#kind of. more mention of meta

[x-lee-cya]

i need to stop writing lowkey faux-essays about how the concept of greed is bullshit (it is) in relation to cuphead & casino cups in my bestie's dms and to start writing more fanfic istg 😭

[myimaginationplain]

do you ever think about how Ohkubo extremely casually dropped the fact that Spirit & Kami were teen parents & then proceeded to never expound upon that fact or bring it up ever again despite it explaining a whole lot about them & Maka

[gen-is-gone]

This is perhaps bitchy and uncharitable and certainly almost a year late to really be complaining about but fuck it, we complain anyway.

Yes, I am still unreasonably upset about Sutekh clinging to the side of the TARDIS since The Pyramids of Mars, and upset because I was sort of foolishly hoping we might get some actual characterization fallout from that addressed properly this series, which of course isn't going to happen. And the reason I'm upset about it while it seems fairly few people care all that much is because it's a litmus test for the degree to which any given person sees the TARDIS as a character in her own right. And it's fairly obvious now that rtd doesn't, or at least, only does when it suits him.

Because the thing is, if the TARDIS is a character, is a person, then the manner in which Sutekh uses and usurps her, and the ambiguity in whether it was consensual ('seduction' vs 'coercion') becomes extremely important to the Doctor and the TARDIS's relationship, and the TARDIS's characterization as a whole, both going forward and echoing back. Like bearing in mind that what actually happened is so ambiguous, what Sutekh being 'there the whole time' even fucking means, that trying to pull a point out of it is almost an exercise in futility from the jump, but to borrow some wildly inadequate or perhaps even inappropriate language, it's the difference between whether the TARDIS has been cheating on the Doctor for more than half the length of their entire relationship, or whether she'd been being (sorry) raped that whole time and the Doctor just hadn't noticed.

And yeah, evidently it was too much for me to hope that there would ever be any kind of real emotional or plot-relevant followup about that, because, again, that requires you to see the TARDIS as a character whose choices and emotions and relationships matter beyond their immediate relevance to the plot. And this isn't new by any goddamn means. This isn't actually the usual split between the traditionalist and the avant-garde camps. The TARDIS's sapience and autonomy do not begin with The Doctor's Wife; this is established (more or less) in The Edge of Destruction, the third ever serial in the history of the show, all the way back in nineteen sixty-fucking-four.

And y'know, yes, it would still be a big deal if Sutekh jumped on in Wild Blue Yonder (as would make way more logical sense) rather than Pyramids; the ambiguity of consent that the show either doesn't care or lacks the stomach to address would still be a blow, but it wouldn't have the unutilized capacity to fundamentally alter the relationship between the two longest-running characters in the franchise if it was the span of a season, rather than thousands of years in-universe and nearly five decades in real life. And not to be conspiratorial or assume categorical bad faith on rtd's part, but yeah, it's hard not see that particular unnecessary detail as a petty response to Moffat and Chibnall's own continuity-and-paradigm-altering retcons, and an attempt to get his own shot in.

And it's just. Never gonna get talked about, huh. 'Cause it doesn't actually matter, right? 'Cause it's not like the TARDIS is really a person, right?

[chuuyadelune]

so the other day i read the beggar student (a short story) by osamu dazai and was struck by the resemblances to BSD's first chapter/episode that it has?? like it's genuinely crazy. here's the gist of what i'm talking about (*spoiler warning, please scroll if you don't want to see!*)

struggling author (also named osamu dazai) meets struggling student at the side of a river bank. said student is swimming/drifting down the river

dazai decides to 'save' the student bc he thinks he's drowning

student chews him out for being stupid like that after dazai trips and falls

one thing turns to another and then they go for lunch at a teahouse together (yes, a teahouse lol. no chazuke though)

dazai can barely pay for their food/tea bc he's broke

later they go drinking with one of the student's friends, who happens to be kind of uptight and serious (this one is a stretch but i'm including it anyway)

there's a lot of references to classic literature/philosophy all throughout

that's a very brief, crude summary of all the references i could pinpoint. the rest of this story goes by quite quick (it's only about 96 pages in all, and this was like, the first 20 pages or so? hints for the rest of the short story: there's school uniforms, beer, and long-winded speeches). but still. reading this all actually had my jaw on the floor, because what do you mean that the events of the first half of chapter one of bungo stray dogs is an osamu dazai reference. like surely this is not all just coincidence.

in conclusion: asagiri is a madman. the literary references go crazy. what else am i missing. i need to read more

(i've put some excerpts of the story below the break! frankly the interactions between fictional dazai and this student are hilarious)

pages 8-9:

page 20:

the excerpts are all from the recent translation by sam bett!

[tritoch]

the damsel and the hero: some thoughts on minfilia and elidibus

I get why many people have (understandable, justified, legitimate) gripes to this day about how Minfilia was handled, but I think you don't have to change anything about how she's presented in game to arrive at a reading that lets her feel like more than a sacrificial victim. Within the game as it exists, Minfilia is already a rich and layered heroic character. She is not a damsel or a tragic hero but a victorious figure whose very exit from the narrative affirmed her own ideals, and she controlled her own destiny to the end. All you have to do to see this more clearly is read her against one of her underexamined foils: Elidibus.

Spoilers through the end of Pandemonium (6.4) below.

After 5.3 dropped, the devs mentioned that because they basically had to develop and pay off Elidibus in the space of a patch or two, they drew conscious parallels between him and other characters. The game highlights the G'raha parallels in the scene just before Seat of Sacrifice. There's also the parallels to Alphinaud that people have noticed in both the broad strokes of their characterization (idealistic short kings who believe in the power of rhetoric and diplomacy to achieve true and lasting understanding between people, whose mission to save the world is forever held in balance with their duty to save those they love) and in specific lines of dialogue.

