mention it..”

No, there’s something else wrong here.

You keep staring at the images, “it’s strange Kira would leave such a vague message with such a group. Mr. Yagami already informed me how Kira did his tests about the actions leading up to a death, so writing these notes would have some significance. But..”

You gently lift the images again, this time studying the attire of each inmate in the photos. “Each person is from a different jail. Their clothing and health state indicates they weren’t in the same prison system.”

Mogi leans over and shrugs, letting out a soft sigh, “why does that matter? Kira has killed from nearly every jail in the country at this point.”

You meet his gaze for a moment, “I mean this work is kinda sloppy. It’s obvious he didn’t do proper research on each prison.”

Mogi opens his mouth in slight shock, waiting for you to elaborate. You tilt your head and survey the image of the deceased female inmate, your eyes lingering on the background building of the prison. Without missing a beat you lift the photo to Mogi, “I mean this jail is only one floor. If you jumped 3.5m (11.5ft) maybe you’d break your ankle.” You stare at the image of the woman’s distorted body, “Not 4 ribs, both kneecaps, and skull.”

Mr. Yagami stares at the images over your shoulder in a mix of disbelief and awe; he places his hand on your shoulder supportively. Matsuda lets out a light gasp and takes the photo of the woman and looks at it incredulously with an audible ‘woa’.

You look up from the table and then at Mr. Yagami, “Are there any other fake Kira photographs in this pile?”

Before the chief can answer a voice rings out from the connecting bedroom door that is now swung open, “Naturally all of them were doctored for this test. But nice work Y/N. You solved that faster than I was expecting.”

The entire group turns to face him and you find yourself raising to your feet in respect. L.

Your eyes drift up and latch onto his; almost in a trance. Dark disheveled hair seemed to splay in every direction, covering where his eyebrows would be, and his awful posture rounded his back forward. His deep gray eyes and purple bags from lack of sleep contrasted the paleness of his skin. Rather than professional attire, baggy denim jeans hung low on his hips and an oversized henley draped his frame. He shifted his weight from side to side waiting for your response.

Any words paused in your mouth as you drank in the appearance of the man in front of you. Half of you was awestruck to see the famous detective you’ve only heard stories of in person; the other half was mentally scolding yourself to set some higher standards.

Maybe it’s because you spent too much time around men with pensions and none your own age. Yea. That’s it.

The bar really is in hell huh.

You swallowed any stupid remarks and extended your hand to him, “It’s nice to meet you, L.”

L looked at your hand apprehensively and slowly reached forward to complete the shake. The look on his face made it seem like he was forcing himself to shake your hand and only resolved into doing so just to be polite. Jerk. It’s not like my hands are dirty.

“Well, now that introductions are formally over, I have some other details on the Kira case I would like us to focus our attention on.”

L sauntered further into the room and slid the manila folder with the test photos and information to the side. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a senior-aged man appeared with a rolling cart containing paper boxes filled with miscellaneous files on the bottom and an arrangement of desserts and coffee cups on the top.

With a whisper of ‘thanks’, you gently lifted a mug from the cart and blew some steam away from the rim, lips hovering the ceramic. While L and Mr. Yagami began separating some of the files, you took a seat on the couch next to Matsuda, giving him a light elbow in the side.

“Hey, did you know that was a test?” You whispered.

Matsuda looked at you wide eyed, “What? No way! Ryuzaki never tells me anything when he plans stunts like that!”

You raise an eyebrow and turn to look at everyone else in the room, “Ryuzaki..?”

Your eyes stop when they meet L’s, who was staring at you as if he was involved in the conversation from the beginning. You avert your gaze awkwardly and turn your attention back to the warm mug in your hands, cheeks slightly warm. Most people look away when they get caught staring…

“My apologies for any confusion. I’ve told the group they can call me Ryuzaki or L during this investigation. Given that we know Kira needs a name and face to kill, it only makes sense.”

Mogi shifts in his seat with a slight tick in his eyebrow and mumbles lowly, “Yea as if you didn’t already know everything about us though.”

You turn to the man and then back at L, or Ryuzaki, or whoever, noticing the tension in the room.

“Ah I see.” You say lightly, trying to progress the conversation and go back to the main objective at hand.

With prolonged silence now hanging over everyone, you reach forward to grab two small sugar cubes and place them into your coffee before taking a sip. In your peripherals you can see Ryuzaki watching every movement of your hands but never saying anything. This time when you lock eyes he turns away first.

Mr. Yagami lets out a slight cough and begins passing folders out to everyone, “Alright enough small talk, these folders contain some of the tapes the Second Kira had sent to the news stations. Let's split into teams and see what we can cover.”

Placing the mug on the coffee table, you reached forward to grab a folder and flip through the contents.

“Lets have Mogi and Mr. Yagami compare the DNA found in forensics to what we currently have in the database. Matsuda and Y/N, please look at the transcriptions and real Kira suicide notes to look for any irregularities. Aizawa, please extend our list of contacts to include radio broadcasters as well,” Ryuzaki takes the hangnail on his thumb between his teeth while speaking, “We don’t know if the Second Kira has made contact with Kira #1… but there’s a chance they may get desperate and try other outlets of communication if they haven’t already. I’ll be reviewing the 4 different outcome tapes on the television if anyone needs my assistance. Ok?”

There’s a unified “yes!” after he finished speaking, the small teams immediately breaking off into separate sections of the hotel room.

You sit at the kitchen table of the vast suite, skimming your hands over various transcriptions, each one describing an unyielding obligation to the cause of Kira. You tilt your head and furrow your brows between the two documents in your hands.

“Hey Matsuda?”

“Hmm?”

“These two are completely different in terms of voice, grammar, everything..”

Matsuda looks up from his own set of papers and leans in over your shoulder, letting out an awkward laugh, “Oh I should have said this earlier- we actually wrote some of them pretending to be Kira in order to get the Second Kira talking. Why don’t we pile up the ones the team made and focus only on ones from Second Kira.”

Your mouth formed a small ‘O’ at his statement before nodding. Matsuda skims through the files, deftly collecting the papers of which the task force had authored into a neat pile and sliding you a different stack of notes to analyze. This time the stack included the real Kira authored suicide notes. You mutter a ‘thanks’ and go back to your position hovering over the table and straining your neck. For some reason you can’t shake the feeling of wanting to analyze the ones against the transcription the task force had authored. Just focus. You let out a breath and get to work.

****

After what seems like a few hours the group is called back into the main living room to discuss everyone’s progress. Mr. Yagami stands first, “Well the DNA on all the videotapes matches each other. It’s definitely the same person sending these.”

Mogi rubs his hand on the back of his neck with some frustration, “The DNA is in the police database; not for a criminal record but one regarding a victim of a crime. It may take some time before we can get approval to unseal the records… But at least we will know for sure who our suspect is within a few days; a week at max!”

The group hums with energy at the lead and Ryuzaki takes the nail of his thumb in between his lips again turning his attention to you.

Matsuda stands and points to a few lines on the paper, “We noticed a particular line about ‘showing notebooks in Aoyama’. It’s out of place and might be an indication that the Second Kira wants to use this as a meeting place.”

Ryuzaki nods and shuts his eyes, “I was thinking the same thing.. Now if there’s nothing else-”

“Wait.”

Ryuzaki opens his eyes and turns his attention back to you and Matsuda looks down with a slight puzzled expression.

You pick at your nails in nervousness for a moment and look at the group, “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions here but I noticed some similarities in the actual Kira suicide notes and the transcript you all had made..”

Mr. Yagami’s face pales and he stutters a few words out before Ryuzaki lifts his hand without even looking to silence him. The hangnail now forgotten, he leans in over the armrest of the couch only inches away from your face, as if he wanted to study every detail.

“Really? That’s very interesting Y/N please continue your reasoning,” his voice is the most energetic you’ve heard it.

The proximity makes you instinctively lean back until he closes the distance so far you have no more room to move. Almost smelling the scent of sweet coffee on his breath you nervously exhale and lift both the task force written transcript and a suicide note from Kira.

“The wording on the on the Kira suicide notes are very egotistical to me. It’s taunting like he’s one step ahead and in a position of earned authority,” you then tilt your head to the scripted video, “and this mentions about bestowing forgiveness. It’s an uncannily similar voice to a person in a position of power looking down on the recipient.”

Ryuzaki leans in almost a millimeter closer before sinking back into his seat with an eerie smile on his face. You hesitate, not putting either document down and seemingly staring back into the trance of his eyes.

“Isn’t that good though? Your ability to write an extremely good dupe..?” You're barely whispering it to Ryuzaki with your entire focus on him. His eyes don’t leave yours, and it feels like this is an entire conversation between just the two of you.

“Oh I didn’t write that.”

For a moment your eyes widen and the illusion of a private conversation comes crashing down around you. Before you can part your lips for clarification Mr. Yagami’s voice booms out from across the coffee table, “Enough of this Ryuzaki! I thought you invited Light to this investigation for him to help us!”

Light?

You were well acquainted with the Yagami family, having spent nearly the same amount of time with them as your own household. Light was extremely intelligent, well spoken, and borderline perfect at everything he did; it makes sense Ryuzaki would want him working this case.

Though where was he? You scanned the room quickly from your seat. Oh yea, class. An unfortunate situation you could relate to, considering you had a 9am lecture tomorrow morning and it was already 8pm.

“I did invite him for his help. I just find Y/N’s observation extremely interesting. I’m aware this situation makes you uncomfortable, but having now a second person make a connection raises my suspicion of him to 10%.”

“He was writing that note while trying to sound like Kira. Don’t you think questioning him for doing his task well is a bit much?”

Your head was beginning to hurt. Light was a suspect of being Kira? It didn’t make any sense, surely there had to be a mistake. You turned your attention back to the conversation between Mr. Yagami and Ryuzaki, noting the intensity of fire in each of their eyes. They were being serious? I guess that makes sense as to why L wanted to test me when I first came in. And why the group seemed so uneasy at the earlier mention of one of them being Kira.

“You’ve probably filled in the gaps haven’t you?”

Your eyes shoot up to meet Ryuzaki’s, the distance between your faces short, but not nearly as close as he was earlier. Unconsciously, you lick your bottom lip with a slight stress on your face and nod slightly.

Mr. Yagami sighs and sinks into his seat, his head cradled by his left hand. The group looks around each other awkwardly and Ryuzaki lets out a sigh of exasperation which indicates they’ve all had this conversation before.

“Let’s take a slight reccess please? Y/N you should probably start heading home for your classes tomorrow.”

You look up at Mr. Yagami, and the group mumbles in agreement, slowly standing up and stretching.

“Nice work today rookie. Can’t wait to see what you figure out next,” Mogi says genuinely while placing a supportive hand on your shoulder.

You grin up at him and wave bashfully, it wasn’t like you solved the case. Yet. You could practically hear his recommendation letter now and the thought of it was enough to spark some energy.

As the group shuffled out to take either vending machine or smoke breaks, you noticed Ryuzaki staring at you while you slipped your jacket over your shoulders. He was usually staring at you anyways, but this one was different; before you could even raise an eyebrow he stood up and walked to the bedroom door. Glancing at you once before slipping inside.

With a quick scan of your surroundings to make sure no one was watching, you casually walked over to door and stepped inside as if it were the exit. The bedroom in question was barely a bedroom at all. A desk stacked with hundreds of papers sat by the window, bookshelves lined the walls, and the floor was littered with evidence boxes. The only thing that made it a bedroom was the king size bed made neatly and untouched against the wall jutting into the center of the room.

Ryuzaki was standing at the desk, digging through a box mumbling to himself about if ‘Watari had moved it’ before pulling out a small cellphone and turning to you.

“Ah, I’m glad you got my signal.”

Signal? He stared without blinking and then casually walked into another room. It wasn’t so much as following a signal as it was making sure he wasn’t having a stroke.

“Yea, is there something you wanted to speak about?”

Ryuzaki looked at the door and then motioned for you to come closer; which you obediently did without even a second guess. Only inches apart he studied your face again, “I’m glad you picked up on that note sounding a little too authentic. The very notion drives Mr. Yagami up the wall.”

You nod, “I mean it makes sense, it’s not exactly a light accusation.”

Ryuzaki follows your words and then twitches as if he were re-listening to them; only catching the joke on the third time through. A small smile cracks his face and he tilts his head to the side, “Yes I agree. Being accused of Kira is a heavy burden, especially considering the life in prison sentence or death penalty when caught.”

The air deflated out of you.

You suck in a breath defeated, “Yep.. so why exactly did you call me in here?”

“I needed to speak in private,” Ryuzaki gnaws at his bottom lip with his canines and then locks eyes with you again, “What I’m about to ask needs to remain between us.”

Immediately your eyes widen and heat rushes to your face. The proximity of him seems to magnify everything and a warm feeling began to brew in your lower abdomen. The low lighting of the room, the intimate whisper of his voice, and the large king bed in your peripheral skewed any assumption of what he was about to say next.

I need to go out and touch grass. Call some friends, go on a date, do something. This guy is a total weirdo and I’m standing here shaking like fucking teenager.

You nod, not wanting to even speak and risk the shakiness of your voice being heard by him.

“You go to the same school as Light, correct? I’d like you just to keep an eye on him while you’re both on campus if that’s alright.”

You look from one eye to the other, taking a moment to pause and reflect on his proposal. The length of your hesitation was enough to make L backtrack slightly, “If you’re uncomfortable with that I completely underst-”

“I’ll do it.”

His eyes widen and blink twice before a small smile breaks his lips again, “I’m glad. I don’t have much time to go to campus or classes anyways so it’ll be nice to have to monitor him while I stay here.”

You nod in understanding before double taking at his words, “Wait do you go there too?”

Ryuzaki now fiddles with the cellphone in hands, typing rapidly and not bothering to look up, “Hm? Oh yes I entered the school to keep track of Light, but I won’t need to follow him around there if you’re willing to help me.”

You swallowed, noting the way he casually mentioned going to the university you were initially rejected from as if you asked him the weather.

Before you can mumble anything under your breath, Ryuzaki gently takes your hand in his and flips it to be facing palm-up. With his hand still on your wrist, the other places a cellphone into the palm and he looks at you intently.

“It’s important to note that on the off-chance Light really is Kira, it means he’s willing to risk killing to protect himself. I have emergency belts for everyone, but I’d also like you to have this.”

His hand falls to his side after a moment of them lingering a beat too long and he takes half a step back; turning to face his desk but not looking at anything in particular.

You click a few buttons on the phone and notice the way he had already placed his contact information into the device. A small grin grazes your lips and you slip the phone into your back pocket, “This way I can text information without sending a SOS? Plus it probably looks more natural anyways.”

Ryuzaki turns back to you, his hands firmly at his sides like they weren't just around your own, “Exactly. Besides, Light will learn you work with us shortly and he’ll start being on guard. If he thinks that cellphone is your personal one, he won’t think twice about you using it in front of him casually.”

A wave of excitement washes over you, fieldwork was always your favorite and this felt like a borderline James Bond movie.

“You got it!”

Ryuzaki pulls out his own cellphone from his baggy denim pocket and begins typing into it, “I’ll have Watari drive you home tonight. Would you like an escort to class tomorrow?” His eyes briefly look into yours with an emotion that could almost be described as hope. Almost.

Instinctively you raise your hands, “No that’s alright. I can just take the metro.”

Ryuzaki nods curtly but you continue, “But if you can arrange a ride after my classes to here that would be nice.”

His eyes hold yours for a moment and he turns away to his desk, this time walking up to the wooden drawers and digging through them, “Alright. I’ll tell Watari, just send your course schedule when you have the moment.”

Ryuzaki never turns back around and after a few moments of an awkward silence you spin to leave the room without either of you saying a word. The weird intimacy of the moment left you feeling an emotion you couldn’t quite pin point.

After saying your goodnights to the group and following Watari to the black luxury Sedan in the parking lot, the image of a warm shower and snuggling into bed seemed to be calling your name. Shoes clicking on the ground, you slid into the seat of the opened passenger door Watari had opened and watched him walk around to get into the driver’s seat.

Quickly telling him your address you found yourself staring out the window and for a split second, seeing the figure of a man watching you from the penthouse suite you had just exited. But by the time you blinked he was gone; the only thing pulling you from your thoughts was the slight buzz from your back pocket of the phone Ryuzaki had given you.

Ryuzaki:

Please be careful tomorrow. Let me know if anything goes wrong.

[str8aura-no-not-that-one]

i think animals are better than people.

that's not an uncommon belief, is it? you hear it said all the time, in memes, on coffee mugs, 'id rather talk to your dog', 'my cat doesn't judge me like my coworkers do', etc. its a very popular philosophy to espouse, albeit mostly in jest. It's not really jest for me, but it's not really a dig at humanity either.