But a far more direct narrative parallel than either character is Minfilia. Like Elidibus and Zodiark, Minfilia offered herself to Hydaelyn, serving as the Word of the Mother, only to be called forth once more when an intractable conflict between her allies threatened the stability of the world. Both were messianic young figures who nonetheless lead their older allies by both example and command. Both, seeing an opportunity to save not just their close friends but everyone, offered themselves up to a higher power in an act not of desperation but of deliberate will. You can even poetically gloss both Antecedent and Emissary as "The One That Goes Before."

The difference between the two of them is that at every turn, where Elidibus failed, Minfilia succeeded.

Elidibus returned to broker peace between the Hydaelyn faction and the Convocation. He failed, and the result was the Sundering. Minfilia, entreated by Urianger, came back to resolve the conflict between the Warriors of Darkness (Hydaelyn's champions and Warriors of Light themselves) and the Scions, and succeeded in saving two worlds by her actions.

But more than that, Elidibus provided us a picture of what it actually looks like to lose your identity to a primal like Zodiark. He'd lived a thousand thousand lifetimes as himself and he was so broken he could scarcely remember anything more than his name and his duty. He is one of the most explicitly tragic figures in all of FFXIV, and his final sendoff in 5.3 was an image of him plagued by unanswerable grief, which for him was a consequence of his failure: "The rains have ceased, and we have been graced with another beautiful day. But you are not here to see it."

Meanwhile, in the preceding expansion, you actually had the chance to spend multiple scenes with Minfilia and they're all extremely clear: unlike Ardbert or Elidibus, after 100 years this was still Minfilia, she remained resolute in her mission to see the First saved, but she had not forgotten the woman she was or the people she loved. In both 3.4 and 5.0, she went out as herself, head held high.

Speaking to the Warrior of Light before she departs for the First: "So many times have I watched you depart, my heart filled with worry, and ever did you return to me in triumph. Someday, when I have found a way to free this star from Her sorrow, I promise you I shall repay the favor."

Her final words to Ryne: "No one, however powerful, is immune to the whisperings of doubt and despair. Do not give in to them, but do not deny them either. Look instead to the light within, that you may continue to serve as a beacon to others."

In both instances, we were given a Minfilia who had not merely accepted her fate, but who had chosen it of her own volition and rose confidently to meet it, even imparting to her successor some final hard-won words of wisdom. And unlike Elidibus, she met her friends again at duty's end; they live, and they are happy, and she is content. She's already heroic, but the contrast to Elidibus (and Ardbert, and Emet) underlines the extent to which we should see her as extraordinarily driven, self-possessed and ultimately victorious on her own terms.

And in making the connection between Elidibus and Minfilia, we can begin to let Elidibus's characterization inform hers in retrospect.

Elidibus as we see him in 5.3 and earlier more specifically paralleled Minfilia as the Word of the Mother. Prior to that point in her arc, Minfilia's parallel was Themis, the pre-Zodiark Elidibus we glimpse briefly in the 5.3 Echo flashbacks and would only meet properly an expansion later in Pandemonium. The important thing about Themis for our purposes is that he was not some naive or too-young figurehead tricked into serving as Zodiark's Emissary. This was not a Crystal Braves situation for him. In Pandemonium, you can see how the kind of man Themis was very clearly lead to him choosing to be offered up to Zodiark. He took seriously the principles and duties of the Convocation. He valued dearly the lives of all people generally and his friends and comrades in particular, but held those truths in balance rather than prizing one. He was rational, clear-sighted, and decisive.

All of these, obviously, were true of Minfilia. And unlike Elidibus, whose ascension into Zodiark was forever somewhat obscured by the narrative, we were quite close to Minfilia before she became the Word of the Mother. We were quite familiar with her grief and guilt over surviving where Louisoix did not, her fear that she could neither fill his shoes as a leader nor serve in action as others did. She confided in us about the difficulty of her task in serving as the pillar of strength and guiding light for the rest of the Scions. She despaired alongside the player character at both the death of Moenbryda and the disastrous events of the Banquet. We know what she believed, what she valued, what she feared, what frustrated her. When she chose to depart for the First, it paid off very directly everything else the game has said about her through 3.4. Her arc was one of trepidation and doubt, and it ended in her ultimate victory and an astonishingly clean win that compromises none of her values.

Both Urianger and some fans raised the question of whether it was wrong for Urianger to ever offer her the choice of sacrificing herself for the First at all. Minfilia, for her part, got a chance to speak to this directly: "Have we not walked together in the light of the Crystal, and at Her bidding borne witness to the joys and sorrows of this land? Each and every one of you knows my heart. If this be the price I must pay, I pay it gladly." It did not matter whether she was given this particular decision or not. You could have offered her this dilemma in a thousand different permutations in a thousand thousand different scenarios. This was the choice she made. This was her choice, forever and always: to save everyone she can, in honor of those she loves.

Candidly, I understand critiques of Minfilia's writing far better than any praise it could ever receive. Nothing I've written above answers the clear and obvious truths that she is underwritten, that she does not get much to do or much screentime for a putatively important character, that it is very easy and common to read her death as a fridging, that she is unfairly dismissed by many due to her role in the narrative and the way she leaves it. Her sacrifice plays into specific gendered tropes that are disappointingly common to see. Those things all remain true.

But I think as we remember those things we should also keep in mind that she does still get a complete arc that is interesting and thematically rich in itself, and which puts her in some senses on the same level in the narrative as characters like Elidibus, Emet-Selch, and Ardbert.

Her sacrifice continues to inform the game. Her literal ghost returns to affirm the truth and value of her beliefs and the choices she made. Her guiding words ("For those we have lost, for those we can yet save") remain a mantra not just for the Scions but specifically for the player character. They are not an empty slogan. The phrase succinctly conveys an ideal of all-encompassing humanism and compassion arising from grief. The ideal those words represent is one of many organizing principles and responses to grief that the game examines (because a lot of FFXIV is about grief and how we respond to tragedy and change), it is Minfilia who develops and articulates it, and it is the one the heroes continue to align themselves with. It is the same principle that leads her to the First, and G'raha, and us too. It is Minfilia's ideals--Minfilia's heroism--which continue to serve as the model to which the Warrior of Light aspires, in the game's text.

Truthfully, my gripe is this. I think it is very easy to imagine a male Minfilia--same lines, same screentime, same blocking, same ass cut-out--appearing in place of the Minfilia we have. And I feel quite sincerely, and quite frustratedly, that if we had Malefilia, both the fans and detractors of that character would ascribe to him more thoughtfulness and more thematic depth than the Minfilia we already have, even though their lines would be exactly the same. We are so ready to see the damsel we expect in Minfilia that we are unwilling to see her as the hero she is in the text, and my hope is that by holding her up to her mirror, Elidibus, we may see her as a rich character in her own right all the more clearly.

[glaciescustodia]

Volcano of Tollan. (Kinich HC)

Purpose.

The very moment he got bestowed the Ancient Dragons's Gift, like many before him, was purpose made, was a border between human and dragonic coexistence made. Though younger back then and still learning, still ever curious to learn and dish out incessant questions, its no longer something Kinich at present, concern himself with.

The moment he got approached by Feyfrokiin, such imposing creature, there was no refusing what has been set in stone.

After handing out the neccessary goodbyes to friends and tribesmen, did he do as told, set out on a pilgrimage to the Sacred City within the Volcano, regardless of the dangers waiting.

To be a border in human form, that is the purpose.

Stasis.

Although that back then, abyssal activities were more obvious, he did not go there alone, much less without proper defenses. With Feykrokiin in tow and guarding the human from shadowy foes, did Kinich fell in a stasis of sort.

For roughly three months, there was no responses from him. For those same months, was he made to understand his gift, what he doesn't really deem all that special anymore. Though not a painless process, sometimes it was as though he was caught in a losing battle with the dragonic essence raging inside the confines of his spirit.

There were moments, in his own little world, where it would be so easy to fall prey to all that power, like so many others in his situation have.

But back then, so many things kept Kinich from succumbing; his friends, those he sees as his moms, the one man who first found him, brought him to the Scions of the Canopy, as cliche as this sounds.

For those months spent in a stasis, grueling as it might have been, the Saurian Hunter is nonetheless grateful to Feykrokiin and the other dragons that were there, protecting the barrier he was basking in & guiding him in this inner battle.

Old records.

From within the Volcano of Tollan, there are two records left behind, conversations frozen in time between Kinich and the one dragon connected to him, the one who is responsible for that bestowal.

At that time, his clothes were much different, still a little on the ragged side.

At that time, did he even hesitate, wondering 'why him?'. After all, from the beginning it was such a fever dream, something that even baffled such a levelheaded man.

Even now, that things have gone quiet since Natlan's victory over the Abyss, Kinich can't help but reminisce whenever he would escape everyday life only to sit somewhere in the sky borne city.

One record stands to showcase what started and the latter was post-stasis, when he could finally wake up.

Safe return.

Upon coming back to his senses after pushing throught that inner journey of his, did it felt like so many questions of unanswered, changed course and only then, did he came to understand the why, why was he, over all others, given such a gift, such a purpose to begin with.

Nowadays, this is but a fleeting thought and all that truly matters, is coming back to those he knew, to report Mavuika with a successful journey over twists & turns along the way when everything went black for Kinich.

Only then did he return to friends and family, stronger in mind and body.

[lurking-latinist]

.

[gothamsfinestdummy]

One day I might actually write an essay thing about how the reboot completely destroyed Pinky and Brain’s characters I am soooo very passionate about that subject

[cuddlytogas]

Fyre sent me an article that made me Lose My Mind, so instead of sending 800 tweets about it, I decided to just write up my thoughts here

so, in re: ET Fox, 'Jacobitism and the Golden Age of Piracy' --

Fox is definitely exaggerating. His logic jumps from 'ship names and alleged toasts', to 'every pirate was one contact away from a confirmed Jacobite', to "a Jacobite maritime community" (296), with little evidence beyond each previous assumption. He does demonstrate a link with popular Jacobitism, but overstates pirates' political commitment by far.

There's one letter to George Camocke, a Jacobite naval officer, suggesting that the pirate fleet should unite under his command and take Bermuda as a Jacobite base, but the source is shaky, and it went nowhere once Woodes Rogers ousted the pirates. (It's I think from 1718 and unsigned? Possibly from Charles Vane and his crew? Fox only says that, "Through these contacts [unspecified, between Vane and English Jacobites] a letter reached George Camocke" (286), which is suspiciously vague, and I can't access the original to check. Either way, it would still only prove the committed politics of one crew.)

Fox also makes a lot of Archibald Hamilton, governor of Jamaica from 1710-16, who commissioned and profited from the anti-Spanish privateers who turned pirate and made up some of the original Bahamas pirates c. 1715. Since "it has been suggested that [Hamilton] was a Jacobite supporter" (283), Fox claims that these establishing pirates were also committed Jacobites, and therefore the whole pirate community that grew around them must have been. (Which leads to Fox then being baffled when there's no direct evidence of Jacobitism among some of them, such as the crews of Anstis, Fenn, or Rackham.) He relies on these assumptions, and then claims that every connection between pirates proves their mutual Jacobite sympathies.

It's much more likely (and in line with the historians I've read so far) that the Jacobite toasts and ship names speak to a broader anti-authoritarianism among pirates, with no evidence of committed Jacobite actions by them, eg, specifically targeting Hanoverian ships, or materially supporting or trying to support Jacobite rebels beyond that one letter. Indeed, the 1710s/20s pirates are generally agreed to be distinct for not adhering to religious/national loyalties like the C17th pirates usually did. (I'm so sorry, I haven't consolidated my notes yet, but I know Marcus Rediker goes through this, as does Kris E Lane, and I think Tim Travers and David Cordingly.)

Fox does identify a correlation between the rise and fall of Jacobitism and piracy over the mid/late 1710s, but attributes a pretty shaky causation: pirates ceased their Jacobite loyalties due to the suppression of Jacobitism in Britain and Europe. A much more obvious explanation is that both anti-authoritarian movements simultaneously flourished in the post-war, post-succession instability, then were both quashed as the new regime established itself and cracked down on rebels.