I struggle often with feelings of misanthropy, how nice it would be to just assume all humans are inherently evil or uncaring, to slot an entire species into a broad stroke to make them easier to deal with. I tell myself sometimes I don't like working with humans, or seeing humans. I have a tendency to go quiet or mute at times because I don't feel like engaging people in conversation.

but that's really just stress. there is no crime for being an idiot. that person who cuts me off on the street made a slip up, or maybe did it with genuine antagonism, and that still doesn't make them a bad or worthless person. I've been 'the one who fucked up' enough times to know how crushing it is when you inconvenience somebody else, and I don't like to lose my temper, as often as it happens. I get angry a lot. I feel angry a lot. it feels good, but I don't enjoy it. I'm not a bad dog. I believe people are good, just flawed, and emotional.

and I wish, like everybody does, that I could talk to animals. I wish I could ask a deer for its thoughts, negotiate with a bear, or tell a hurt animal that its going to be alright, I'm just trying to help you. I yearn for that world, but I also accept that animals would lose their magic if they could. They would still be beautiful, yes, but I don't love animals because I imagine they are weirdly-shaped people, who understand what I say. I love them because they're animals.

We went down different paths, humanity and the animal kingdom; nowadays, we see different boons and drawbacks for it. They fight for their lives every day, never sure which moment will be their last. We struggle with thoughts of complex morality and our place in a dead, empty universe. animals never ate the apple. animals are free from sin, and punishment. When a fox kills a rabbit, it is not a murder. When a viper rescued out of the cold bites and kills the farmer that saved it, it is not a betrayal. it is simply their nature.

a few months ago, at a house I was staying at for a little while, there was a tree outside with a nest of birds. I wasn't aware of this until I came out one day and found all of the babies, freshly hatched, lying on the hard pavement beneath the trees. Cuts and tears along their bodies, eyes still screwed shut, writhing and wriggling to try and restore the warmth of the nest they had suddenly been stolen from. I called animal control and waited with the hatchlings as long as I could, but eventually I couldn't bear to see the sight. I looked up the best way to restore them to their nest, and with the use of a ladder, I got to work.

i also read that you shouldn't touch them with your hands, as it will scare off the mother bird. this, as I later found out, is an urban legend. I put on gloves to hold them, unwieldy, thick gloves meant for hands larger than my own.

they were featherless pink bastards. I think humans have the ugliest babies out of any species, but these ones were pretty close.

the first two went in without problem, but on the third, my fingers wrapped in gloves couldn't get a grip and i

dropped

it

onto the pavement

headfirst

i don't know if it was still alive or not when I finally took the gloves off and restored it. I don't know. there was no splatter, no obvious signs of death. it just stopped moving.

if the mother returned and found the body of her child, she would not be shocked. 60-70% of hatchlings do not survive to adulthood. she would not seek retribution, or to make me pay for what I had done. she didn't understand I had been trying to help, and she didn't care. life went on. she probably had more children to replace the cadaver.

i read a book series as a kid called Funjungle. It was about a kid who lived at a zoo, and would solve various mysteries around the place. In one book, he recounts being present for the lancing of a boil on a rhino, and talks about how animals always fight back against such processes. you cant explain to them that you are trying to help, all they understand is that you are causing them pain right now, regardless of whether it will soothe in the future. animals, wild and tame, think in the now.

ironically, in real life, I try not to anthropomorphize too much. I understand that an animal's 'smile' only resembles such because of the way his lips are shaped. I understand that the possums and raccoons and squirrels I encounter as I go about my life, and that one fox I had the joy of getting to witness up close, are dangerous creatures who do not have my best interests in heart. I understand that something beautiful will kill me without a second thought if it thinks I am a threat to it, and for an animal, it is always always always better to be safe than sorry.

i can tell a human things are going to be okay. I can tell a human this is only going to hurt for a minute. I can tell a human i'm sorry.

a human can lie to me. a human can hurt me. a human can make me feel like I don't want to live anymore.

I can never lose my temper at an animal, any more than I could be angry at a mountain.

animals are base, instinctive, temperamental, capricious, alien creatures.

that is why they are beautiful.

that is why I must stay away from them. as much as I wish to hug them, to talk to them, to befriend them, it is not possible. they may occupy our physical spaces, but they are from different worlds entirely.

i must look, but not touch. it is better this way.

my place is with the humans.

and it kills me a little more every day.

[onlyplatonicirl]

OBJECTION! I, ANON, REFUTE THEE!

OBJECTION! 1: How many genocidal maniacs has the council actively set out to reform? What’s the difference between killing a bunch of universes once and killing one universe a bunch of times? The number of kills is in the same ballpark, and any character capable of remembering resets will tell you that time travel doesn’t negate a genocide run.

OBJECTION! 2: ‘Not guilty by reason of insanity’. I trust our audience is familiar with the process of becoming an ERROR, yes? And how errors are inherently somewhat unstable to begin with? Add to that instability the compounding factors of solitary confinement and white torture, it is understandable why error lost what little sanity he had left at that point. Anyone familiar with aftertale’s story will know what isolation can do to someone. Is it justified to blame error for his insanity, circumstances entirely out of his control?

OBJECTION! 3: No matter what error’s crimes are, alchemy and the council are SUPPOSED to be the GOOD GUYS. Alchemy especially puts himself on the highest of pedestals, and he’s not shy about how superior he thinks he is to everyone else in existence. How the jailed are treated/punished is NOT a reflection on the morality of the jailed, it is a reflection on the morality of the JAILER. AND ONLY THAT OF THE JAILER. Adding more atrocities onto the pile isn’t ‘justice’, it just makes a shitty situation even shittier.

OBJECTION! 4: Alchemy did absolute jack shit to stop any of the torture happening at that lab. Sure, he strongly objected! But in the end it was all just words that did absolutely nothing. You’d be hard-pressed to recognize that he had any real authority over things! His oversight was pitiful, and his authority laughable. How many people working there actively HATED error? He really couldn’t find ANYONE else to work there? There wasn’t anyone at all who wouldn’t take advantage of having the destroyer in a weakened and vulnerable state? Molly’s existence proves that there were decent people around for that kind of work. His choices of staff were terrible, and his attempts to rein in their worst impulses were nonexistent. He barely even tried.

OBJECTION! 5: Oh, so now we’re calling people ‘monstrosities’? Is error a mindless beast or is he an intelligent person? You can’t have it both ways. Alchemy repeatedly justified his cruel and extreme measures by saying it was all necessary for dealing with a ‘mindless beast’, even when he had PROOF in front of his face that that wasn’t the case. He likened error to an animal that couldn’t possibly be communicated or reasoned with, when he’d seen for himself error’s ability to speak and emote just like any other sapient being. You can’t hold a mindless animal to the same standards as a sapient person. So which is it? Mindless beast, or intelligent being? Alchemy seems to vacillate depending on which one is more convenient for him. Hell, even INK was advocating for error, and they were the worst of enemies as far as alchemy knew!

OBJECTION! 6: I would like to point out how fond of blue the council is. How much they value their treasured friend. But he, at one point, almost became an error himself. What if rescue had been just a little too late? What if he turned into a genocidal monster taking down universes in droves? Would his suffering be so easily dismissed? Would he be treated so harshly? I myself would probably still be angry to lose a loved one to a murderer, but learning that the murderer in question had been tortured to the point of insanity would change my verdict. Things like mercy and reform are easy to toss around when you’re dealing with petty crimes. It takes true integrity to stick to your message when the crimes become severe. This was perhaps the greatest challenge to the morality of the council, the truest test of their conviction to their ideals that even the worst person can change, be a little better, if they just try. This was a test, and they failed spectacularly. As the highest ranking authority on the council, the failure falls on alchemy especially.

I just woke up and am running on three hours of sleep so I can’t even read the first paragraph correctly but I will tag @lordterronus so that way you know that Anon is ready to fight LOL

[justicerikai]

Charisma House - The Seven Charisma‘s “Otsukarisma! Year-end party“ lyrics translation (english)

The charismatic year-end party is beginning!

English lyrics translation for “Otsukarisma! Year-end party“. Japanese lyrics can be found on uta-net.

TL notes:

Otsukarisma is a pun on otsukare (nice work, good job, etc.) and charisma.

Terra’s “bea-bea-bea-bea-beam” is written with the kanji for beauty 美, like  “美・美・美　美ーーーム！”. It’s a pun on how beam is written in Japanese.

The following are references in the video noted by シカベロス in the Youtube comments. Thought it was pretty cool to take note of.

Sarukawa -> “Denpa shounen” (reality TV show)

Iori -> “Doraemon” (kids cartoon) 

Amahiko -> “Tamori Club“ and “Soramimi hour” (variety shows)

Fumiya -> The others are surely recognizable but there’s also Japanese social network sites 2ch/2chan and mixi in there, which people might be unfamiliar with.

Disclaimer that these lyrics merely serve as a translation and do not follow up on rhythm, rhyme and the like.

Rikai: Otsukarisma for another year! The Charismatic year-end party is beginning!

Rikai: Now then everyone let us properly reminisce on the past year!

A year spent maintaining discipline in a proper manner

Do not corrupt the sharehouse’s morals but correct them

The ones that disobey shall be punished at once~♪

Rikai: Terra-san, please go on ahead.

Another year where life is beautifully me

The universe shines with me

The world’s tears equals rain The world’s sighs equals wind

Terra-kun’s beauty will SAVE THE EARTH!

The self-love is unstoppable!

Aah geez… bea-bea-bea-bea-beam!!

Sarukawa: That don’t make any sense! I’ll take care of it!

I ain’t lookin’ back  No is NO!

Right’s left! Left’s right!

“Nicely done, you must be tired” you say? I ain’t tired at all!

My wishes for next year? Ain’t telling you!

Terra: (Well then you don’t have to tell me)

Don’t fuck with me I’ll tell ya   Ya see my wishes always

fall on deaf ears-….… I blurted it out!

Shit  I can’t keep going on like this!!

Another year for a steady charisma charge (hey!)

Your charisma break’s also around the corner

Fine charisma  Gathered at a temporary residence

Everyone otsukarisma for another year! (Cheers!)

Rikai: The order is getting quite disrupted here

Rikai: Iori-san, please go on ahead with a proper second turn!

Iori: Yes gladly!

Everyone’s dog all year round  That’s me Iori Woo-woof (shake shake sit!)

Cooking  laundry  leaning  human sacrifice

Come on hurry up! Can you stamp it here?

Sign the contract as soon as possibleee-

And please do renew our contract next year!

Amahiko: Amahiko is c*ming up next!

Spring is bloomingly sexy

Summer is sweatingly sexy

Fall is gloomily sexy

Winter is yearning bodily warmth

This year was sexy too

Dance amigo Sing amore

It’ll be another year of m*rriage!

Amahiko: Now Ohse-kun  You’re up next

I’m sorry for still staying alive this year

I’m the picture perfect of shitty garbage   A sore loser

An age where you can choose out of different ways to die

Hanging  Jumping off  Pick and choose

Haah, haah, haah, haah

Which is why a worthless human being like me

will surely die next year…

Terra, Amahiko, Rikai, Iori: You caaaan’t!

Rikai: Alright! Pull yourself together and let’s sing!

Another year for a steady charisma charge (hey!)

Your charisma break’s also around the corner

Fine charisma  Gathered at a temporary residence

Everyone otsukarisma for another year! (Cheers!)

Amahiko: The year-end party’s also sexy, isn’t it

Sarukawa: I am still who I am next year

Terra: Terra-kun’s truly beautiful

Ohse: I want to die already…

Iori: Next year’s also self-sacrifice! Contribution! Free service!

Rikai: (Pipipiiiii) Good grief! The year-end party has turned into a mess!

Rikai: Fumiya-san, I beg of you to say something!

Fumiya: Hm? Aah…

365 days in a year   It’s just a convenience to end it there

Within one’s consciousness irrelevant mere tales continue to drift

Memories that won’t fade even if you try to forget

Whether you live or die it’s an everlasting record that continues

Hold onto what’s good?  Erase what’s bad?

It’s dangerous monism   Now get ready

All of it is part of us

And we’re part of the world

Don’t want to deal with too much trouble

A journey seeking where one fits in Good job everyone

Rikai: I somewhat don’t get it but he wrapped it up!

Another year for a steady charisma charge (hey!)

Your charisma break’s also around the corner

Fine charisma  Gathered at a temporary residence

Everyone otsukarisma for another year!

We wish you a charismatic new year! (Cheers!)

[superbat-lmao]

So then Damian shows up and it’s difficult because he doesn’t get along with Tim and Dick understands not wanting to get along with a sibling you feel like has been forced on you. And Tim still isn’t out of Jason’s shadow but Damian is difficult in some of the ways Jason was, and Dick has already resolved himself to trying harder. And now he’s trying harder at the expense of Tim, like any good parent.

Because Tim tried to be the easy sibling and Damian is the youngest and even if none of them have had siblings before, it’s expected of Tim to be the bigger person even when it isn’t fair.

Because now all Dick can see is someone who was trained since birth to be a killer and fill in their father’s shoes. Designed by someone who wanted to manipulate Bruce and found the one route that Bruce uses to self flagellate - taking in kids who he’s convinced need him, that only he can help, only to reject them when he can’t fulfill their actual emotional needs. It’s Bruce’s double edged sword, how he desperately wants a family and can’t seem to hold onto them correctly. It’s too tight or not enough.

It slow going.

And then Bruce is gone and Dick has to step into two mantles he never really expected to fill (we all believe our parents are immortal, especially if yours has literally changed the world) as Batman and now, Damian’s dad.

It’s being a circus performer 24/7 trying to maintain a shifting mess of facades just to get through the day. Forced levity, forced seriousness, holding back rage and resentment and grief at losing your own father and then basically becoming one.

Because Damian needs someone who will treat him compassionately, someone who will convince him of his right to be a child and make mistakes and have fun. And to place that sole responsibility on Dick, who is grieving his father, means that his sense of what to do, who to prioritize, how to handle this is shot to hell.

He takes Robin away from Tim to give to Damian. Just as it was taken from him. And he doesn’t seem to understand that he’s Tim in the situation because for a moment, he has so throughly embodied Bruce he’s unable to see what he’s doing as hurting Tim.

And when Tim leaves to go find Bruce, well, out of sight, out of mind. He believes Tim can handle himself, or he needs Tim to handle himself because Dick is already struggling to handle everything else.

And Damian?

To be thrown into a group of people who lack clearly defined social status, in another language, that do not properly explain rules or punishments beforehand and seem to dole out expectations at random, it’s like the universe giving you anxiety. It you didn’t doubt yourself before, everyone around you is trying to make you do so and it’s like never leaving fight or flight mode.

US soldiers and prisoners who are from this country have significant difficulty readjusting to “normal” life when they come back from deployment/lockup. To have a child go through that without adult support/comfort must be like swimming in the deep end of the pool. There is a forced casualness to America, an idea that people as individuals are free to do what they want, but it’s a lie. There is a social hierarchy, it just isn’t talked about to the point that people forget it’s there. To have to learn that hierarchy from people who can’t properly explain it to you unless you’ve broken some social boundary/moral code that also wasn’t given to you as a child is exhausting.

On the one hand, all of the adults in Damian’s life want him to “be himself” but on the other, each of them has some sort of mental image of what it was to grow up in the League and how terrible they think that would be, and picture Damian as a child that has had to repress “who they really are” beneath League training. Bruce and Dick and Alfred and Tim have clear ideas of what they think a child should be/act like. And it isn’t Damian. And instead of treating him like his own unique person, they are asking him to fit into their idea of who he should be as a child without explaining anything until after it would have mattered.

So yes, Damian falls back into League training or his Mother’s ideals sometimes, because it’s part of who he is, not something that was forced on him. If the others consider it trauma, that’s their business. And as he learns more of their world, he can eventually begin to see the positives of aspects of extreme individualism, like helping people or having personal interests and valuing others. But those weren’t exactly lacking where he came from, just expressed differently.

So he’s in a new country living with a man who didn’t know he existed and the weird amalgamation of a family he’s been collecting and has no clue how he fits into it. He feels lied to, like he had been promised someone who would understand him and teach him as all his masters before to prepare him for the responsibility of what is expected of him. (And Bruce could damn well understand him if he chose to make the effort, if he loved Talia and trained in the League then he’s the only one who could understand him. But he’s so wrapped up in his own angst he can’t see his son.)

And then Bruce dies.

And the tenuous nature of his position in the family, something he was told is beyond reproach, is suddenly in question.

He never asked for siblings, and if he had them, was under the impression they would be younger than him. So to have to now come to terms with the loss of his father and new reliance on his “brothers”? He’s not coping well.

And to Tim? Damian is perhaps the biggest betrayal Dick could make.

Because Tim idolizes Dick, loves him beyond measure. He understood his fight with Bruce over taking Robin. How it hurt him so badly that he wasn’t able to cope with the addition of Jason. And for Dick to turn around and hand it to a kid that hates him and repeatedly tries to hurt him?

Yeah, that’s betrayal.

So when Damian finally does learn to acclimate, does begin to trust Dick as Batman, to then have Tim show up with his Father?

That’s betrayal too.

It really strikes me how in so many fics where Dick Grayson meeting Jason Todd goes badly, where Jason is written to have a past history of sexual abuse usually, how callous/direct/abrasive Dick comes across through Jason’s perspective.

Like returning home and being suspicious of a stranger in your house, being so in the middle of your own feud with your adoptive father and family problems that it doesn’t even occur to you to snap into Robin/Nightwing training.