So, did many pirates espouse Jacobite sympathies? Yes! They named their ships in favour of Jacobite causes and rulers, and there are plenty of reports of them toasting to King James / the Pretender. (Which it must be said, although the sheer volume lends a ring of truth to the trend, individual claims should be taken with a grain of salt, as Jacobitism was a common accusation against criminals at the time, with or without a basis.)

Does that mean that the 1710s Caribbean pirate community was centred around a heart of politically committed Jacobites, as Fox argues, or largely motivated by Jacobite sentiments? Yeah, probably not.

Anyway, I am SO sorry that this article got me riled up XD the whole point of this is to say, I've never read anywhere that "many pirates were Jacobites driven out of Britain", which I KNOW wasn't even your main point, but I am unfortunately Insane. We can and should talk about expressions of pro-Jacobitism and actual political engagement among 'Golden Age' pirates, but what we know of their actual actions and espoused ideals doesn't speak to a trend of committed Jacobite politics beyond a general loyalty to rebellious causes.

[blackholebunni]

hi hello its like 2 in the morning and ive decided to post this stupid deranged theory <3

so in the zim fandom theres this common trope in fanfics that i will affectionately refer to as "pak theory", where some kind of error or propoganda or some such is directly interfering with zim's ability to Be Good At His Job (invader).

so. "we apologize for the interruption" amirite. the plot of the episode is essentially zosky wants to take a break but apparently that's against the terms and conditions of this contract that he Did Not Know Existed (kaput is also part of this contract, obvs). The guy who runs up to scold them abt Taking A Break proceeds to patronizingly explain to kaput and zosky that they're cartoon characters doomed to try and fail at taking over a planet each and every time. Kaput and Zosky... don't seem to register the cartoon character part??? like at all?? they argue with the guy and then he sentences them to "cartoon hard labour" but i am mostly focused on the fact that a: kaput and zosky are apparantly part of a contract they do not remember ever signing; and b: they do not react to the cartoon character thing AT ALL. i would argue they literally did not or /could not/ register.

anyways. what do you think would happen if that contract, which sounds kind of illegal, where to be destroyed or render null and void. because i think abt that a lot

[tovaicas]

now that I've finished: I enjoyed shb. not as much as I did hw, but I quite liked the msq (with the couple of quibbles that I've mentioned). post-patches I felt suffered from similar problems as hw's did, as in they wrapped up everything and then very quickly and suddenly pivoted to new expac content in a way that didn't feel suuuper natural, but I also think to an extent that's also an MMO curse. with a larger available scope I would've preferred a more natural lead-in, but what can you do.

I'm not sure how I feel abt the heavy focus on zenos and fandaniel, zenos has never been that much of an interesting character to me (stb didn't handle him and what he represents well, and imo he doesn't get more interesting as he keeps appearing) and characters who are written as 'well he's cRaZy so we don't have to explain his motives or erratic behaviour' like fandaniel I find inherently uninteresting. plus I just hate it every second he's on screen HBFSBJ

I wish the grand company of eorzea stuff was the conclusion to a long, real attempt at making amends rather than smth wrapped up as a loose end in two or three patches; feels disingenuous, in a way. I also wish they'd actually leaned with the theming of 'the wol has friends who genuinely care for them and feel genuine remorse for the things they put them through for the sake of others', shb msq's back-half was all about how everyone gambles with your life and how the wol is a tool and how shitty this is (to an extent, at least; one of my bigger quibbles with g'raha is how he's consistently framed as justified for manipulating you and directly playing with your life), but as it stands as soon as you're cured of the lightwarden stuff everything goes back to you feeling like a secondary background player with no outstanding trauma in the post-patches, being told where to go and what to do.

on that similar note, I have strong feelings on g'raha and most of them lean negative. I'm not going to clutter this post with unnecessary character hate that's biased by my own wol's writing (unless like. you want me to), but a lot of my feelings abt him from shb msq haven't really changed.

otherwise I quite liked a lot of the worldbuilding and historical sections, I do think those were well done. the norvrandt goodbye genuinely got me, and I actually really liked elidibus' sections. I miss ryne already

[lightdancer1]

I still think that there's one bit of A Winter's Tale that a lot of meta and fanfics neatly skip past:

The funny bit is that when I use this in my own fics it's basically the bargain basement level of textual analysis and when I lay it out you'll see why. Because the Endless, after all, are anthropomorphic personifications defined by their jobs, ultimately, that take a physical and metaphorical form as their realms and the nature of their being. Dream and Destruction struggle with it in ways not unlike Death, but here it gets into the interrelated but that I will also bring up.

As per A Winter's Tale and the (slightly modified) version of it in the show, Death has a vision of her job/function unlike any of her siblings. In the comics, the harder version that I prefer to use over the show, she outright walked out because her job wore her down and she had, essentially, a nervous breakdown because of a deep depression that a careful reading of A Winter's Tale shows she's in denial about never addressing. Naturally my stories tend to hit her with this Negan Bat with great gusto.

Now factor this is in from a canonical POV and a family of beings who are defined by tasks, where Dream and Destiny are the most rigid....and then equally factor in the irony that Dream, one of the two most rigid, is at his closest with the one who's ultimately one of the least and the most flighty about aspects of details of her job. Factor in that this family of immortals who date from the dawn of time have one person in the family who completely cracked and walked out and broke reality in the process.

From their POV it would no doubt be a thing that hung over their sister and her decisions and a thing that they and those old enough to have been there would long remember. From the perspective of job-defined inhuman immortals, the very thing that would make Death the most appealing to humans are a mark of permanent failure on her part, while her becoming mortal and taking her mortal days might well anchor her in mortal affairs in a way only Destruction comes close to.....but it can easily be read in a much darker fashion than I usually would be inclined to take it because I've struggled with those thoughts myself and writing that into fiction is playing with fire when soaked with gasoline.