There are some I’ve seen where Dick actively makes it worse for Jason, like asking who the hell he is or saying to Bruce “you didn’t tell me you were getting another one” or especially anything A/B/O related because people love to write highly emotional reactions with those sorts of subtexts being explicitly laid out with the “scent” meanings.

But just, it strikes me how many people write him as an aggressive teenager who thinks he’s been replaced and that his father, who revoked his access to being a hero/his mother’s name for him out of a fucked up/misdirected sense of protection, doesn’t want him anymore. That it wouldn’t occur to him, in his own home, to have to respond to a situation with the same level of caution and understanding he grants survivors as Nightwing. That he’s really just 18 and in a space where he’s been conditioned to keep “cape business” downstairs and is reacting with all of the emotional volatility of a teenager because it’s the level of compartmentalization that Bruce instilled in him and he’s so woefully unprepared to have to code switch back into being Nightwing when met with familial turmoil.

And that Jason couldn’t possibly know any of this from The King of Emotional Repression™️ and that the man didn’t think to inform Dick of Jason’s situation. That Bruce can’t understand why it would hurt Dick to come home to something like this, or how it would harm Jason to be met with teenage hostility that is adult hostility.

There are a lot of fics where people write that Jason thinks B will “get rid of him” and other sorts of self deprecative phrases about him being homeless, a street rat, “turning tricks” in some cases. And that Dick is so blindsided by his own personal problems with Bruce that he just, none of this occurs to him.

That he really is only 18 and suddenly expected to be able to handle things he’s never even considered. He’s been trained to handle difficult cases, to see the worst of the worst, but Dick’s only 18 and has far less experience with families than he does with drug smuggling.

He’s an acrobat and a hero because of his training. He’s still learning to be a son, and now a brother.

[buckybgal]

a new home

tasm!peter parker x reader

summary: peter never thought he’d have purpose again, the universe(s) proved otherwise.

warnings: NWH SPOILERS PROCEED WITH CAUTION. swearing, mentions of violence and character death (if i missed anything feel free to let me know!)

wc: 2.4k

note: if you guys like this i’d love to make headcannons/one shots for this character/little world. let me know your thoughts! also sorry this took forever!

There was one thing Peter always lived with, and always would, and it was the knowledge of his failure to save her. His failure to save his first and only love, his Gwen, was what haunted him every waking hour. His incapability to save the woman he loved nearly killed him but when it didn’t, it filled him with rage. How could he be so foolish to rely on the webs to save her? How could he have let her be there in the first place? The questions tormented him to the point where he fueled his rage into his crime-fighting. Peter stopped pulling punches, he stopped aiming for places that would incapacitate, he didn’t mind if his blows were accidentally fatal. But when the rage subsided a mere few months after Gwen’s death, there was nothing left in him but hollowness. He kept up with his Spiderman duties, his moral code holding him to it and Gwen’s sweet voice in the back of his head, but other than that, he was utterly lost. And it felt like Peter would be that way until he died.

Yet almost a decade later, after he caught MJ that mind-boggling day in an alternate universe, something in him shifted. He couldn’t save his version of MJ, but he saved this Peter’s MJ, and it almost felt like the universe(s) were forgiving him. As if this was his redemption for the thing that he spent his entire life after the fact tormenting himself over. He could almost hear Gwen’s soft voice when he caught MJ, forgiving him, and telling him it was time to forgive himself. He would never forget his inability to save Gwen and how it tore him apart, but Peter got the closure he never thought possible. The chapter of his life that he swore he was lost in forever, was closed.  

And when older Peter, or Peter 2 if you will, told him he could make it work if he just tried, it resounded in him. Like the sign he needed to try to live his life again after Gwen. He wouldn’t forget her,  his first love, but he didn’t have to stay anchored to that trauma. It had been nearly a decade of punishing himself for his incapabilities and his shortcomings, but all the signs pointed to moving forward.  It was like being in this alternate universe finally gave him the chance at a fresh start.

So, when the weird magic man did his spell and sent Peter back to his universe, he felt like a new person, a new Spider-man, a new Peter Parker. One who learned from the other two Peter Parkers and wanted to live a life of his own. And he thought he would have to go searching for that new start, but turns out he fell right into it.

Peter landed with a thud, his flailing arms sweeping papers off of the table in front of him. He was panting heavily, trying to get a grip of his surroundings, (turns out multiversal travel is physically taxing), when he heard a muffled

“What the actual fuck.”.Peter startled at the voice, nearly launching himself onto the table in his surprise. He whipped his head around to find a 20-something girl in the massive arm chair he had landed on, and he was currently sitting in her lap.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry I just –” he stuttered, standing up abruptly, knocking the table backwards in his haste to put as much space between himself and this pretty girl as possible. She stood up slowly, her arms out like she was trying to console a wild animal,

“No it’s okay I just-” She tried to interrupt his rambling.

“I just came back from, well nevermind I-” Peter tried to spit out an explanation for his appearance out of thin air, until his foot caught on the leg of the table, and he tumbled to the floor at her feet.

“Nailed it.” He mumbled, words muffled by the hardwood. She burst into laughter at his clumsiness, but still shoved the big arm chair back and reached over him to turn him on his back, eyes scanning his face for any serious wounds. Her chuckles died down as she scanned him over, like a flip had switched, and when she found him mostly unharmed she met his eyes and gave him a warm smile.

“Looks like physically you just have some minor lacerations and bruises, but your ego on the other hand might be heavily damaged.” Peter laughed at her diagnosis in spite of his confusion, and before he knew it she was pulling him up gently and having him sit in the chair she had just been in.

“Stay right here, I’m going to patch you up.” She hurried around the coffee bar, dodging the beefy barista that stood by and watched the entire ordeal, and then grabbed a massive first aid kit. So another person witnessed his embarrassment? Fantastic.

Peter wasn’t entirely sure why this girl would be helping the guy that literally fell into her lap out of thin air, but he was a little too disoriented to care. She returned just as quickly as she left, armed with gloves and a huge first aid kit. She slipped on the gloves without looking at them, like it was habitual, and her delicate fingers reached out for his chin, but she stopped abruptly,

“Is this okay?” Is it okay if a pretty girl takes care of him? Peter couldn’t see why not, yet he still couldn’t formulate any words so he nodded, attention focused on her face. Her fingers took a firm hold of his chin, and she began dabbing at his wounds. He zoned out then, staring at the crinkle between her eyebrows as she focused on cleaning his wounds, taking in the details of her face. The girl continued her work despite his heavy stare, and he noticed that her movements were calculated, but reflexive, like she’d taken care of vigilante spiders in the past. At the thought he finally found his voice,

“How often do you take care of strange guys who fall into your lap?” This emitted a snort from the girl tending his wounds.

“Well I’d have to say you’re the first in that category, but I’m a medical student at NYU,” she explained, “I’ve taken care of plenty of beaten up guys before.”

“She’s top of her class too!” Kurt interrupted from his spot behind the counter. Another brilliant science student taking care of him? That sounded familiar.

“I’m pleased to know I’m in good hands then.” She gave him a little salute, before refocusing on her task.

“I graduate this year so I better know basic first aid or I’m screwed,” he smiled at her,

“I’m Peter by the way.” Which made her laugh again as she rolled her eyes playfully.

“Everyone knows who you are, Parker.”

“But I don’t know who you are.” He pointed out, she gave him her name, but added

“But my friends and family call me MJ, it’s a childhood nickname.” His eyes nearly popped out of his head, but he was quickly interrupted by her voice again.

“I’d ask you how all of this happened, Spider-man, but I figure we’d need longer than the fifteen or so minutes it will likely take to clean you up.” Peter gave her a nod,

“You’ve got that right.”

“But you can tell me anyway if you’d like.” Peter looked up at her, studying her face at her invitation. She glanced up when she felt him staring at her, a reassuring and sincere smile shooting a jolt through him, like a shot of espresso on a sleepy morning. He wanted to be open, and he had a feeling that she was exactly what he’d been needing. So he told her everything.

While he was finishing up his story, she had, as predicted, already finished getting him cleaned up and was now staring at him intently as he told his story. When he finally stopped talking, she burst out

“I knew that there were alternate universes, based simply on the vastness of our own universe and how much we still don’t understand.” Peter laughed at her enthusiasm.

“See? Crazy right? And I think it's been roughly 24 hours since I left our universe. And if there’s two more of me, that means there’s other versions of you out there too.” The expression on her face was comical at his statement, eyes as wide as saucers and filled with wonder.

“I don’t know whether to be terrified or excited that there are more of me out there.”

“Trust me, I felt the exact same way.” Peter chuckled, finding himself feeling better thanks to this stranger.

“Thank you for listening to me ramble, I really appreciate it.” She beamed up at him, her brilliant smile making his heart warm,

“Anytime Spider-boy, I mean it.”

Eight weeks later, he found himself regularly taking MJ (he still couldn’t believe the odds that that was what she was called) up on her offer. Getting taken care of by the pretty medical student while recounting the tales of his rounds became a little arrangement for them. She insisted she needed the experience, and he wasn’t going to go to the hospital anyways, and her experience was far better than anything his impatience and sparse first-aid kit could do, so the arrangement worked in the favor of both parties. In more ways than medical experience and medical care.

Some days he found her at the coffee shop (he had accidentally memorized her work schedule), and others they found themselves in her apartment. When he’d get to wherever she was, he’d tell her everything while she was fixing him up and they’d spend hours after talking, or he’d even help her study.

He told her about Gwen, about still processing that day in Peter 1’s universe, even crying in her lap when he had nightmares about Gwen falling, everything. On days he didn’t want to talk, she’d tell him about her family, her career goals, about the book she was reading for fun, any tidbit about her life that she thought he’d find intriguing. He found himself falling into this routine with her, this comfort and warmth that he looked forward to every night. It wasn’t like Gwen, the whirlwind, passionate infatuation heightened by the danger surrounding their lives. Maybe he and Gwen would have still been together, but he found himself growing farther and farther away from what-ifs as the days went on. Every day Gwen was becoming more a happy memory, a part of who he had become and not an unresolved nightmare.

But this pretty, quick-witted, medical student barista? She was something else entirely, someone who fit this new Peter. She was something steady, something reliable that he never thought he needed. Dare he say a new home for him and his weary soul. He just hadn’t gotten up the courage to tell her that yet.

Tonight Peter found himself swinging up to MJ’s apartment, not particularly hurt, but desperate to see her. This round of friendly-neighborhood-spidermanning proved to be particularly taxing, sending him down a dark path again.

MJ had a habit of sitting by the window of her little apartment, curled up in her massive arm chair with her head stuck in her notes and a cup of tea. And that’s exactly where he found her when he finally made his way up to her fire escape. She was curled up with her notes, even though it was nearly 2 a.m. and she was mid-yawn when Peter knocked on the window, nearly making the girl dump her scalding tea on herself. She quickly recovered and stood up, pulling the window open

“Peter Benjamin Parker! You scared the ever-loving shit out of me!” She scolded, pulling him inside gently. Before she could swat at his arm he collapsed in her chair, pulling her down into his lap, pulling her close into his chest.

“Pete, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Let me take a look I-”

“No. Just wanna hold you for a minute, is that okay?”

“Yeah Pete that’s just fine.” MJ repositioned herself the best she could in his death grip, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull his face into her. Her hand began running softly through the back of Peter’s hair, causing the tired spider to sigh deeply. It wasn’t the first time he’d just wanted to hold her, and she understood the calming effects of physical contact on a scientific level. Not to mention she loved it herself.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened bubba?” She whispered through a yawn, to which he promptly shook his head no, her yawn pulling one out of him as well.

“Jus’ wanna be with you.” He mumbled into her neck while his eyes remained closed. A giddy smile crossed her lips, God did she love this boy, and he always said things like this that made her melt.

“Okay baby.” The pet name slipped out in her fondness and MJ’s hand halted in his hair at her mistake. She was about to scramble to come up with an excuse, but Peter placed a featherlight kiss on her neck that stole the words off her lips. He titled his head up at her with a sleepy, lovey grin, eyes half open, and whispered

“Thank you my love.” before kissing her gently. She tasted like tea and cinnamon croissants, and Peter knew he would never have enough of her. His new home, his MJ,

“My MJ,” he sighed against her lips, MJ smiled brightly, her fingers coming up to hold his jaw like they did that first night so many months ago. She pecked his lips softly, before cuddling back into his chest. There was still a lot to unpack, a lot to talk about and discuss but they were both exhausted at this point, but MJ had to get one last word in before she drifted off.

“I love you my sweet, stupid boy.” She whispered sleepily.

“And I love you, my sweet, brilliant girl.” Peter whispered back, kissing her neck softly before closing his eyes and letting himself drift off in her arms.

[frannyzooey]

you write weeknights frankie so good i want to live in that fictional world! any thoughts on rough sex with him, i know it usually soft with him but i just want to see him become feral.

oh 🥺 thank you for this sweet ask!

in honor of feral frankie friday, here ya go! ❤️

frankie morales x f!reader, weeknights universe

rating: explicit

—

he is always so encouraging, so adoring, so filled with praise for you and the constant touches when you’re within his reach have made you bolder, more confident, have made you feel so loved and comfortable in your skin around him.

lounging on his bed naked after sunday morning sex, walking to the bathroom without trying to cover up, your first true piece of lingerie worn for him (the slow path his mouth took over the lace panties and bra so worth it) — these are things you’ve never done before with anyone else, but you know you can do them with him.

he loves it — loves seeing you discover new things, loves how you open up for him under his skillful hands, loves fucking you until you can’t think, until he coaxes your secrets out with his hands and his mouth and his cock and he’s doing it to you now, kneeling behind you while you’re on all fours.

there was once a time in which you would have felt uncomfortable spreading yourself like this for someone, your fingers a wet glide inside of your soaked, spread pussy while someone watched you but you know he wants it because he just had his mouth there, lapping up every drip of slick you gave him.

in a strained voice he told you he wanted to fuck you harder, asked if you wanted it that way and when you said yes, he draped himself over your back and asked you if you wanted him to make your pussy sore; his heavy weight surrounding your body as you clenched around your own fingers with a whimper.

“yes”, you moaned into the bedding, “I want it hard. I want you to — fuck.”

he knocked your hand out of the way, lining up his cock with your entrance and without giving you any warning, shoved himself deep inside with a sharp snap of his hips.

“like this?”, he panted, already setting a punishing pace and his cock dragged along your walls, filled you so full until you felt like you couldn’t breathe. “you wanna take it like this?”

you don’t say anything, instead shifting on the bed until your shoulders are braced on the soft mattress and when you place your wrists at your lower back in a wordless request for something more, he grins breathlessly, his belly clenching with a rough stroke forward; again, again.

his hands settle on top of your wrists, pinning them against your lower back as he fucks into you and you cry out, the position you’re now stuck in making you fully at his mercy.

his grip tightens as his thrusts speed up, his hips slamming into the soft flesh of your ass and he loves how you look bouncing on his cock right now, loves hearing the muffled moans swallowed by the mattress and securing his hold on your wrists, he brings one hand up and swats you.

nothing too hard, just enough for you to feel the weight of his broad palm, just enough to hear the crack resound over your heavy panting and his low groan and with a whine, you ask him to do it again.

he does, harder this time, his cock a rapid, filling stroke inside of you and you’re so fucking wet, but you need just a little more — something he knows by now.

“I bet you wish I was touching that pretty clit of yours right now, don’t you?”, he asks, his fingers curling around your hip to pull you back onto his lap; again, again. “Is that what you need? Or do you need another one of these?”

his hand comes down again with a slap, the moan already spilling out of your throat and you beg him to please touch your clit, please make you come, please frankie.

he reaches immediately underneath your body, his fingers finding your clit in a practiced motion and the two of you groan in relief when he finds it, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing, rubbing, rubbing.

you would tell him how good it feels if you could talk, if you could form any words right now but between the pressure on your clit and his cock stuffing you full, you can’t do anything but take it like this; your hands trapped between your bodies as he grinds his cock into you.

he feels it when you come — the slippery squeeze of your pussy, the rush of slick that soaks the dark curls at the base of his cock, the suck of your pussy as it pulls him in deeper — and the two of you are glad Lucia is gone for the night because your throat almost hurts with how loud you moan when you do it; his deep, satisfied groan filling the air behind you.

“where do you want it?”, he asks frantically, letting go of your hands and gripping your hips to slam you back onto his cock in a rhythmic, rapid pace. “where do you fucking want it, because —“

“in my mouth, I want it in my mouth”, you beg against the bedding, already pushing yourself up and he barely makes it when he abruptly pulls out of you and watches you flip over onto your back, sliding down underneath his cock.

“jesus”, he gasps and now he can’t think, fucking his fist in a filthy, wet stroke and the image of your open mouth covered with his cum after he spurts onto your face is going to haunt him for days, for weeks; your tongue and chin and lips covered in the milky liquid.

his body visibly relaxes when he comes back down, his chest still heaving when he shifts to lay down next to you and his sticky hand sweetly cups your cheek as he smiles down at you.

you should feel dumb with your face covered in him, should feel the urge to get up and go get a rag to wipe it off but you can’t look away from how he’s looking at you right now — his big brown eyes shining with affection, with pride, with love — and so you stay right where you are, smiling shyly back at him.

the two of you let out breathless laugh before he leans in for a kiss, your limbs immediately entwining with each other and he’ll get a rag for you in a minute but right now he just needs to be close, curling himself into the heat of your body as he kisses, kisses, kisses you.