A human would see the events of A Winter's Tale as 'the job got to you and it was hard' and understand that. Would the Endless? Even Destruction? Ultimately no, I don't think any of them really could understand that even if they tried, and there are some careful looks at Destruction's actions in Brief Lives and Song of Orpheus that both strengthen the parallel with Death and where they differ.

Death is willing to fully yield her power for 24 hours a century to live among mortals without any of the sorcery and the responsibility and the nature of the Endless. None of her siblings are willing to go so far, or to truly experience life within the worlds they govern in that way.

And then combine this with the knowledge that unlike the rest she will outlive the universe, and without the universe Death of the Endless is but a title and a moment in time, a true job that will one day end....at the price that all her siblings go into something she cannot see and she alone cannot. And then take another look at the mortal days and as much as it anchors her in the mortal world and in being able to relate to mortals it can be seen in that darker sense as both an escape hatch and a deeply necessary one because she is ultimately still chasing the same outlet she tried to get and failed and only returned to because well....

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT THEY WITNESS A STRANGER PULL F!READER INTO A HUG AND CLAIM TO BE HER BOYFRIEND. FT. MARK GRAYSON! P.T.3

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, everyone is 18+, mention of death, romance, mark is utterly devoted to you, jealousy, lots and lots of jealousy, little bit of dark!batboys, kind of dark!mark too

★ A/N: some intimate mark time this chapter, yay!! also, cough cough, let's not talk about that tiny break i took 😭

★ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕 ★ | ★ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ★ | ★ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 ★

YOU COME BACK TO DAMIAN'S SWORD AGAINST MARK'S THROAT—

—because of-fucking-course you do. You just can't catch a break for the life of you today.

"Damian—"

"This scum," spits the ex-assassin, cutting you off with the same sharp edge as the blade he wields, "had the nerve to claim we couldn't keep you safe."

Subtly, ever so subtly, Mark's jaw flexes. "I never said that."

"It doesn't need to be said to be implied." Damian narrows his gaze back at the meta, fingers readjusting themselves around the handle of his katana, twitching with an urge—to swing. To slice.

To kill.

You should've known. You should've known something like this would happen. That the brothers would be incapable of even so much as getting along with someone (a meta, no less) who claimed to be in any sort of relationship with you. Or, for fuck's sake, not holding some sort of weapon against his damn throat for something as little as a hug.

Maybe you expected a little too much. These are, after all, the same men who watched you through traffic cameras to ensure your safety when the Joker left hiding with a big bang. Literally.

You pinch your nose with a sigh, the start of a headache steadily clambering up your skull—

"Do you need some aspirin?"

—only to immediately cease its climb for a second.

Your eyes shoot open, quickly finding themselves on the unmasked viglante sat with a sword still to his throat, but his pupils trained onto you.

"How did you..?"

"You always get a headache after pinching your nose a few times," he answers, eyes crinkling a little in something soft and fond, "and I've always told you to stop pinching so hard 'cause of it."

You stare at him with parted lips and wide eyes, feeling that familiar heat crawl through you when he just continues to hold your gaze, smile a little too genuine to be directed at a stranger. 

Though, at this point, you're pretty sure that's not what you are to him.

The rattling of pills snaps you out of your little daze, and you blink to find Mark with his hand gestured out to you, a box resting neatly on his palm.

Aspirin.

"I always keep some on me," he says with a smile. But then his gaze falls down, and that smile is no more. "Even if... you're not around to take them anymore."

Something sharp punctures your chest, like a knife to the heart, and you almost clutch it from the pain, from his expression, but before you can even think to offer some words of comfort, the sword against Mark's throat presses down harder. 

"Damian," comes slipping out your mouth instead, stern and cross.

"He just tried to drug you in front of me," growls the swordsman, pressing down harder, the skin of Mark's throat hugging the sword's edge.

"It's just aspirin," you shoot back, narrowing your gaze at the demon heir. He narrows his right back.

"You don't know that."

Another pinch. Another ache. And the next thing you know, you're snatching the pill box right out of Mark's hand, Damian's eyes widening and stance faltering long enough for the meta to wrap his hand around the edge of the blade and squeeze.

Metal shards fall to your floor with a clang.

"You—!" Damian seethes, gripping the remainder of his shattered sword with teeth gritted hard enough to break boulders. "How fucking dare you."

Mark's face scrunches, a little bit in disbelief, a little in judgement. "You're the one that pointed a sword at me, man."

"What are you anyway?" comes a new voice, gruff and tough and seeping the same judgement that's in Mark's expression but a hundred times over. "Bullet proof, flight, super strength... you a Kent or somethin'?"

Damian clicks his tongue. "That idiot would tell me if his father were to adopt another of his kind."

Mark scrunches his face. "What's a Kent?" Then he shakes his head, steeling himself before answering, plain and simple, "I'm a Viltrumite."

You raise a brow, exchanging a glance with Duke and Dick, the two of them silent, but very much just as bewildered as you.

"A Viltrumite...?" you echo in a whisper.

"Why does that sound so familiar?" Duke finishes your thought.

"You're thinking of Kryptonite," comes yet another new voice—one that just entered the room; one that locks eyes with you, longing and pleading, before breaking away as if torn to, "as in: Kryptonian." 

Tim's gaze falls on Mark, and he continues with a question, "Did you mean you're a Kryptonian?"

Mark's brows knit. "Uh, no. What's a Kryptonian?"

"Our world's version of your kind, I'm guessing," you answer, lips pulled thin. Then a thought occurs, and you're quickly fumbling with the pills in your grip. "Uh—here. Thanks."

You place them back in his hands, fingers brushing against his own for a split second.

But a split second enough.

With a blink and tingles exploding in your fingertips, you're suddenly surrounded by blue. Blue and white and a vast expanse of nothing else. Not even the ground.

You blink, swaying gently, when a pair of hands settle on your hips.

"Careful," a voice whispers, the same voice that showed up at your door just hours ago, "you don't wanna fall."

Your head tilts, and a smile tugs at your lips, the next words tumbling out without you even having to think, "But you'd catch me if I did."

It's said with such certainty, such natural cadence, that you can't help but believe it yourself.

Then Mark smiles—soft and fond and filled with so much love—and your heart begins to bleed that belief.

"Yeah," he starts—quiet, intimate, "I would."

Your breath hitches, his nose moving to press against your own while the hands resting on your hips wind around your waist, pulling your back into the warmth of his chest as if he needs you to breathe.

And with the way he looks at you, you'd believe it.

Those crinkled eyes, that soft smile, the swirling brown that floods you with so much warmth, you'd need a fire to cool down.

He looks at you like you've strung up all the stars in the night sky just for him.

Then he tilts his head, and he leans in, and his lips press against yours.

...And you blink back to reality.

Your head whips around, lips parted and tongue so far from wet, it's practically a desert.

No one seems to be particularly concerned, all still glaring at Mark like he murdered stray kittens right in front of their eyes without so much as a blink.

"So let's just say that you are from another world," Tim starts like you didn't just see a whole ass vision right in front of your eyes, and you blink back your disbelief, "and in your world, Viltrumites are Kryptonians...

"Where the hell is this world's version of you?"

You blink again, looking around one more time and locking eyes with Duke, who raises a brow and flashes you a look that practically screams 'we'll talk about this later'.

So you put it to rest for now.

"How the hell would I know?" Mark questions, raising a brow in that same disbelief and judgement he gave Damian.

"You knew where [Name] was," Jason accuses.

"That's different."

"Oh yeah? How? 'Cause she's your little girlfriend?"

Mark's jaw ticks, but before he can even think to lunge, a chime interrupts him.

Multiple chimes.

The boys all raise a brow, each reaching for their phone and taking only a second to check it before their eyes are widening and their muscles go as taut as a tightrope.

"The Joker," Dick whispers.

"Of all times," Damian growls.

And the room bathes in a tense silence for one... two... three seconds before Duke breaks it.

"We have to go."

"No," replies Damian, firm and sound and more final than a runner passing the finish line of a race in first place.

But before anyone can say anything, can rebuke his claim or, dare you say, agree with it, you speak up, "And why the hell not?"

The demon head turns to you, gaze narrow and lips pulled down into a stern frown.

"We are not leaving you alone with him."

"You have a city to save." You cross your arms, jutting out a hip. "You don't have a choice."

He crosses his arms right back at you. "I don't think you understand, Beloved. I refuse to let him hurt you."

"And don't you think he would've already if he wanted to?" you retort, before letting your gaze soften a bit, "I have a feeling he's telling the truth."

In return, his own gaze hardens. "I'm not risking your safety on a feeling."

It's dumb, and you know he doesn't mean anything hurtful by it, but you still can't help the way your voice falters. "You don't trust me?"

Instantly, he uncrosses his arms, instead holding them out towards you as his expression all but softens into knitted brows and all soft edges. "Of course I do," he whispers. "You know I do, Habibti. It's him I don't trust."

Damian's gaze flickers over to Mark for a brief second, narrowed and pointed and filled with nothing but suspicion, before returning to you, all the aforementioned feelings like a ghost in his eyes.

You take a moment to steel yourself, breathing in with closed eyes and out with open ones as you say, "I'm not asking you to trust him. I'm asking you to trust me."

His jaw ticks, gaze far-off, and you move to press both hands against his chest to reel him back in.

"Go, Damian. I'll be fine. I promise."

He stares into your eyes, guarded, but still swirling, still loving, still listening.

And listen he does, for not a moment later, he relents with a sigh. "Fine, but I will come back as soon as I take down that scum of the Earth. And I expect you to alert me should anything go wrong."

With another dirty look sent to Mark by Damian, you smile. "I'll lead you guys out."

The loud slam of your door follows your words, and you flinch, looking around to find all the boys but Jason there and looking back at you.

Dick shakes his head. "Always such a temper."

Your lips pull down, but you force yourself to shake it off, walking over to your door to open it once more for the rest of your house guests.

"I'll see ya later, Trouble." Dick winks, heading out first.

Tim follows, not saying anything so he can, instead, hit you with that longing glance that can't seem to pull away until he's craning his neck awkwardly enough to have to face forward again.

Then Damian takes it upon himself to go next, giving you a swift goodbye as he continues to murmur what you can only assume are curses under his breath in Arabic.

And finally, there's Duke, who takes just one step out the door before swiftly turning around, grabbing your arm, and gently tugging you towards him.

"What was that earlier?"

You blink. "What was what?"

He narrows his gaze, lips pulling into a thin line. "The looking around aimlessly." Then his eyes turn sharp; sharp enough to cut a diamond. "Did he drug you?"

His fist clenches as he says that, the lights flickering enough to have you using your hand to grip his free arm lightly.

"No, no." You shake your head. "It's not that. I'll tell you later, I promise."

He shoots you a look, one of those ones that tell you he expects you to follow up on that offer, before nodding his head once, spearing Mark with one last narrow look, and turning back around to continue down the hall.

And just like that, all your invited house guests are gone, having never once watched even a second of the promised movie they had come over for in the first place.

You shake your head, clicking your door shut with a sigh before turning around, a smile—shaking and nervous—nestled onto your face.

"Well then. That was quite the show, huh?"