—

FFF tags ❤️ @loversandantiheroes @littleferal @astroboots @silksaddle @filthybookworm

[themattress]

The idea that Belos’ characterization as a complete monster with no redeemable traits and no chance of having his heart and mind changed by anything because he is so firmly set in his ways “betrays the message?” I hate having to compare these two characters yet again, but this is the same fallacy that so many have in regards to Ghetsis and his place in the story of the Gen 5 games with their “most things are not black and white, differing ideas can co-exist and should be accepted rather than rejected” message; this idea that to hammer home such a message, the storytelling should essentially lie to its audience and be like “there exists no such person who is truly evil at heart and cannot be reached, even people whose ideas seem repellent to us have something to offer and should have those ideas co-existing with all others, any bigot and tyrant can be redeemed through civil open dialogue and embrace of differing ideologies, we are all the same, Steven Universe, it’s all swell!” But as @themattress mentioned regarding Trump and the MAGA crowd, that sort of evil that hates others deeply and pathologically, that holds ideas rooted in that hatred, in self-obsession, and in the denial of basic human rights (such as the right to exist) to others, and will at every turn refuse to be reasoned with because to come around to seeing that reason would be an admittance to having been wrong and they will never entertain that notion, absolutely exists in real life. Fictional stories absolutely can and should reflect that, especially to a young audience.

Thank you for the mention and especially thank you for this rebuttal. Doug's argument against Belos, beyond the blatant hypocrisy and the rather objective wrongness on certain things, is terrible because it hinges on the exact same notion that some people's argument against Ghetsis hinges on: that not lying to the audience is "ruining the story's message". That if your story has a positive message, then it must be applied to every character as though people who wouldn't willfully or even gleefully reject that message don't exist in real life. That a theme is being weakened rather than strengthened by showing exactly what a person who stands in vehement opposition to that theme is like. By Doug's own warped logic, it's a good thing for a story that aims higher to "keep people in fairy tales" like in Frozen II.

The Owl House isn't saying "never judge a book by its cover and always have an open mind toward different ideas and personalities except for Belos"; it's saying "never judge a book by its cover and always have an open mind toward different ideas and personalities (and don't seek to punish others just for being different than you, that was spelled out in the pilot!), and here, have THIS character as a prime example of why you should follow this message, because he obsessively refuses to follow it in favor of doing the opposite - always judging books by their covers, and closing his mind off to different ideas and personalities, and seeking to punish others just for being different than him - and look what happened to him! He lost all of his humanity, turned into a wretched slime monster, and got himself killed!"

It's the same deal with Ghetsis and how he represents the stubborn refusal to not see things in black and white: he's right about everything, everyone else is wrong about everything, and thus he feels completely justified in imposing his "perfection" onto everyone else by force. People like him and Belos and other characters like them exist in abundance right now in the real world, so taking a story to task for daring to be truthful to its young audience about this sad truth is stupid at best, morally repugnant at worst. Y'know what? Fuck off, Doug Walker!

Yeah, spoilers ‘cause he’s not even got to his Disneycember video on this show and already Doug’s come out with a ridiculously bad take. Good lord does this man’s childish simpleton stupidity and utter lack of comprehensive reading of details in the media he consumes and reviews never cease to astonish me, and I’m far from alone here.

Not to mention his pathological hypocrisy. Back in his Disneycember for Monsters Inc. he said “if you’re gonna do a villain in a story, make ‘em a good villain…if you’re gonna make ‘em evil, make ‘em really evil. Make ‘em diabolical. Go full Frollo on our asses!” Welp, now we have a villain in something by Disney that’s as close to a spiritual successor to Frollo as it gets and he’s still not satisfied?

[into-daylight-hope]

Qui-Gon Jinn: Certified Hypocrite, Fascinating Failure, Mass of Contradictions

For starters, I am just going to let direct quotes from the man speak for itself.

Some excerpts from Master & Apprentice

Wise words.

Wait a minute...

😯😯 What the hell is happening here? All quotes are from the same man in one book.

Qui-Gon Jinn doesn't have an ounce of self-awareness and it is so hilariously terrible.

What is even better (or worse), this is perfectly in line with The Phantom Menace characterization .

I mean,

Remember when he said all this than spent the rest of the movie obsessing over prophecies, the chosen one and literally the future?

"He still has so much to learn of the living force." Qui-Gon Jinn about Obi-Wan in the council scene

After that scene

"The boy is dangerous. They all sense it why can't you?" Obi-Wan Kenobi about Anakin Skywalker to Qui-Gon Jinn

You see Obi-Wan, Master Jinn here has completely lost any sense of "here and now" between his crusade against darkness and divine mission to save the Galaxy.

This in turn, unsurprisingly blinds him to the fact Anakin is not suitable to become a Jedi. Or at least not ready to directly move on to becoming a padawan.

Anakin himself would suffer in a road that is not meant for him. But he is not planning for Anakin the child. He is thinking about The Glorious Chose One.

He is the chosen one. You all must, see it.

And yet from Qui-Gon's perspective it is Obi-Wan who doesn't understand the Living Force.

I have to say if he is truly a student of the living force as many fans claim he has been failing the class for at least 8 years.

Let's move on to another set of entertaining and horrifyingly oblivious quotes from M&A.

If you look upward you can observe Mr. Here and Now in his natural habitat.

He really acts like future is set in stone than thinks he is the right person to talk about about concentrating in the moment. Unbelievable.

Let's look at this dialogue again. In contrast with the excerpt from above.

He is all about the future when it suits him. But when Obi-Wan makes a remark on it he obviously should just focus on the moment. This is actually the third time in this post where he contradicts himself while specifically chastising or criticizing Obi-Wan for something Qui-Gon actually does.

Now I don't think Qui-Gon acts with malice. But it is important to point out his obliviousness has become a way of ensuring he is never in the wrong.

He suffers from an immense hubris. And a man obsessed with prophecies and chosen ones definitely has some kind of savior complex.

But notably Jinn doesn't actually want to put any effort into enacting real change with his limited yet existent capabilities.

He turns down a council seat in M&A because he thinks it would hold him down. From what? Dear God, the reason they offered him a seat was for different opinions. Qui-Gon can complain all he wants but one time he actually had a chance to make his opinions a reality he freaking bailed.

Why? He doesn't want to face his own limits. He can't bare to try and fail. It is much easier to sustain a superiority complex when you are complaining from the sidewalk.

So he fixates all this belief onto prophecies, visions that will magically cure the Galaxy. And of course his place to help fulfill them. To the point where it is the one thing that keeps him standing.

He has binded meaning of his life and belief for goodness dangerously close to his supposed importance in the Galaxy. (You can feel the influences of his former master)

His absolute refusal to engage with reality turns him into mass of contradictions. Cause he doesn't know what he will find or become if he is mistaken in his belief of himself.

He can't face reinvention on the event of defeat.

But this situation was different. It had to be, because the only thing Qui-Gon knew to be absolutely true was that his vision was real.

Oh by the way, it turned out he misunderstood the vision. But when does being wrong ever stopped Qui-Gon Jinn?

No words.

Only Qui-Gon could have come near declaring himself a prophet after making a mistake. Maybe stop and reflect man? Just stop and think about your actions.

Obi-Wan Kenobi: I have a bad feeling about this.

Qui-Gon Jinn: I don't sense anything.

Of course you don't.

Honestly he doesn't have much to speak for in the cosmic force department either.

(There is the whole force ghost thing I guess. But I have no idea if that is more connected with living or cosmic force. It seems to be more about spiritual enlightenment. Which is ridiculous when you consider Yoda had go through so many trials, face his darkside, learn to truly let go just for Force priestesses to deem him worthy enough to study immortality. Yes Qui-Gon never became a force ghost but he had started his training before he died. And much of Yoda's tests on TCW was about self-awareness. It is not just about being a good person. How did Force Priestesses approve Qui-Gon "I was meant to misinterpret this vision." Jinn? I would understand if he became wiser after death and faced his flaws and all but he never was on that level before he died. You might say even Anakin became a force ghost. But I would remind you, Anakin in the end broke out of denial, acknowledged the wrong of his ways and took that leap to the light side. Self-awareness seems such an important key to becoming a force ghost. Right there with selflessness. Personally it doesn't quite feel right for a character whose biggest flaws are their lack of introspection and hubris which we never see him rise above to be the one that discovers immortality again. It feels more like a rushed plot point to explain how we get from A to B.)

This post got out of control 😂. I honestly just wanted to point out lack of communication might be one of the reasons Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon have trouble understanding each other but it is sometimes even harder to understand Qui-Gon when he actually says something. Cause ration is not what drives him.

Qui-Gon is such a complex character. He is undeniably good especially compared to other SW characters. Yet for all fandom's deifying he might be the most flawed Jedi we see on the franchise. (The ones that fell to the dark side not included.)

It is a shame wider fandom completely write off his flaws to the degree I can't even recognize the character when they talk about Jinn. Cause that Qui-Gon is so hard to feel empathy for.

When people constantly make statements like "He is The Wisest sw character." his hypocrisy stops being amusing. It doesn't end on screen or page instead often used to bash other characters.

An unbelievable analysis from Wookiepedia:

When Jinn saved the Gungan exile Jar Jar Binks, who in turn swore a life-debt to him, his compassionate nature was such that Jinn took the hapless Gungan under his wing, much to Kenobi's dismay. His empathy toward all life forms, including the most pitiful and unfortunate, was Jinn's greatest strength. Additionally, he remained understanding and patient with Queen Padmé Amidala. During the short time they knew each other, he never asked for her to do more than she was willing to.

You know out of the two, Qui-Gon was the one who insulted Jar Jar to his face. And he didn't took Jar Jar under his wing. They forced him to take them to a city where Jar Jar could have been punished for entering. Now it was the pragmatic thing to do. For all three's survival not for their own gain. Understandable. But compassion is just pushing it.

Also he never asked Padme to do more than she was willing to do?

Padmé : Are you sure about this? Trusting our fate to a boy we hardly know? The Queen will not approve.

Qui-Gon Jinn : The Queen does not need to know.

Padmé : Well, I don't approve.

And he is aware she is the queen, herself. Padme was nearly tearing out her because of this man in TPM.

What is weird, Jinn in his bewildering hypocrisy probably thinks he is being admirably compassionate with Jar Jar, highly understanding and patient with Padme. We clearly see he is not.

Out of universe he has been a force ghost for decades now but fandom is nowhere near acknowledging his flaws than he is.

And honestly SW doesn't have that many major morally complex characters. People like Maul, Palpatine, Anakin,Ventress don't think they are serving a higher purpose or oblivious to the evils they commit.

Emotionally complicated, yes. Going through moral dilemmas, no.

Three major characters come to mind who make huge mistakes, condone or commit atrocities while thinking they are in the right/with good intentions/for a greater cause. With varying degrees of culpability.

Qui-Gon. Padme. Dooku.

In that order.

Let these characters be interesting instead of demonizing nearly inhumanly selfless Jedi characters. (They make mistakes too but funnily enough they are still way better beings than most people on our planet.)

By the way I found the epitaph "Fascinating Failure" from the article here. Especially the last paragraphs make some interesting points. ⬇️

👀

This post might seem harsh but that is expected since it focuses on Qui-Gon's flaws.

"People are more than their worst act,” Quote from Qui-Gon Jinn in Master & Apprentice

[yionji]

Hey,may I request where nanami is my stepfather.

Y/n is a brat and always when she comes home from school she pulls up her skirt and unbuttons her shirt,and she likes to call nanami daddy with double meaning then he decides to punish her,Thank you!

Omg hiii ^_^ thanks for made me do this,I hope u like it,also im trying a diferrent theme so...

A/n: I try my best, but also this could have grammatical errors ;;;;;

Tags:Cervix hitting,Slight mind break,stepfather,stepdaughter, fake incest(?),Blowjob,big boobs,huge dick,cum inside,arms fetish,deepthroath,face fucked,vaginal sex,thight pussy,dirty talk,humillation,in 4,cheating,moral denigration,true love,degenerate,poor grammar,rough sex,dub-con,slaps,male domination,angry sex,gagging,crying,blackmail,Dilf,school uniform,urination,inflation,breeding,happy ending,deep,belly bulge,virgin,punishment,semi passed out,body fluids,pet behaviour,choking,smut,daddy kink.

Pairings:Nanami kento x F!reader

He looked different from any other men your mom dated.

"my name is nanami kento,nice to meet you y/n"

 So handsome,

When you came home from university he was in his work suit without the jacket,he had folded his sleeves half way down his arms below his elbows,fuck,he looks so good his veins are marked and his hands are huge,long fingers,you could feel your pussy getting wet.

"y/n"

"Uh?"

"Your food is going to get cold,eat" said your stepfather.

"Yes,daddy" you smiled to yourself,crossing your legs.

Nanami just looked at you

It became a routine for you, seeing him all day long, you were so lucky, every day you had lunch together you were late on purpose so he could see you in the short skirt you wore with the long, tight stockings.

You loved that tired face and that look in his eyes. There were times when he cooked and when he did you hugged him from behind touching his belt or climbed on the table with a short denims.

Today you decided not to wear a bra, you arrived very late at night because you said you were going to a friend's house, the shirt you wore was see-through and tight, your mom wasn't paying attention to you because she was busy at the phone.

Nanami was staring at you, his toned arms were raised clenching his fist with his other hand.

He looked at your breasts, and looked up at you, you smiled innocently at him.

"Is something wrong, daddy?"

He sighed "I think I'll go to bed" he got up and left.

You were about to continue eating when your mom interrupted you.

"Daughter, I'm going out with some friends today, you know, don't tell your dad."

"What time will you be back?"

"Tomorrow at 12 pm"

This was your chance to be with him, you waited for her to leave so you can go to his room.

Before going to his room you changed into a long white shirt with no panties.

You went upstairs to, opened the door and he wasn't there, only the bed.

So you lay down, somewhat discouraged in nanami's place.

You woke up in the middle of the night because someone had turned on the room light.

"What, oh"

Nanami is there with his costume still on.

"Y/n, what are you doing?" he said firmly.

"I wanted to sleep here with you since mom left. Where were you?"

"I took your mother to the place she said she was going" as he closed the door to the room and took off his clothes.

He is so beautiful, his chiseled body and strong arms, long legs and big hands you are sure his whole hand was bigger than your face.

"Stop looking at me with that leering look of yours."

You smiled mischievously

"So you already know?"

"From the moment I saw you I knew, you're a whore."

"I didn't expect that, are you going to let me sleep with you?"

"You don't know what you're doing" he sat down next to you, you were still in your place.

He was wearing baggy gray pants and nothing else.

You spread your legs so he could see your wet pussy.

"You're such an asshole."

He ran his hands over your face, then he leaned in towards you.

"Once I start I'm not going to stop even if you tell me to, do you understand that?"

"Yes, daddy."

Then he climbed on top of you, kissing you very roughly, his tongue dancing inside your mouth, he knew what he was doing.

How am I supposed to put my dick inside her, I'm sure even my finger won't fit in there. Nanami think.

It was as if your stepfather wanted you to know how strong he was. He didn't even ask you,but he stuck 4 of his fingers inside you. It hurt, but you didn't want him to think you couldn't handle him.

He wouldn't take his mouth off yours, until he pulled his fingers out of you.

Your mascara ran, your lips were swollen and reddish and your eyes were crystallized.

He put his fingers inside your mouth.

"Lick them."

So you leaned your head back and began to do it, making lewd noises, he removed his fingers from your mouth, a trickle of saliva between them. He put your legs between his and started to pull down his pants, you didn't get to see the whole thing and you started to lick your mouth.

"It's not going in."

"You haven't seen it yet, how can you tell?"

"Are you stupid? I said it won't fit"

He was irritated and you could hear it in his voice.

You looked at him a little scared, he pulled up his pants, turned away from you and went to look for something in his closet.

While you were still trying to calm down.

"Shit, that wouldn't even fit in my mouth."

Nanami is furious with a belt in his hand.

He walks up to you and grabs you by the wrists tightly. "Don't ever talk to me like that again." He take off your shirt and he sat on the bed and pulled you onto his lap. "What are you doing?" you scream and he just smirk. "What you should have gotten a long time ago. A good old fashioned punishment. Are you going to act like a whore? Then you're going to be treated like one."

He ties the belt around your neck, closing the buckle on it.

As you kick your legs trying to get it off.

A part of you, however, is intrigued by what he is doing and doesn't want him to stop. "Stop moving bitch or I'll tie you to the bed."

You spit at him as he slaps your ass hard. You scream and squirm as he gives you several and you feel your ass turn red,burn and sore.

"Such a pretty shade of red." He murmur "Are you liking this?" He ask genuinely.

Your cheeks turn red. "You're doing fucking great." You gasp as the belt was choking you and he looks at you.

"I'll have fun with you tonight" you smile "Now let's start your punishment."

Did I hear that right? Start?

You drop your head as nanami gropes your ass.

"Good girl" he gives a few more swats on your hot ass before lifting you up next to him. " I've wanted this for so long. I just wanted to slap those silly punks and show them that you're mine,"

He mumbled before kissing you hard.

This was by far the best kiss of your life.

He removed the belt from your throat and you caught some breath,

until he grabbed you by the hair making you fall on the floor in 4, forcing you to stay in that position, you looked up to see a big bulge in his pants.

Nanami was pulling you by the hair towards his cock and you couldn't take your eyes off his bulge.

"What a slut I have as a daughter"

he lifts your face to the bulge and presses your head into it.

Fuck he smelled good, you felt like you were floating.

After that he pulls down his pants letting his cock out with a *plop*. It was big, long, veiny, with a curve and his head was big, standing up with a rock hard erection.

There's no way it's going in my mouth.

He strokes your lips with the head of his cock, you only have eyes on his cock.

He slaps you hard on the face.

"Don't take your eyes off my face."

as he knows how degrading this is and wants to make sure you don't try to hide. He keeps slapping you across the face as he stares into your eyes making sure we maintain contact,your cheeks were already red. Then he puts his cock back in your mouth,

"Don't ever look away again."

he starts to fuck your mouth hard. His cock was going in a back and forth motion the tip was not hitting your uvula, you can feel his precum on the tip of his cock as he continues to enter your mouth, a few more inches, with each thrust he was forcing more into your throat now he keeps his cock inside now as you start to choke and cry and try to pull back, he grabs you by the hair and forces you to stay still, you felt as if your jaw was going to open sucking such a cock then he pulls back and slaps your face hard with his hand.

"I thought I told you not to take your eyes off me, you can't even follow an order that easy" you hear as he gives you another slap and pushes his cock back inside you.

It makes him harder as you try to take his cock.

Your mind was dizzy you feel drool and saliva dripping down your chin as his rhythm quickens and you feel confused.

"Your pussy fluids are making a puddle on the floor y/n, like a dog"

you can't do anything but get aroused as his deep, panting voice couldn't be sexier. Feeling his hand holding you tightly and he continues to fuck your face as the tears fall to join all the drool.

You were wondering how long you had been with him since mom left, your knees were sore, your neck and jaw hurt. When he was about to cum?, your mouth could no longer contain his cock.

He let go of your hair and placed both his hands on your head. And you were you right, they were bigger than your face. He started to fuck your mouth even harder which made you kick and scream with his cock in your mouth, he ignored this and continued as if nothing happened, he let out a moan and pushed back on your head and you could feel the sweat on his pelvis with the tip of your nose, He pushed harder so that his cock filled your throat, the tip was no longer hitting your uvula, it was touching your esophagus.

Nanami dropped all his cum down your throat,with a slight moan,every drop of hot cum filling your mouth, but he still wouldn't take his cock out of your mouth.

"If you waste a drop, I won't do this with you again."

He pulled his cock out of your mouth and you watched as every centimeter slipped away.

With your body trembling, you tilt your head back trying to swallow all his cum, you know big cock means big balls.

Gagging noises came out of your throat as you finally swallowed all of his cum, he grabbed you by the neck and opened your mouth wide open, he wanted to make sure you weren't lying.

He picked you up off the floor and threw you on the bed. Your dripping hole didn't hold on to anything and you kept trying to sit up but ended up squirming like a helpless animal, but with no luck. That only made him hornier. He kissed you placing his legs between yours.

"I think you're ready now."

the wet tip found your tight hole and tried to push in, but you squeezed your hole as tight as you could, refusing to give access come on, it's big but you wanted so badly to fight one more time.

He grunted in annoyance, Use his powerful hands to grab the bottom of both your thighs, holding you open and still for him. You didn't want to pull back and without a second thought, you tried to wrap your arms around his neck as he held you over his lap with his hands gripping the back of your knees. He held you painfully open and you couldn't hold yourself tight any longer with the slick lips of your pussy opening before him and his hard cock.

. He was so strong that he held you casually with the strength of his arms without flinching one bit, and then his cock, hot and slippery began to enter you.

Your eyes widened and you shuddered uncontrollably, feeling his hot breath against your ear and cheek. You moaned loudly and as he slid deeper into your entrance, slipping between your tight walls, there was no way you could contain the primal moan that escaped you.

"No! A-Aaaah! What are you... doing to me? It feels good."

"You asked for this didn't you?" you already sounded shattered, he's hulking you clawed at his back and squirmed. His cock was wiggling like crazy inside your tight, soaking wet hole, pulling it out and pushing it back in from slapping against your cervix. It felt like a living creature all by itself. He let out moans and began to gyrate your hips, moving you any way he pleased and thrusting his veiny member in and out of you, simply pushing it back and forth from his pelvis.

He moaned in pleasure, the noise sounded somewhat strange to you. "I'm getting you ready for my seed, you silly girl."

" I'm really surprised. I thought your inside would be as soft as your outside. But ooo, oh..." He pushed the tapered tip to the hilt, the big head stroking and wiggling against your sensitive cervix, curling up to thrust hard into your sweet bundle of nerves, making you let out a long moan.

"You are much, much softer here. My daughter is so soft and pliable." You sighed in new ecstasy. You never got to enjoy degenerate pleasures like fucking and breeding.

The morbid pleasure coming off you was sweet but the gestures you made was too much for him,The aroma of your pussy juice dripping on his cock,he put his fingers inside you even with his cock inside you just to taste your juices,it was the closest thing to the taste of heavenly nectar.

At this action you just collapsed on the bed,his cock in your pussy pushed faster and swirled quickly inside you. Nanami's fingers rubbed and stroked your clit expertly and the crushing noises of his cock against your pussy grew louder as you grew wetter.

Tears rolled down your hot cheek, you began to feel that familiar tug at your core, forcing your walls to shudder around it. "I... I'm.... . C-..." Your words sounded choked, he began to choke you. Before you knew it, a blast of numbing euphoria crashed into you, spreading from your fucking pussy, through your legs and down to your toes .Your body relaxed and you were just breathing hard trying to catch your breath. "Hey" he says and you feel a hand grab a fistful of your hair to pull your head back wildly, making you scream in pain and surprise.

"Do you think we're done, Pet?" positioning his thumb on your lower lip. "My little bitch has to be thoroughly tamed. Your pathetic naughty little hole has yet to be molded and shaped by my desire. You are still too tight for what I want to do to you."

You were confused, even feeling a little scared again because you had just experienced the orgasm of all orgasms, nothing that masturbation or toys could experience, and yet somehow, Fuck, being with your stepfather was a sinful nightmare, but he was doing it so well.

Kento turned you over and lifted your ass. He bent down and approached your ear, moving your hair to the other side.

"Y/n?"

"y..yes daddy."

"You were virgin?"

Sobbing you tried to form a word and nanami's arm was around your neck.

"Yes, I was"

He kissed your cheek happy to be the first man to be inside you.

He turned you around and spread your legs. Your battered hole couldn't take it anymore and you struggled to close your legs gently but nanami squeezed the slits near your pelvis to open them wide again. He spit on his penis to lubricate it and masturbate before entering you. The sight of that was enough to give anyone a fucking heart attack.

You sobbed, and shook your head at him. "No, wait, don't come in," you pleaded.

"You already take it, of course you can now"

He made sure your legs were spread wide enough for him, he started by slowly pushing his head in once he entered, and with a push of his cock and a pull of your hips with his hands, his huge cock thrust into your pussy.

You screamed, there were no words to describe the feeling, it was too good, too much for your little pussy. You felt too stuffed, the pleasure was scorching. Nanami pulled your body down on his cock until the head slammed into your cervix, filling every nook and cranny of your defeated pussy. Nanami felt your wetness and heat envelop him completely. He let out a long, drawn out moan that echoed in your ear, taking a moment to savor the initial act of suddenly filling your Pet. Tears began to stream down your face unable to hold them back any longer. Your soft pussy was forced to hold it back, the lips of your cunt stretched to the limit to embrace and squeeze.

Nanami could not believe that the fragile form of a small, pretty stepdaughter could pleasure him in this way. He knew he was becoming addicted.

He pulled out until only the head was trapped inside you and thrust in again. The large mass at the tip of his head, a very faint but visible lump rose up and formed in your belly from your the area under your stomach. You could do nothing but feel his dick move and stroke you and, without warning, he moved forward, reaching deeper, causing your bladder to feel stimulated and urine a little on his penis, wetting it.

He pushed his entire cock inside you one more time.

"I'm going to come inside your uterus, y/n," sharply his own thrusts became louder as he tried to force as much of his cock into your pussy as possible,

"about to cum?, I can feel your pussy, you like my cock hitting your cervix, don't you honey?"

"goddammit,please daddy" his pelvis pounding your ass so brutally you wondered if there would be bruises, "are you going to cum, what a greedy pussy. I'm going to cum, fuck, what a tight pus..sy."

His thrusts were so deep that you could feel the semen shooting out of him.

The tip of his penis was able to open your cervix a little, he wasn't lying when he said he was going to cum in your uterus.

You could feel the semen shooting into your loins, mixing with the copious amounts of your fluids and sloshing around. You felt as if he was in your stomach, as if his cock had unloaded a load of cum directly into your belly and the pressure was immense. You screamed, your nails digging back into Nanami's chest as he groaned,your softened at the orgasm.

He pulled his length out of your pussy,and contemplated what he did.

"Wow, what a mess."

"D-daddy, ," you said with your last breaths.

He lay down next to you kissing your forehead. "You did great,baby"as he looked at you with a warm smile.

Your body was already tired, you just fell asleep with a smile on your face.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 14.5

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  And it’s unbelievable, truly, that he’s found someone who makes him feel as though he’s flying and falling simultaneously. 

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,701

Warnings: angst, dialogue heavy, language, angst, Violence, plot plot plot, did I mention angst? Cuz it’s here

Author Note: Texas weather is no laughing matter and never have I hated snow more than these last few days. This is definitely more of a transition segment so I wrote shorter snippets as a result, but there is some serious plot development nevertheless. The response to last chapter was so amazing I can’t thank everyone enough for all the love and support 💖💖💖

Links to Part 1 and Part 14 and Part 15

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Ahsoka hijacks the Razor Crest as soon as Din teleports her aboard the ship. She pushes Din out of the cockpit, refusing to let him so much as glimpse the coordinates of the destination she inputs into the nav computer. The Oracle hadn’t been kidding when she said she didn’t trust him going alone to rescue his soulmate.

Bo-Katan hadn’t been phased by Ahsoka’s arrival, adapting to her presence with the same ease as a duck to water. However, Din couldn’t help noticing the moment her mask of cool indifference slipped when Ahsoka asked the reaper to stay in the cockpit with her, claiming they had important matters to discuss. 

Din climbs down the ladder into the hull, recognizing that the conversation about to ensue is not one he needs to be involved in. Fingers twitching restlessly, he commits himself to checking each of the weapons in his armory, sharpening his vibroblades and loading a set of whistling birds into his vambrace. He’d made a promise to Ahsoka against killing Moff Gideon, but he’d made no vow against scarring the Seraph beyond recognition.

When Din’s finished with him, Gideon will be a warning to the rest of the galaxy what happens if you steal from Death. 

He stills at the thrum of satisfaction that runs through his body at the thought of pressing Gideon’s eyeballs out with his thumbs. The darkness within him has grown stronger since he killed Hess and it’s becoming an increasingly harder challenge denying its craving for bloodshed. If not for Ahsoka’s intervention, he would have reaped Xi’an’s soul, breaking another sacred rule. He should feel grateful, but the darkness expresses annoyance instead, upset to have been denied its kill. 

There is a thought that has been plaguing the back of his mind, shackled in the same corner as his other doubts and regrets. He once had iron control over his powers and emotions, but now he’s holding onto his human façade by a mere thread. So slowly he hadn’t even been aware it was happening, his darkness has usurped his morality. 

He’s meant to be a neutral entity, but when he looks at his reflection in the fresher mirror all he sees is a weapon. 

Obsidian orbs have replaced brown eyes. Flawless tan skin has become dissected by lines of ink that once were blue veins. 

Darkness is corrupting him from the inside out, making him a slave to the power he once mastered.

And he doesn’t have a fucking clue how to stop it. 

~~

Bo-Katan joins him in the hull an hour later. She doesn’t say anything , just leans against the wall across from him, and Din continues cleaning the barrel of his amban rifle as if he doesn’t see her. 

The silence isn’t tense or uncomfortable, but he feels her gaze trying to penetrate his helmet. He knows the reaper well-enough to tell there is a question on her mind, but her hesitance to voice it unsettles him. Bo-Katan rarely holds her tongue around him, preferring blunt honesty over sugarcoating, which means whatever is on her mind must be serious. 

He bites back a sigh when she starts restlessly shifting in place and pauses his task. “Ahsoka told you,” he says at last.

“That Moff Gideon fucked with our lives?” Bo-Katan snorts humorlessly. “Yeah, she showed me everything.”

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Me too. But it’s...good not being in the dark anymore. I needed to hear the truth,” she replies stoically, but the pointless adjustment of her headband betrays her internal strife. There is a moment of pause before she looks at him again. “I heard about your promise,” she says, and it’s not really a question, except that it is.

Din’s fingers tighten around the rifle. “Did she make you swear the same one?”

“No.” Bo-Katan shakes her head. “No, she didn’t.”

He’s not surprised by the answer. He actually thinks he should have expected it, considering the universe has always held him to a stricter standard than other entities. 

“Ahsoka made it clear to me that this is something between you, Gideon, and your angel alone. I cannot interfere just like you cannot kill him.”

There is bitter resignation in her tone. He recognizes it because he felt the same when he made his promise to Ahsoka. No one likes being told no when they want something. But this—knowing with absolute certainty Gideon is the one responsible for hurting their loved ones and being told you can’t do anything to avenge them? This is the kind of pain that will linger for years to come as an ache in their bones and a scar over their hearts.

It isn’t fair. But Din’s lived long enough to know the universe never intended life to be that way.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Bo-Katan asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He blinks at her, realizing this is the question she’d been withholding since she came down the ladder. Never has she asked him a request before. “What is it?”

“You must separate Gideon from the Darksaber,” she answers, expression one of absolute seriousness. “The Armorer warned my people if the Lightsaber was ever mishandled, it would turn against the wielder by transforming into the Darksaber. Instead of empowering you, it deceives you. Fills your head with delusions until you lose your grip on reality entirely.”

“And you want to spare Gideon’s sanity?” Din asks slowly.

“Of course not. The son of a bitch deserves to be punished for his crimes. Even if I did want to,” her lips curl into a snarl at the thought, “there’s no way of undoing the damage done to his mind. What I want is for the weapon to be returned to the Armorer. She’s the only one who can properly dispose of it.”

“Right,” he agrees quietly. Anything that comes out of the Armorer’s forge is built to last the length of eternity. He could toss the Darksaber into the center of a sun and it’d remain whole and unaffected, waiting to twist the mind of the next wielder. Nodding his head, he assures her, “I’ll take care of it, even if I have to cut off his hands.”

“Good.”

~~

Din paces the length of the hull, each thud of his boots making contact with the metal floor blends with the low hum of the engines. Usually he’d ignore the creaks and groans of his home, but the metallic symphony is the only thing capable of drowning out the thoughts in his head urging him to storm the cockpit and retake control from Ahsoka.

“Pacing isn’t going to make us arrive any quicker,” Bo-Katan tells him, not even bothering to open her eyes as she lounges atop one of his storage crates. “Ahsoka said it will be another hour at least.”

He has a retort ready on his tongue when a voice calls out his name from somewhere beyond the Razor Crest.

“Din!”

Din freezes in place as unexpected, heart-wrenching hope slices through his chest. He knows that voice. It’s his favorite in all the galaxy.

“Death?” Bo-Katan asks, concerned by his stillness. “What’s wrong?”

He tentatively reaches out towards the bond, giving it the slightest of tugs. When he feels the distant flicker of a reaction on the other end from his angel he nearly forgets how to breathe.

“The bond,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe and relief. “I can feel it again.”

Longing fills his chest where the hollowness used to reside now that the invisible block separating them is gone. It wraps around his heart, squeezing so tightly he nearly falls to his knees. Din pulls at the bond again on impulse, possessed by the all-consuming need to see her, to have her at his side where she’ll be safe.

The bond protests the harsh treatment, too weak to physically bring them together across the vast distance separating them. He snarls a curse under his breath, hating being helpless to protect her. It’s unfair, he finds himself thinking for a second time. Unfair how it hurts more now being able to feel her presence compared to when he couldn’t at all.

A paper airplane flickers into existence on the horizon of his mind, flying straight into his hand when he reaches out for it. I can’t leave this place. Not yet, the note says. The words themselves are unsettling, but it’s the strength of the emotions she’s attached that has him reeling with shock. For one crazy, electrifying moment he thinks he’s passed onto the afterlife. 

Another note arrives. I miss you, Din. I want to see you so much it hurts. And it’s unbelievable, truly, that he’s found someone who makes him feel as though he’s flying and falling simultaneously. 

As he sends a message of his own, never has he been more certain that if anyone can put an end to the darkness inside of him—it’s her.