TAGLIST: @silas-222, @bloofairyfox, @wiseavenuelove, @inkycapps, @velovicy, @mmentallyelsewhere, @verysynical, @1abi, @bluepartywobblernickel, @krys0210, @patatasolitaria, @mazixxss, @nova916, @federalprison78-4, @crissy09yesso, @minhyrin, @nutella-hitler, @kvzutora, @starslightzz, @alishii, @crybabyghostie, @jsprien213, @cupid73, @doggyteam2028, @invinciblewaffles, @love-theangel, @butterbiscuit444, @thecrazyone2007, @reaperxdeath, @gaychaosgremlin, @pookiei-bookie, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @eugenekori, @khaos141, @saltedcoffeescotch, @thatoneraeder, @pix-stuff, @lingxio, @mxvoid26, @winterhi09, @pengmar, @natsukicookies, @bronermalls, @marinefreaakk, @starmee-lodurrson, @bbsaeko, @vellichor01, @frothymilkdrink, @brooklynbbxo, @sleepygirl-inc

[professor-doc-emeritus]

burned through the dungeon meshi manga over the last few days, i think my highest compliment i could give is that it managed to perfectly satisfy all the plot threads it introduced while still leaving me wanting more

[elsaclack]

Yeah okay so like I said in the tags of the last post I’m rising from my tumblr grave to say that the ban on TikTok is symptomatic of a MUCH larger and more terrifying problem. Because yes, on its surface it’s silly dances and asmr and cooking videos and whatever, but in truth and at its core, TikTok single-handedly revolutionized the way 170 million Americans communicated with each other AND the rest of the world. Non-Americans love to point out how America-centric Americans are, but fail to realize that we are purposefully raised in an isolated, insulated environment where we are told from basically day 1 that America Is The Best and not to even bother taking a look around because it’s all downhill from outside of here. TikTok has, for MANY Americans, single-handedly destroyed that notion and allowed them (us!!) to broaden our world-view and realize that actually, things are better in other countries, and it did so in a kind, empathetic, and compassionate way.

And yeah most people wake up to the truth of that on their own as they get older, but holy shit!! The VAST majority of the Americans on TikTok are millennials and gen z (and even some older gen alpha)!! People who are becoming disillusioned with “The American Dream” (said with the HEAVIEST sarcasm) while they’re still school-aged or are just entering young-adulthood!! People who are entering - or TRYING to enter - the American workforce who suddenly have an unfiltered window into non-American lives and are wondering why tf we’re struggling and penny-pinching and toeing the line of poverty while our rich elected officials sit around and fight and argue over everything that actually matters to the citizens they supposedly represent and get richer all the while. THAT is why they’re banning the app, and that fact alone should terrify every single American citizen.

Not to mention the precedent it sets for other social media platforms!! You think some nebulous, unproven, and unfounded “threat to national security” will stop with TikTok?? They’ve already censored Adult Material on tumblr, who’s gonna stop them from coming back and doing it again or getting rid of it altogether for the exact same reason? It’s a blatant act of censorship and a direct attack on the American first amendment right to free speech.

NOTHING radicalized me the way tiktok did. I watched people in my life who were STAUNCH Trump supporters in 2016 AND 2020 wake up to the truth and vote blue for the first time in their lives BECAUSE OF TIKTOK, and did so with al the nuanced understanding that even Democrats are severely failing this country, but are at least better than the alternative. That level of awareness and presence in the average US citizen scares American politicians.

The fact that the vast majority of them - including the ones loudly opposing the ban!! - bought stock in Meta BEFORE the ban was legalized/upheld by the Supreme Court?? That Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk were legally allowed to lobby congress to ban TikTok when BOTH stood to DIRECTLY financially gain from their biggest competitor being banned in the US and are guilty of unethically gathering data and selling it to MULTIPLE third parties?? The fact that Trump is now teasing that he may or may not intervene to save TikTok when he was the one who talked about banning it in the first place AND ALSO OWNS HIS OWN COMPETING SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM??

It’s the burning of Alexandria. It’s the loss of a significant chunk of culture. It’s the sharp and sudden loss of contact with the rest of the world for more than half of all American citizens. It’s the loss of $240 BILLION dollars in the GDP when the country is already TRILLIONS of dollars in debt. And on an individualistic level, it’s the loss of millions of small businesses and primary income streams for so many individuals and families who found their primary audience on TikTok. Is the app perfect? HELL no. Are there significant changes needed to make it a safe environment for all users? ABSOLUTELY. But that can also be said of ANY social media platform. TikTok openly fostered connection and communication and creativity and compassion that is completely unique to that platform! It made so many people - myself included!! - feel less alone. I get the feeling I know what the general consensus is about TikTok on this site, but the ban on this app should scare the shit out of everyone.

[syluses]

ataxia

sylus x fem reader

⤷ sylus wants kids, sweetie. lots of kids.

kind of a part 2 to this piece, but it can still serve as a lil standalone as well ♡ DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS

cw ▻ nsfw, dubcon, breeding, pregnancy mentions, daddy kink, im a strong believer in sylus wanting a big family, whipped sylus, characters depicted are 18+, stockholm syndrome, yandere/obsessive tendencies, ~2.5k words

notes ▻ eeee they fr live in my head rent free </3 anyways take this crumb while i work on like other fics. daddy sylus is actually KILLING me like always on the noggin 😵‍💫

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

There’s a certain peace you feel, curled up on the leather couch, in watching your husband sit on his knees as the little ones crawl around the carpet, playing with them no different than a toddler would.

Not exactly a pleasant peace, by any means, but a simple, sort of resigned one. Your muscles seem to lose the tension, shoulders always piked high, ready for attack- or some other (meta)physical blow- slumping into rounded blades. You sigh.

Perhaps it’s the knowing that whatever bad thing that could’ve come- already has. Now, you’re experiencing the sloping aftereffects of it.

And this—

Sylus, with a beaming grin, letting out an almost breathless laugh as he scoops up one of the boys and twirls him overhead, the other kept by a protective hand at his side so he won’t bump on the corner of the coffee table—

Is just the fallout.

Ruby-red eyes flit over (and they always do sooner than later, like you’re a beacon in the middle of a dark sea) and crinkle at the edges. You’ve told him before that you don’t like when he throws the babies up in the sky like that, that if they were to suddenly fall, they can’t take flight like Mephisto. He must remember, because he lets out a little, woeful noise and carefully lowers him.

The smile remains, though, kilowatt and wide, a little starry-gazed like he’s inviting you to slip off the sofa and join him on the fluffy rug with your children.