~~

“The Moff is an expert when it comes to defensive warding,” Ahsoka says as the three of them stand looking up at a canyon wall that extends in either direction as far as their eyes can see. “But even he can’t hide from my sight.”

Din scuffs at the salt-covered ground with his boot, still coming to terms with the fact all this time Gideon’s been hiding out on Crait of all planets. As much as he wants to believe Ahsoka’s right, his powers can’t detect even the barest hint of the Seraph’s presence.  

Bo-Katan’s eyebrows arch with skepticism. “You’re sure this is the right place? It’s kind of remote.”

“Perfect for building an army,” Ahsoka replies without missing a beat.

Din exchanges a look with his reaper, realizing this is the first time either of them are hearing about this. 

“Gideon has an army?” he asks. “Who—”

“Mercenaries,” she interrupts, turning around to face them. Her blue eyes are distant and cloudy, entranced by a vision. “When I break the warding, all but one will meet the end of their mortal lives attempting to overpower us.”

“All but one? I don’t think so.” Bo-Katan rests her hands deliberately on her blaster pistols. “Anyone who works for Gideon is an enemy in my book.”

“Migs Mayfeld is not to be harmed.” There is steel in Ahsoka’s voice as she blinks back into the present moment.

Din nudges Bo-Katan with his arm when it looks like she wants to continue arguing. The reaper huffs a quiet breath of annoyance, but eventually jerks her head in the tiniest nod of compliance. 

Ahsoka grabs her twin sabers from her belt and ignites their blue blades. She handles her weapons with deadly grace, altering her appearance from peaceful Oracle to fierce and cunning warrior. Turning back to the canyon wall, her gaze trails over the red-brown rocks only to pause and narrow at seemingly random points.

Bo-Katan tries and fails to follow her line of vision. “What are you—”

The Oracle leaps into the air with surprising agility, lashing out with her sabers against the rock. Blinding light bursts forth from the point of collision followed by a flickering glimpse of a gigantic metal door. 

“—looking at,” Bo-Katan finishes quietly, watching Ahsoka swing herself higher to attack another portion of the canyon wall where the next segment of warding is hidden. 

There is something undeniably satisfying about seeing the door materialize as the wardings cloaking it are destroyed. Every precise strike of Ahsoka’s sabers brings Din one step closer to reuniting with his soulmate.

As if spurred by the mere thought of her, fear ripples across the bond like a gust of icy wind, stopping his heart cold. His angel is terrified. Din reaches out as far as the bond will allow in its fragile state, trying to get her attention by pulling at it and shouting her name, but none of his attempts breach the storm of panic. 

“She needs me,” he mutters to himself, stepping forward with clenched fists. His vision narrows until all he can see is the door in front of him, an obstacle that must be dealt with. “She needs my help.”

“Wait,” Bo-Katan calls out, but her voice sounds as if it’s coming from thousands of miles away. “Ahsoka isn’t finished with the warding yet!”

If he were capable of rational thought in that moment, he would have heeded her warning. As it is, he summons his power into the palm of his hand, the darkness inside of him crowing in wicked delight. He winds his arm back, preparing to slam his fist against the door, only for a whipcord to wrap around his wrist with an audible zip. 

He’s pulled backwards onto the ground, breath knocked from his lungs as he lands with a heavy thud. Bo-Katan appears not a second later and pins him in place by straddling his waist. The darkness is demanding he push her aside, knowing with absolute certainty the reaper is no match against him, and it takes all his strength to wrestle the urge under control. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” She glares at him, eyes resembling green flames eager to incinerate him.

“I—” he rasps, breathing heavily. His hand starts trembling, a burning itch under his skin. “I can feel her fear. She needs me.”

Bo-Katan blows out a long, frustrated breath. “Well, shit.” She jostles him then, forcing his head to momentarily clear as his helmet smacks the ground. “Look, soulmates are soulmates for a reason, right? I heard it’s like being two halves of the same whole. So if your soulmate is anything like you, she’s not going to give up without a fight. You have to trust she can take care of herself right now. That she’ll be fine.”

Din bristles. Trust is not the issue here. There is no one he trusts more than his angel—not Bo-Katan, not Ahsoka, not even Kuiil. The issue is he’s being asked to deny the instinct to shield her from danger which is woven into every cell of his being.

“She’ll be fine.” The words come out sounding sharp around the edges, cutting his tongue like shrapnel. “Everything will be fine.”

Bo-Katan disconnects the whipcord and rises to full height, apparently satisfied by his agreement. Din pushes himself onto his feet at a slower pace, his hand still shaking as if it's electric. He looks down at it, noticing for the first time the flesh is gone, replaced entirely by shadow. His expression tightens as he observes the change, realizing the black tendrils are slowly creeping up towards his wrist. 

An alarm rings out, reverberating off the canyon walls like an explosion. Din’s gaze snaps up just as Ahsoka lands on the ground in a defensive crouch. Now that it's been fully unveiled, the door bears a striking resemblance to ones he’s seen at military fortresses across the galaxy, ridiculously massive to intimidate enemies and impenetrable from outside attacks. It makes sense, he thinks with a scoff, someone as power-hungry as Gideon claiming an abandoned base as their lair. Without the wardings, Din is able to detect the massive number of souls gathering on the other side, resembling vermin crawling over one another in their haste to arm themselves. 

He searches for his angel’s soul, even just a glimpse of her bright light, only for his powers to instead encounter a massive cloud of dark, negatively-charged energy within a distant corner of the underground tunnel system. It fills an entire room, prohibiting him from sensing if anyone is inside. There is something strangely familiar about the energy, like he’s encountered its essence before, but he can’t recall the specifics of when or where. 

“It’s time.” 

Ahsoka’s voice reels his focus back to his physical surroundings. He notices the way her grip on her sabers tightens in anticipation and out of the corner of his eye Bo-Katan withdraws her blasters from their holsters.

The bottom of the door begins to raise with an earsplitting groan, but the mercenaries only wait the minimum amount of time it takes to pass under without hitting their heads to start charging forward. 

Every mortal has a beginning and an end just like everything else in the galaxy. These mercenaries are no exceptions, having long sealed their fates when they agreed to accept Gideon’s payment. So when Din’s shadowy hand phases through a man’s chest and tears his heart out of its cavity, staining the white salt under their feet crimson as blood bursts from the vacant hole, Din tells himself he’s simply fulfilling destiny. 

He repeats it when he discharges an assault of whistling birds, each one puncturing the throats of each target they encounter with a shrill warcry. And also when he rips a devaronian’s horn out of his head, a fragment of skull and bits of brain matter still gruesomely attached. 

Again and again, with each permanently silenced voice and every shattered fragile bone, destiny is fulfilled. 

~~

Din would be lying if he said he’s never wondered what it would be like to die. To pass on from this world into a new realm for him to explore. He’s imagined the idyllic afterlife mortals have written poems and novels about, describing it as a blissful safe haven where sorrow and tragedy have no definition because they do not exist. He’s familiar with their opinions of damnation’s appearance, too, as an infernal place of fire and brimstone and screaming.

They were wrong about that.

Damnation is not a distant hell. It is found in an underground lair on Crait. 

Instead of flames and sulfur, a Cupid’s blood is split and a soulmate bond is snapped in half. 

Instead of screaming, a madman laughs.

“I’ve waited so long for this moment,” Gideon says through his chuckles, hauling himself onto his feet. His voice is an abrasive rasp, as if he’s shredded his vocal cords by screaming. “I’ve had to be patient, wait to find your weakness so I could catch your attention. It’s a shame, really, she had to be the one you fell for. She was quite the little spitfire.”

Din stares at his soulmate’s motionless body, frozen in place. Please, he pulls at his severed half of the bond, resolutely ignoring how cold it feels. Open your eyes, angel. Don’t leave me. Please.

There is no response. Just heartbreaking silence.

“I sense your anger, your hurt, and grief. Those are mortal emotions.” The Seraph grimaces in disgust, then lets out a low hiss when he agitates the wounds on his face. “By living amongst their kind you’ve forgotten your true potential. You are not their equal, Death. You are their superior. Immortals are meant to be better than them. To rule over every aspect of their pitiful lives.”

“I don’t want to rule anyone,” Din says, dragging his eyes away from his angel to glare at Gideon. Both his hands begin to shake as his mind plunges into a gaping abyss of remorse and despair. “I just want a life with her.”

“Even dead, she continues to blind you.”

Din snarls viciously in response. His control is pushed closer to the brink, holding on by mere fingertips, and darkness engulfs the entire room as a result. 

The glow of the Darksaber persists, reflecting off his beskar and Gideon’s armor. It reminds him of moonlight, and he thinks for all that Bo-Katan warned him about the weapon’s sinful qualities, she did not mention its beauty. Even Ahsoka’s vision had failed to truly capture its radiance, just as a holovid can never compete with a face-to-face conversation. 

His powers are drawn to the Darksaber. The energy it emits matches the one encountered earlier when searching the tunnels for his angel’s aura. This close, there is no ignoring its familiarity, not when his brain feels seconds away from exploding. 

“I used to believe love conquers all,” Gideon prattles on, seemingly oblivious to Din’s torment. “I chose it as the Cupid motto because I thought there was nothing mortals cared more about than the health and happiness of their loved ones. Only after our fateful encounter did the Lightsaber reveal to me the truth.”

Lightsaber? Din’s head jerks up to stare at him, biting back a wince when the throbbing in the back of his mind intensifies at the movement. Does Gideon not realize the weapon has transformed? 

By connecting Ahsoka’s claim that Gideon didn’t fully understand the consequence of corrupting the Lightsaber with Bo-Katan’s explanation that the Darksaber deceives its wielder, the answer is an obvious one: he doesn’t.

Gideon mistakes Din’s confusion for interest and his lips slowly curl into a smile. “Mors aeterna. It means—”

“Death is eternal.” The translation slips unbiddenly from Din’s lips before he even realizes his mouth has opened.

“There is no one more feared or respected than you. But for what reason? What have you done to earn your reputation?” Gideon demands, spit flying as his anger flares. “You are no more than the universe’s favorite puppet. Mindlessly obedient to its every demand.” 

Hearing the truth always hurts, but hearing it from Gideon is especially torturous. Din’s creed to the universe has dictated his actions the entirety of his existence. He never fought against its orders, never thought of his own desires as more important than what it wanted.

Until he matched with his soulmate. She changed his priorities and shifted the center of his entire world by revealing to him even Death could experience love. 

There had been no hesitation when he broke his creed for her.

And he doesn’t hesitate breaking Ahsoka’s promise now.

“I just murdered your soulmate right in front of you and you do nothing. Did you ever love her at all?”

“I do.”

Din summons every trace of power and darkness he possesses and combines them together within his core—a volatile, pulsating mass of pure chaos. His beskar armor starts to crack and chip away, unable to withstand the increasing pressure. 

He thinks of his angel’s smiling face, the sound of her laughter, how bright her soul shines, and he thinks all those things are gone now. Not even a chance to say goodbye.

“More than anything.”

And Death lets go.

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[runephoenix6769]

“What is with the Blake / Yang hate this week? Folks seem particularly fired up.” I asked this question on a forum because of something I’ve noticed the last few days on discussions about Blake and Yang/Bumbleby/shipping in general. I keep seeing the same answers.  “It ruins the team’s dynamic.”

Welp, I’m pretty certain none of those people would say that Raven/Tai and Tai/Summer ruined the team’s dynamic. Or that Ren and Nora are currently  ruining the team’s dynamic.  What is this holy than thou crusading to protect the sanctity of the team dynamic? Rwby has always been first and foremost about interpersonal relationships. It’s what drives the actual plot. Character growth, failing relationships/friendships. How they change over time, either to grow or crumble. 

“It’s being shoehorned in, for fanwank.” How? How is it being shoehorned in? Give me a narrative breakdown as to where/how/when this occurs? Compare it to the Sun/Blake narrative and show me the glaring differences between the Yang/Blake narrative to prove that bumbleby was never planned yet blacksun was?  (Sidenote. Anyone that has been asked to do this on the forum has yet to do it.)

“Yang showed interest in boys.”“ Yes, yes she passed comment once. In vol 1 episode 1. 8 VOLUMES AGO. She has shown not a lick of interest in guys since. Its almost as if she’s like any normal 17 year old girl who is growing into adulthood and figuring herself out, who might be realising her interest in Blake isn’t strictly platonic and is trying to navigate that whilst also grappling with what that means with regards to their friendship. And dealing with an over arching situation that is, ya know, potentially the end of the world as they know it.  It’s about two years in universe, right? Which is about right of an amount of time for what its happening between them to play out. It only feels like longer to the audience because, well, its taken 8/9 years to tell the story up until that point. 

“The Fans are too loud/vocal/come on too strong.” Ok, this one I agree with, we are loud and vocal and that might come across as coming on strong  (here’s a huge) BUT, there is actually a genuine explanation for why it seems that way.   If you really think about it, objectively. 

Hear me out.  Fans are excited about the potential representation we don't otherwise usually get in media. I mean, if you have 10,000 pieces of media and only ONE of them represents lgbtq people, of course we’re gonna be excited and talk about the ONE quite a bit with others who are like us. This might also be the first time we’ve seen anything like this, or seen ourselves represented in a somewhat positive light. It stands to reason that the other 9999 pieces aren't going to hold our attention as much, esp if its the same hetero romance played out a bajillion times before, right? I mean, if you have a group of people who are constantly represented in the 9999 other shows, their voices are going to spread thinner, right? They aren’t going to be gathered all on one place, talking about the same thing because there are 9999 other choices to connect them to other people. They aren’t going to care as much if their straight ship happens/doesnt happen 

“Hey, I can move onto another piece of media that is churned out by the status quo. No big deal.”

Hetero romances are ten a penny. Flick through netflix, hulu, crunchy roll etc.  Where as if you have a group of people who are only represented in ONE show out of the 10,000 those people are going to gather in one place to connect with others and its only going to seem like they are louder due to the densely packed space.  These same people have been majority silent about the other 9999 pieces of media as their voice isn't usually represented in a positive light - being queer characters are usually brutally murdered or sidelined. (Thankyou Hays Code.)- or not even represented at all. (Bury Your Gays is a trope for a reason, folks.) And we are NEVER the titular characters. We’ve been living on crumbs and subtext for decades! Not to mention showrunners who actively queerbait the hell out of us for ratings and viewership. The almighty Pink Pound as its often referred to in business. “But why do they have to make them gay?” You’re not made gay, you’re born gay. It just takes longer for some people to realise than others. It can be a gradual realisation. And this is quite possibly the case with Yang/Blake, slowly coming to realise their own burgeoning sexualities and attraction to each other.

”Why do they have to be gay?” They don't need a reason to be queer! They just are! Queerness is only a part of a person, not their everything. It’s actually quite refreshing to see Yang/Blake being portrayed as much more than their potential sexuality.  Ask yourself, ‘Why does a character have to be straight? And why doesn’t a straight character have to constantly reaffirm their sexuality? Why is ‘straightness’ assumed by default?’ Heteronormativity, is something that has been perpetuated by decades of media. (helped by the Hays Code with its out of date moral code. To be other is to be punished within the narrative.) That straight is the default setting. It’s not! We exist! Everywhere! We always have and we are going to talk to each other about it when we see a glimpse of ourselves represented in what has been a relative Sahara Desert when it comes to queer content were we are not villainised.   “The romance is detracting from the plot.” Two seconds ago, people were claiming that the romance was none existent. Which is it? But Nora and Ren’s romance that is being held up as a mirror to bumbleby is fine? That Jaune relentlessly pursuing Weiss was perfectly ok. Neptune openly hitting on female characters is fine. 

“I don’t have a problem with LGBT. I just don’t want it forced down my throat.” Again, out of 10,000 pieces of media, this is just ONE show. Nobody is forcing anyone to watch it or participate.  Queer people have had to stomach literal 100′s of years of straight media forced upon them. Since the very conception of the written word and narrative storytelling. In plays, theatre, art, music, tv, film, on billboards, advertising, in places of education and learning etc etc. Queer people are bombarded with it whilst also being surrounded by negativity towards queerness. 

“They are shoving it down my throat!” part two Is hand holding, compassion and expressing concern for another person and comforting them somehow offensive? Renora kissed, not a problem. Arkos kissed, not a problem. Show me in the sand where the line is drawn. What is the difference? Please explain this to me? Why is the expression of queerness somehow offensive? Is this because decades of media have perpetuated the false idea that all queer people are sex crazed perverts? That you’ve been groomed into thinking that queer sexuality is only based in the act of sex itself? That queer sexuality couldn’t possibly be similar to heterosexuality in its expression?

That it couldn’t possibly be about attraction, emotional, mental and maybe one day blossom into physical between two consenting adults, a pure expression of love the exact same as heterosexuality. 

That some how queer love stems from some sort of deviancy or mental health issue. That queer people are some how bad or evil, and therefore their expression of affection is wrong? Oh, I wonder where those beliefs have possibly stemmed from?  “Why are they in my face?” part three.  50% of of the titular cast are potentially queer. Blake and Yang. But if you look at the overall cast ensemble that runs at minimum 16 any given volume, that’s a measly 12.5% (prolly a lot smaller if you actually counted the whole cast that appears in rotation each volume) Also, someone did the math. Blake - a titular character- actually has less spoken lines that Jaune. ffs. B&Y spent neatly a whole two volumes of 8 apart. 25% of the narrative as it stands on entirely different continents. 

I fail to see how it being in someone’s face could be the case.

  “I just don't see it!”

That’s ok and perfectly valid But listen when people who have lived this experience are telling you that their experience is being portrayed on the screen. That they see themselves being represented.  OK, This completely got away from me. In conclusion. They are more straight people than queer people and media often reflects that.   We are usually the silent minority, we are sick of it but we are used to it and we are very excited that things seem to be finally changing.

It’s two characters in an large cast in ONE show out of 10,000. Its a piece of media that, for a change, hasn’t been 100% curated for straight people.  We are often not allowed to play in the sand box and if we are, we’re told to play with the broken toys, be grateful and quiet. So when we are given a sandbox to play in with new unbroken toys, we are gonna dog pile in there and make a ruckas, calling our friends over. What I’m trying to say is, it’s gonna get rowdy.  and here’s something to think about.  “When you are used to privilege, equality feels like deprivation.”  

[inessencedevided]

His fall is strangely peaceful even though angry voices still ring in his ears, he can still see the glint of Jiang Cheng’s sword, the flinty anger in his eyes. He can still hear Lan Zhan calling out for him, pleading him to come back. Oh my heart’s song, he thinks. Did you not know that I needed for you to be safe? Did you not notice that I am already dead?

He falls and falls and the abyss reaches for him, cradles him like a child, the arms of a faceless and yet many-faced mother, wipes the tears from his face.

Why did I not die? he wants to shout, wants to cry out but he lets the Mounds welcome him home. Does not even ask why they are here because where there is battle, there will be corpses. There will be despair and death.

Wei Wuxian, do you want revenge? the darkness calls out as it did once before, overlapping voices of a thousands lost souls.

Accusing fingers, greedy voices, steel on steel. Steel trough flesh. They will be hanged for their crimes.

I want to protect. I want to keep safe. He answers.

The shadows come for him, a cacophony of silence, tangle him in their grasp, swallow him and he knows no more.

————————

In every universe Jin Guangshan is a greedy man, blinded by his own quest for power to see people suffering in front of his own doorstep. In some universes he lets the Wens be hanged right away, lets the doctor burn and lets the shy, moon-eyed Wen Ning be turned into a weapon. This universe made him decide to keep them alive as a last ditch failsafe if Wei Wuxian did survive the battle and would not want to give him the Yin Iron.

The whispers of an unknown, unheard of dark presence in the Burial Mounds start after the Second Jade of Lan comes to Koi Tower and demands for the Wens to be freed. His eyes are flat, cold and dead and Jin Guangyao recognises in him a man that has nothing left to live for but revenge. His robes are tied right over left and the white of mourning.

He gets sent away and punished for his insolence by the Elders who have just looked for a reason. Their screams can be heard in Cloud Recesses after nightfall and when the morning comes, they will not touch another disciple whip ever again.

Did you not know that I needed for you to be safe?

It is no surprise that someone or in this case something rises up and demands again, on terms that are much more pressing than those of the broken Second Jade. Shadows haunt Jin Guangshan’s dreams, follow him into every moment of his day, darken his doorstep, make him feel as if his every movement is being watched. And finally, finally he caves. The Wens get ferried off to the Burial Mounds to spend their days serving the demon that resides there now.

————————————

The demon remembers faintly. It remembers a soft smile but cannot pinpoint which face it was that carries it. It remembers the countless ghosts with faces that make something bubble up that it recognises as pain, regret and anger.

It keeps them safe. There is a deep need to keep them safe, almost instinctual. They are scared of it in the beginning but the smallest of them makes them open up and calm down.

There is something else, now that its people are safe. The beautiful one, the strong and just. We need him. He will not be safe where he is now. He broke the rules for us. He is ours. He is mine.

Hanguang-Jun, Lan Wangji comes without protest. Kneels three times next to a monster. Looks so very beautiful in red wrapped right over left. A faint memory of a cold cave as he wraps his headband around his own wrist and the demon’s pinky, every other appendage too big. His eyes, as he lifts the veil, are dark and dead. His brother holds him as if he does not want to let him go. He was the only one who came, one guest for a sham of a marriage.

When they are alone at last, man and demon, the groom, who looks so very small, smaller than he already is, holds himself stiffly, carefully and so very elegantly, back as straight as possible as he sits and summons an instrument. He looks up at the demon, at its many red eyes. “May I play?”, he asks, his voice empty, empty it should be strong, so full of conviction, of morality, where have you gone my heart’s song?

It nods slowly and after a moment, a melody rings out. Beautiful and yet wrecked with pain, soaked through with longing and devotion, a plaintive love song warbling through the oppressive silence of the Burial Mounds. It cuts deep. It reaches out, much like the darkness did when it called but this feels like gentle hands made of the light of dawn. The melody rises and falls. Tugs at the demon, tugs at it as much as the tears falling onto the lacquered wood do.

“Wei Ying,” the tiny human calls out softly, fingers trembling on the strings. “They are all safe. I am safe. Please answer me,” he pleads softly and shakes in his beautiful red robes like a leaf, his hand reaching out to grab his new spouse’s clawed hand almost to reassure himself that he is not alone.

Wei Wuxian

A-Xian

Wei Wuxian!

Wei Ying, please come back.

He knows. He knows now who he is. Oh my heart’s song, the demon, the man thinks wildly. I am right here. Your search is over. You are facing me and seeing me for what I truly am. A monster.

- 🍄 anon

You truly outdid yourself 🍄 anon! ily for this but also how dare you?? 😭

I wish i could draw!!! Because the wedding scene begs to be visualised!

Also i wanna hug Lan Wangji (or you know make him warm soup and straddle him in blankets because he wouldn't appreciate being touched 😅)

Edit: i completely forgot! @thesweetpianowritingdownmylife look! 😱💗

[douxspider]

— 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. (3)

‘ARVIN RUSSELL x READER INSERT’

( spoilers for “the devil all the time” ) — Waking up at Reader's place, we finally get a glimpse at Arvin's POV. Though, while their relationship seems to be moving forward, it seems like the whole 'running away into the sunset' deal only happens in fiction.

+ this is the third part to peachy keen! (ao3 link)

warnings: angst, almost smutty but nothing explicit is written, mentions of murder, preston teagardin lmao, rated mature word count: 4,244 published: 9/24/20 ao3 link — part 1, 2

— — • — — 

When Arvin woke up leaned against you, he felt his face turn into a beet shade of red. Slowly parting from your leaning form on the couch, he rubbed his eye, unaware that he had an actual decent rest in such a cramped position. He hardly ever felt comfortable enough to sleep in his own bed. Usually, attempts at sleep were mostly met with staring at the ceiling blankly, recalling haunting memories on repeat in his head.

His thoughts were blank when he fell asleep. Arvin was met with nothing but the television’s staticy audio and the sound of your quiet breathing.

He looked over to take in your features— what amazing features, he thought— and found his hand carefully creeping to the side of your face to brush the knuckle of a finger near your ear, tucking a strand of hair behind it lovingly.

Arvin loved you.

He knew he shouldn’t— he knew he had no idea what love was— but within the few months spent together, Arvin knew he liked you too much to be calling it ‘liking’ and ‘platonic’.

That one stormy evening alongside memories of beating the hell out of Lenora’s bullies, blood and bruising splattering his knuckles like paint, he needed a place to clear his head. He needed a place that was quiet in every way shape and form. Arvin had been driving with a foggy haze before his eyes had locked onto McCann Boys. Arvin wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t anything, he just needed to sit somewhere other than a damn car where he could swerve into a building and die.

When he stepped in, the immediate smell of sweetness overloaded his senses, and he found himself hesitantly sitting down in a booth, wringing the cloth against his knuckles in a patterned fashion.

Then you approached.

And by God, had you been the prettiest sight to see. If it were on any other day, Arvin would’ve been sure to come up with better words than asking if he had to buy anything.

That’s not how you talk to a pretty face, his father would scold in his head, y’wanna smile at ‘er, and make her feel all sorts of butterflies. Y���gotta make her feel like the only girl in the world, son.

Arvin often had his father’s coaching in his head when it came to things like this. Though, it didn’t really make sense most of the time. His father didn’t live long enough to meet Arvin in his ‘girl phase’. This was more than a phase, he promised himself, looking at your resting form. And my, had the universe been so forgiving of him, making sunlight drawing from blinds rest on your features, highlighting your skin and making you look like a pure, unadulterated angel.

He wanted you.

Arvin bit his bottom lip. He wanted you so bad. He wanted to keep you forever. He wanted to take you away from this lowly place in Ohio and bring you somewhere nice, somewhere with beaches and sunshine, away from disgusting preachers, dried blood and judgmental eyes.

Realizing the first time you went to that church, Arvin could see the way that no-good priest looked at you. He knew what that man did to Lenora. He knew everything. Arvin got up from the couch, his fists turning stark white as he paced towards the apartment door, red building at the sides of his eyes. Arvin had to protect all the girls in town. He had to. For Lenora, for Y/N. He had to go and—

“Arvin?”

Hearing a voice that reminded him of bells, Arvin turned around, seeing you slowly rise up from the couch and looking over to make contact with him. “Where are you going?”

Your sleepy tone was so amiable. Your eyes were so dazed, blinking as you gave a small sniffle, scratching at your shoulder.

“I was…” Arvin trailed off before coming back towards you, kneeling in front of the couch and giving a smile as he took your hand. “I was gonna get you breakfast. As a thank you.” A lie, but it was fine. He was planning on watching the priest. Though, breakfast didn’t sound too bad. Time with you was worth more than anything else. You were all he had, next to his grandmother and uncle.

You smiled. He melted a little inside.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” you murmured as you clutched onto his hand. Your eyes were studious, flitting around his body, and he suddenly felt small. “Are you okay? I’m sorry about the sleeping stuff… if your neck was stiff, I mean, I’d feel bad—”

“Y/N,” Arvin spoke sternly, “that was the best sleep I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your eyes turned round, diluting slightly once they met the sunlight.

Arvin could hear his father’s berating tone in the back of his head. Say it. Be a man. He looked at the ground, holding onto your hand for dear life, uneasily balancing his weight on his knee. Though, Arvin couldn’t say anything. Nothing was coming out. There you were, waiting so patiently, being so patient with him, and he was at a lack for words.

Words wouldn’t fix this. Only action. Action would fix everything, Arvin knew this. He was taught this. He was always better physically expressing his thoughts and feelings than vocally or emotionally.

Releasing one of his hands from yours, he curved one underneath your palm and pulled your soft, untouched knuckles against his lips, giving a kiss. These knuckles have never hurt a soul. This being had never hurt anyone. Arvin would make sure it would stay that way.

He glanced upwards, his cap altering his view slightly, and he could make out the way your cheeks turned a different shade, inviting lips gaping slightly.

Smiling against your skin, Arvin moved his free hand to the top of yours and gazed at you. To his surprise, he watched as your thumb rolled circles against his own. You were smiling, and it was a smile to take in. Oh, it was.

“You’re sweet, Arvin,” you giggled so beautifully and he wanted to listen to his name coming out of your mouth on repeat, “...I kinda want donuts.”

Arvin couldn’t help but give a laugh under his breath at the change of moods. He stood up, continuously holding your hand as he refused to let it go, and said, “Let’s get donuts, then.”

—

He was angry. He was a pot boiling. Staring at Preston from afar, he watched from his car as the man interacted with a female shopowner who was fresh out of highschool. Arvin’s leg bounced within his vehicle, the sun setting, and he continued to survey.

Preston would interact with girls other than his wife. He would bring girls into his car and do unspeakable, unlawful things with them, then proceed to go back to the place he calls home and force himself onto his wife.

Arvin clutched onto the wheel.

While Preston was a horrible man who deserved the worst punishment from all graces of any lord, he found himself growing frustrated. Not even just about Lenora or all the sweet innocence the man took, Arvin found himself growing frustrated at his own damn self.

He would think about Y/N.

No, not doing such acts as those forcefully, imagining the same power dynamic, he would never. He meant it when he said he didn’t hurt girls. Arvin despised the man. He despised him and he wanted him gone. He wanted that man to suffer for what he did to his sister. Though, at points, he would drive up to your apartment and stare at the window that belonged to you. He would lick his chapped lips and his hand would shake as it reached the door handle. Then, Arvin would grow a clear sense of mind, he would receive clarity, and he would drive to the opposite side of town just to avoid even thinking about touching you in such a passionate way.

After a few days, Arvin decided.

He’d have to leave you behind.

He loved you, but he also loved Lenora, and Lenora deserved justice. Arvin could hear her voice already, pleading for him to let it go. To just let the man be. To leave. Do anything else. Settle down with you somewhere far, far away, start a life, start a family. Be free.

“I ain’t ever let anything go, ‘Nora.”

The priest was dead.

Arvin’s blood rushed through his veins as the sun set on the horizon, him zooming through the city streets, eagerly approaching your apartment.

God, it was a thrill. The adrenaline coursing through his veins after watching the damned predator fall onto the church floor bleeding from his wounds was cathartic. It made Arvin’s head whirl and turn dizzy. He had no moral thoughts, he was no longer moral, no longer a man that could be forgiven. Arvin felt the rage that built up within him for years be released with three gunshots, the guilt and agony of being alone and misjudged by any person left behind within the church.

Sitting in the car and hearing the blinker click at him, he turned it off once pulling into the lot. He took off his cap, carding his fingers through his hair, debating if he was really going to let you go.

Y/N offered a future he couldn’t take. It hurt more than anything.

Arvin glanced up at your patio, seeing you move from behind the window. You were only a silhouette. You were yet to be discovered by him in this manner, this new Arvin Russell. You wouldn’t recognize him, he thought, he wouldn’t recognize you.

It would be a completely different take on his life. He was no longer himself. Was he better, or worse? Was he a criminal, or a vigilante? Arvin didn’t know what to do. It hadn’t set in yet that he was no longer only capable of beating bullies shitless. He was so much more than that. He was more.

Arvin could do anything.

It was dark out. He finally found the courage to yank open the door handle and step out of his car. He didn’t bother to lock it, he had nothing to lose.

Entering the apartment’s doors, smelling various spices of cooking or hearing children laughing from very muffled walls, Arvin found himself stomping up the steps, his heart beating against his ribs uneasily.

Staring at the room, noticing that the others around were vacant, Arvin could just about do anything. No one would know.

He clenched his fists a few times before finally knocking on the door with his knuckles. It was like the first time you two had met, his very knuckles expressing his pain and anguish, and you read onto the signs of a lonely man seeking solace. Arvin was still bruised and broken; just not in any place where you could see it.

You opened the door, and your mouth opened before closing abruptly. Arvin knew he must’ve looked like he just killed someone. Well, he did, but you didn’t know about that.

Arvin wanted you. Though, he’d be careful, you were the one delicate thing in his life. He had to treat you with care. He had to treat you so gently this night, for it would be your last with him.

Taking a step inside, he moved his hand up and cupped your cheek, moving his thumb— once holding a gun used to kill— so that it wiped gingerly beneath your bottom lip. Your jaw fidgeted slightly as you were attempting to find words. Though, your hand didn’t disagree with his actions. Instead, it met the back of his palm, planted gently on top of his own hand that held your cheek.

Confident, Arvin moved in closer and pulled you towards him, meeting your lips with his. You made a soft noise in your throat and it set Arvin’s mind on fire. Flames danced between your faces, and he felt you eagerly kiss back, your arms snaking across his shoulders as he found himself kicking the door with the back of his heel to close it shut.

Your hands found themselves on the surface of his head and pushing off his cap to knot fingers in his hair. Arvin didn’t even care. His body was burning underneath your touch as he found himself pressing you against the nearest flat surface, which was your dining room table that held a vase with hand picked flowers resting inside and a sweet floral mat keeping it level. You were so adorable, he swooned in his head, you were so precious to him and oh so good. You’re so good.

Wife material, Arvin’s head was screaming, he wanted to steal you away and marry you. You were lifted onto the mahogany table, Arvin’s tongue swiping at your bottom lip. You were so good, submitting your mouth to him, letting him roam the inside and clutch onto your hips so tightly it could bruise. Feeling your soft, untouched, blessed hands clutch onto his belt line had him push his pelvis closer to yours.

“Arvin—” you attempted, but he wouldn’t let you. No, he wouldn’t let you worry. You didn’t need to worry about anything, not with him around. He was your protector, he would keep you safe, he wouldn’t let you die or leave. He wouldn’t let you be hurt by anyone. Thinking about keeping you close to him in his arms, just this close, making you sigh from pleasure as Arvin plastered kisses down your jaw and to your neck to test the waters of what made you quiver; it was enough to drive him insane.

He found his teeth scraping at your flesh and you gasped, arching your body upwards and he felt your hips grind against his middle. It made him give out a guttural growl of need.

“Arvin, wait— wait, honey, stop—”

Arvin didn’t want to. Though, he would, just for your sake. He lifted his head up to meet yours, and once you made eye contact with him, your expression changed from flustered to concerned. Nurturing. Your hand met his cheek, your thumb gently rubbing itself underneath his eye, and he moved a hand to hold your wrist and gently kiss your palm.

Your voice was so soft, so sweet, as if you raised it any further it would blow Arvin away. “What’s going on?”

He wanted to tell you everything. You were so kind, you were everything, you were the sun and stars and sky. Nuzzling into your hand, he murmured, “Nothin’...”

“It’s clearly something if you come into my apartment and start kissing me like this, Russell,” you spoke, his last name strong in your city accent. Your voice was so stern, so dead set on uncovering him, and Arvin gazed at you, still high from revenge and loving you.

He hesitated. Arvin pinched his lips together, licking them faintly, still tasting your lip scrub on them.

Your warm hands met his burning face, handling them so sweetly. “You don’t need to give me specifics,” you started, “...just give me something, Arvin, so I know you’re in your right mind.”

Your name made his eyes flutter shut, nudging his nose against yours. “Say m’name like that again, sweet girl…”

“Arvin.” Your tone was more of a warning. It pulled him back from the sea of desire.

Arvin sighed, mumbling, “I had a revelation, darlin’…” his thumb rolled circles into your wrist, “I had a good day… ‘m a free man, Y/N. I wanna share this with you.” He opened his eyes to see you gazing at him so sweetly. “Let me have this night with you, pretty girl. I wanna make you feel as good as me. I’m sober, I promise, ‘m just intoxicated by the thought of you.”

“Such a flirt,” you whispered against his lips, and he felt himself smirking.

“Only for you.”

Your beautiful, reflective eyes stared into his. Then, they shut, and you moved your head forward to slowly encapture his lips. Arvin was more than eager to requite this. Fervor filled his loins as he clutched your thigh once it was squeezing against his side.

“Sweet baby girl,” he whispered into your ear, “Can we move this to your bed?”

—

When Arvin woke up, he had never felt more exhausted. He was hit with a newfound clarity. There was a soft gray shade leaking from the windows, and he squinted at the clock from across the room— wiping the fogginess from his eyes— and took notice that it was in the early hours of five a.m. Arvin went to move, but was barricaded by something clinging to his side.

His eyes were round as saucers as he took a hold of your nude bodies entangled.

Flushed, he quickly whipped his head back ahead, staring at the ceiling.

The confidence he had last night was almost embarrassing. Though, he licked his teeth and looked back to you, his fingers carding through your hair. Your hair was so soft to the touch, so perfect for someone like you, never missing the latest trends.

Arvin gave a hum of contentment, taking in your features in the early morning. Last night was full of unbridled desire, a fervor that the both of you had been bottling up for who knows how long. Perhaps, since that rainy day in the bakery, there had been that weird spark that compelled you both to do this.

He buried his nose in your sweet scented hair, pressing his lips against your warm forehead, hearing you shuffle and murmur under your breath. You were still very much asleep.

Taking in your sleeping face for the last time, Arvin gave a pained smile. He didn’t want to leave you at all. He wanted to keep you forever— he wanted to wake up to this every day— but he couldn’t let you become an accomplice. Arvin had to protect you.

With that, he managed to sneak his way out of your koala arms and legs and get dressed in his old clothing. Reading over the letter he wrote yesterday, Arvin felt his heart break with each word. You didn’t deserve this. You deserved better than him— someone who could keep themselves together, who wasn’t so haunted by the past. You came to this city to escape yours, and he couldn’t drag you into his. He had to escape too. Some part of him knew you would understand that with time.

Arvin had stopped by a bakery quickly, ordering a lemon and poppyseed muffin with the most bittersweet feeling, coming back to your room to see you were still dead asleep.

He placed the muffin box down on the nightstand and folded the letter so that it stood up with your name on a proud display. Arvin’s hand wringed its way through his hair before he stared at his ragged blue cap for a moment, placing it alongside the muffin and letter.

Arvin leaned down to kiss you on the lips briefly, you giving a sleepy hum, pursuing your lips lazily before drifting unconscious again. He noticed that the sun was just rising.

The sunset brought a bit of hope. He watched you sleep for a bit, the purple turning into a golden on your features, before he made his exit.

—

Your body felt like jello. Giving a groan, your hands scavenged the sheets for the warm body that accompanied you that night, but you were left with a cold absence. Cracking your eyes open and grunting at the shine of the sun, the clock spoke nine a.m, and you were surprised Arvin was not with you.

You licked your lips and sat up. Stretching your spine, you noticed you were nude and blushed, pulling the sheets up your chest. “Arvin?” You called, noticing the lack of your friend— lover? Boyfriend? Friend with benefits?— and gave a long exhale. Luckily you had the day off, as convenient as that was.

Looking over, you noticed the hat, muffin box, and letter. Your name was in bold pencil, and you tilted your head curiously before leaning over and peering through the plastic cover. You smiled and saw the dark spots of poppyseeds on the treat. It was sentimental, and your heart nearly burst.

Gazing at the hat, you were inquiring if he just managed to leave it behind.

You decided to take the letter, opening it up and not preparing for what you’d read.

Y/N,

You’re probably wondering where I am right now. I am too. If you asked me right now, I wouldn’t be able to give you an answer.

I did something that can’t be forgiven. Maybe not by the Lord, definitely not by law, uncertain by you. I don’t want you to worry. I’m safe. I can’t come back. I can’t give you a number or address. I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know who I will be.

The world ain’t been kind. I know it ain’t been kind to you either. I don’t want to make things even worse for you, sweet girl. You’re everything I didn’t deserve. You said to me a long time ago that I deserve good, but I don’t. You are such a good girl, so much so I can’t have you. A part of me wants to be selfish and keep you. I know I can’t. I can’t do that to you.

You’re gonna hear about that preacher man. You’re gonna hear things about me, probably. I just want you to know I did it because I had to. You need to know that. I couldn’t be alive knowing Lenora wasn’t and he was. I’m sorry, baby.

I’m sorry for leaving you. I don’t want to. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be with me right now, pretty girl. I’d give everything just to see you every morning, every afternoon, every night. Ever since that day where you forgave me for the first time for my sins, smoking and drinking black coffee, I know what else I could fight for. I know what I could have just for myself. The sad part is, God is a sadist, and he won’t let me have you.

You asked me if I like Puppy Love, and I do. I’m listening to music for once as I write this, and I understand all the stuff they cry about on the radio. I know what it means to love. My heart ain’t ever been this broke before, sweetheart. 

I love you, Y/N.

As I said, we’ll be seeing each other again. Look out for postcards from my initials.

A.R.

When you finished, wet spots had been dotting the paper, and the last two initials were the final nail in the coffin. You let out a choked sob, leaning over to clutch onto the paper close to your chest. You collapsed onto the sheets, weeping, unable to comprehend. You kept asking why, why, why, even though it was right in front of you.

You flipped the page, noting the sweet lyrics on the back.

I cry each night, my tears are for you, my tears are all in vain, I hope, I hope and I pray, that maybe someday, you’ll be back in my arms once again.

Sniffling and wiping at your nose, you gave a few sobs, pressing your palm against your damp cheeks until they turned red.

You folded the paper and placed it back on your nightstand, curling in on yourself, clutching your sheets that still had Arvin’s presence lingering on them. Pressing them against your wet, hot face, you gave a few soft wheezes.

How could you tell Arvin you loved him, too? How could you write back to him? How could you sleep at night, not knowing he was okay? That there was no way you could tell him you’d wait forever for him?

You must’ve managed to doze off, as the sun was no longer as golden as before. The skies were a clear blue, and you managed to tug on tolerable clothes. Standing on your patio, you clutched the metal railings, staring down at the town with dismay. He was no longer here. This town no longer held that charming spark that you’d learn to love.

Walking back inside, you gazed at the letter, muffin, and hat. Leaning over, you grabbed the blue cap and rubbed your thumbs against the torn fabric, pressing the lid against your lips and kissing it. At least you had this— something you rarely saw him without. He gave you this, and your heart soared at the thought. Placing it on the top of your head, you took the lemon and poppyseed muffin and headed towards McCann Boys.

Marilyn perked at your presence, speaking, “Sweetpea, it’s not your workday.”

“I’m here as a guest,” you murmured, gazing at her, and Marilyn’s eyebrows rose at your expression. She gave a sorry nod at you, continuing to swipe down the counters.

You sat in the booth you and Arvin met at, and you took your seat, gazing at the ashtray emptily. Picking at the muffin, you fixed your cap to hide your face.

The radio near the coffee player began to sing. Your heart dropped, and you recalled the oh-so familiar lyrics.

...This is not a puppy love.

[jotarosbelt]

Can you do a pt2 for the “she doesn’t need to know” writing? I wonder what would happen if they got caught 😳😳I can’t stop thinking abt it your writings so good!!

HI @shitty-lollipops !! THANK U SM FOR THIS REQUEST YOU’RE A GOD

cw: choking, dirty talk, creampie

18+ content ahead!

part 1

She Didn’t Need To Know— But, Now She Does. [Jotaro Kujo]

It hadn't necessarily been awkward after the affair between you and Jotaro, no. In fact, ever since that one faithful night, you've felt more sexually satisfied than you had in ages.

Sure, it wasn't morally correct to be screwing your friend's dad ever chance you got, but it sure as hell was worth it. You could see why some of your friends from university constantly talked about how older men were better.

Hell, if you knew they could look like this and dick you down this well, you might've signed up sooner.

You noticeably started going to Jolyne's house more. Not that it bothered her— as a matter of fact, she was ecstatic. She got to see her best friend more often, and it seemed as though her stick-in-the-mud father was coming around to you, too!

Not for the reasons she hoped, though.

"Ahhhh, finals are almost over, babes! I can't wait to get out of this place for the summer and go somewhere with you and Ermes!"

The girl draped herself over your back, locking her arms around your upper body by clutching her wrist with opposite hand. "It's gonna be so much fun! Maybe we can get my dad to fly us out to Italy or something."

You couldn't help but grin, turning your neck and head slightly to face her as you spoke though your eyes never left your computer screen.

"Yeah? I'm down to go to Italy. I'm sure Mr. Kujo wouldn't mind paying for the trip."

You couldn't help but stick your tongue out as you retorted, the black and green haired girl rolling her eyes at the childish gesture.

"You're terrible," she scoffs as she released you from her grip and falls back onto her bed. You finish your sentence on the paper you were typing and turn in your chair, arm resting on the top of it as you grin.

"I'm terrible for going along with your plan to sucker your dad out of some money to go on a girls trip to another country? Alright, then."

You turn back around in your seat, stretching out your fingers before placing them back on the home keys of your keyboard.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, love," you began, the smile dawning your face audible in your voice. "Just know I'm a better person that you."

———

"Hah~ oh fuck--"

You could only rasp out broken phrases and garbled moans as the older male plowed into you, skin slapping against skin feverishly. It was disgusting. You were fucking Jotaro Kujo in his goddamn bathroom, only a few feet away from his daughter and best friend.

You had gotten a text from him while you were laying on Jolyne’s blue covers, doing nothing in particular. You reached over to check your phone, swiping up to unlock it and read the text.

‘Need to blow off steam. Meet me in the bathroom near Jolyne’s room.’

You quickly locked it again and dropped it beside you.

“Who was that?”

You sat up, craning your neck to turn to look at Jolyne. “Oh, it was just someone asking for answers. Nothing important.”

You pushed yourself off of the bed with your hands, stretching your arms above your head and lowering them to pull down your shorts. “I’ll be back. Going to the bathroom.”

She shot you a thumbs-up and you left the room.

You went down the hall, the Kujo home now like your second since you’ve been here more times than you could count. You navigated through the house (all though it wasn’t even that far), and opened the door.

You were pulled in by your wrist and pinned up against the wall, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathing and the click of the door locking.

“S-Someone’s needy.”

He only grunted, gripping your chin to turn your head back to kiss you.

It was never lost on you that he was a good kisser— no matter how many times you did this, it would never not blow your mind.

His tongue grazed the roof of your mouth and his hips ground into your backside. His semi-hard member seemed like it was rubbing you in all the right places. You could whimpered as he bit your lip.

“Just know I'm a better person that you."

The words you had said just last week rung in your head. It was ironic, really. You said you were a better person than her, meanwhile you were boning her dad and she just wanted to finesse him out of some cash.

Funny.

And yet, you couldn't find it in you at that moment to feel guilty. Or at least guilty enough that you'd make him let go of the bruising grip he had on your hair and waist.

Or give up the feeling of his thick cock dragging against your walls, either.

"Shit, you're still. So. Tight.”

Each pause was punctuated with a thrust of his hips, each one more punishing than the last. It was a miracle Jolyne didn't hear this or care enough about the noise to come investigate— no matter how many times you did this.

And it was a lot more than you would like to admit.

"I can feel you clenching,” Jotaro said, his tone unnervingly even for someone exerting as much effort as he was. “Are you gonna cum? Are you gonna cum all over my cock while Jolyne is just a few feet away? Huh?"

You could only whimper in response; he wrapped a hand around your throat and pulled you up into his chest.

"Answer me, slut. Do you like the idea of being caught with your best friend's dad's dick stuffed in your pussy? Or am I imagining that you're more fucked up than you actually are?"

Out of fear of what might happen if you didn't obey, you choked out a reply.

"I love it, fuck-- I'm gonna cum, please--"

The chuckle that reverberated in your ear was just as sexy as it was dark.

"Then, shut up and do it."

You couldn't even hold back your orgasm if you tried; it washed over you like a typhoon. You shook against the his built torso, knees buckling as your nerves burned. Your breath caught in your throat as his grip tightened around it and his short hair tickled your shoulder as Jotaro's hips sped up inside you, prolonging your finish to the point of over-stimulation.

How quickly he could make you cum and how hard every orgasm was made you embarrassed.

He was silent as he used you to get off, the only noise escaping him being the low grunt he made as he came, hips twitching against your ass. You sighed as you felt him pull out, his thick cum already leaking out of you and down your thighs.

"I can't believe we just did that."

The whistle of the water pouring out of the sink faucet filled the room as the man lifted a thick eyebrow, not bothering to turn back to look at you. You watched his movements through the mirror.

"You act like this is the first or last time we've done something like this. Grow some backbone, would you? The 'after-sex shy' bullshit is getting old."

His straightforward and brash words no longer bothered you. You scoffed, still monitoring him through the reflective surface as he moved to grab a washcloth. He put it under the running stream of water.

"So, you're telling me that the prospect of your daughter catching you laying pipe on her bestie doesn't bother you in the slightest?”

Bored and tired eyes met yours.

"That's the dumbest thing I've heard you say, and I’ve heard a lot from you these past few months."

You grimace and fold your arms over your clothed chest, ignoring the fact that you were bare from the waist down and Jotaro probably still had his dick out as he spoke.

"You didn't answer me."

You watched his brows furrow and he averted his gaze from you back down to the cloth in the sink.

The squish of the water as he rung it out sounded louder than it should have.

"Of course it bothers me," he started, turning around face you. "What we're doing isn't exactly okay."

"You think I don't know that? I feel awful!"

You maneuvered to sit down on the counter as you spread your legs to let Jotaro stand in between them, wiping your thighs clean of his semen and your juices. You should’ve been embarrassed that he was practically getting an eyeful of your cunt, but at the end of the day, you two had seen each other more than you should’ve. He didn't bother to look up at you as he spoke next.

"So, then, why don't we stop?"

You froze for a second, feeling your brows lift up out of shock. "I—“ You bit your lip. “We both know why neither of us are going to do that, Jotaro."

He sidestepped to rinse out the cloth again, wringing it out as he lifted his head to look at you. "Because we're both addicted and pieces of shit for getting off on the age cap?"

You dryly laughed.

"Ding, ding, motherfucking ding. We’re freaks."

You almost missed the way his lips quirked up at that.

He casually wiped down his cock with the cloth, wringing it once more when he was done and tossing it into the hamper. He tucked himself back into his sweatpants, straightened out his t-shirt, and turned to you.

"Where are your panties and shorts?"

You hopped down from the counter and scanned the floor, finding them crumpled up in the corner. You walked over and reached down, picking them up and pulling on each item one by one.

"You good?"

You nod. "Yeah. I should get back to Jo. I've been missing longer than it should take one to take a piss."

He only grunted in response and stepped back to let you open the door.

You opened up the door, ready to snake your way back into Jolyne’s room and act like nothing happened, but that plan came to a full stop as you opened the door to see Jolyne standing outside about to knock.

Her hand lingered in the air where she was about tap, eyes bouncing back in shock between you and her dad. She sighed and let out a bitter laugh.

“I had a feeling. I should’ve checked earlier. Those noises didn’t necessarily sound like somebody taking a shit.”

"Jolyne--"

She held up her hand to stop you and your jaw snapped shut.

“I'm going out for a walk."

She approached the staircase she was already lingering by, her hand gripping the railing as she leaned into the stairwell slightly. It took a moment that felt like eons for her to turn back and slightly narrow her eyes at you.

And yet, you felt little to no malice being directed towards you and more at her father who's surprised expression faded long ago.

"And you best be ready to explain why you two have been fucking like rabbits when I get back."