The fatigue natural to post-pregnancy has already claimed you tonight, though. Truth be told, you’d have hesitated even if it didn’t. It’s fine, tending to your children on your own; his long absences leave you with massive windows of alone time with the little ones, and you actually enjoy it (save for the huge toll it takes on your energy, of course, but Luke and Kieran lend a hand where it counts- where they’re allowed).

That sentiment changes a bit, though, when your husband does get home. With his presence comes the cold reminder of how things really are, how you’re still an unwilling counterpart in all this- frilly gowns and jewels and the private chef he hires for fancy dinners (because he has the money for it) be damned.

You want to go home. That wish, hollow as it is, still stands.

…Even if it’s started staggering, in these last few months.

He’s always been more than content with just the two of you, but in the last several weeks, you compare Sylus’s emotional state to a suitcase packed too full, joy spilling out the sides. Evidently, he doesn’t try to close the zipper; he lets it happen with gladness, with his hands open and lifted, but you’re not sure he entirely knows what to do with himself. With these significant developments that are just as new to him (possibly even more, as much as that flummoxes you) as they are to you.

It’s as weird as it is endearing to see what having two children (twin boys, funnily enough) will do to your husband. But if there’s one thing you learned about Onychinus’s illustrious leader in the past couple years of your marriage—

It’s that he does not settle for less.

And when he draws closer, both little ones secured in his lap- dozing off because it’s already thirty minutes past their bedtime- and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss there, rubbing your knuckles dotingly…

You can tell there’s something more he’s craving.

✿

“A girl,” he moans.

Sometimes- after you’ve just put down the boys for four consecutive nights in a row before collapsing in bed, your lover hardly having the opportunity to show his affections, all but guilted into letting you catch up on your sleep- it’s almost easy to forget how Sylus feels, your brain willing it away. How good he fucks you.

If you’re being more general- how good he takes care of you.

“Give me a girl this time, sweetie, just-“ a gasp, “one more.”

And vaguely, in the haze of sweat and burning hands, his thick, long cock plunging in and out of you deeply- slowly- your juices and his pre slicking between you, sticky as molasses, you wonder to yourself if he’s even convinced of that himself.

Just having one more, you mean.

The twins were unexpected: that right there is an understatement. You were hardly prepared for one rascal- all the countless evenings he spent buttering you up, so attentive, and then cumming into you with whispered vows to knock you up be damned— but when the xray revealed not one misshapen, little form in your womb, but two?

It was a bombshell.

Sylus, beside you (on the leather couch downstairs with your personal doctor he paid God knows how unreasonable a sum to show), had squeezed your hand in his and tried to mask half of his joy. The priority was in comforting you, helping you to realize that this was a good thing- a beautiful thing- that your life was not officially over and- hey, don’t worry, hasn’t he taken good care of you thus far? Surely, adding a couple little ones into the equation wouldn’t suddenly make it impossible.

You’re both very capable people, honey. Even more so together, with him. (Well, he assures you as much, anyway.)

Whether or not he could take care of you was never exactly the worry, though. The worry was that you’d be under his hand forever— and a baby? (two, you strictly correct. Two babies) You could kiss the last hope you had of ever weaseling out from his grip, or luxurious manor, goodbye.

He must know it, buried deep in the back of his head underneath the genuine layers of desire to simply start a family with you, his beloved girl, and flesh out more of a solid, burgeoning life; the silent promise underlying the pregnancy tests and inpromptu housecalls of your poor, overworked doctor.

That a family ties you to him forever.

A tether that’s damn near impossible to cut yourself loose from, even if you stood a punching chance at it to begin with. Glues you together in a way that even marriage doesn’t quite scratch the surface of. Your bond is perpetuated by blood, now. Flesh and bone. Your DNA, warped with his to create—

Monstrosities—

No, a harsh voice in the corner of your skull surprisingly snips back. They’re not monstrosities, far from it. All previous qualms nudged aside (and you had a lot, to be clear; hours spent sobbing and pushing helplessly at his chest as Sylus crooned and wrapped you in his arms proves that), doubts surrounding parenting and your own self preservation- your children are beautiful, that’s true. Healthy. Perfect.

If you’re being honest with yourself, and choose the high road here (the high road means willfully forgetting how involuntary this whole arrangement was in the first place)- they’re positively adorable. With his white hair spiking on their heads but your eyes and lips- and a shared penchant to land themselves into trouble, places they shouldn’t be before either of you stoops over to lift them out. Albeit, you’ll admit that their noses are still up for debate; it’s hard to pinpoint the resemblance when their faces are endearingly round, too chubby to really tell in this stage, but you secretly hope they’ll take after you in that regard.

You… don’t know how you’ll continue to operate if staring at your children is like staring at a mirror image of their father.

But… I mean, they’re fucking innocent in all this—

Your precious boys aren’t like their father. They… won’t be. You’ll make absolute sure of it.

“One more,” he chants, sucking in a long, thin breath through perfect teeth. And damn it all he feels good. So good. Maybe he had more than just one selfish, substratal reason for populating your otherwise fairly quiet home. Because you’re more obedient lately, wanting for it, almost… It gets him riled up in ways he could not begin to articulate. Hesitant still (sometimes he has this awful, basal fear that it’ll never go away, your trepidation towards him)- but sugar-sweet when you lie on the silken bed and present yourself with bashful cheeks that tell Sylus you hate yourself for it but have no real control in the moment.

You moan so prettily for him when he pries your thighs apart and presses them either side of your head, fashioning you like a butterfly, to slide in and out of you with ease. Melodic. Maybe he’s tone deaf to all songs save for you because he knows you, knows you like the back of his hand, pitch and lilt; he could pick out the voice of you in a crowd full of whooping people, he thinks.

Again, you blame your excitement on what he’s done to you. The twins’ pregnancy, the fluctuating hormones that have you bouncing between hysterical sobs and yanking your wide-eyed husband into impulsive, suffocating kisses before his fingers quickly settle around your middle. All the gentle erosion that he’s guided you through across the span of almost two years has left you worn and vulnerable.

But you suppose if something were to ever encourage a deeper bond- strengthen it- what else would it be than to take a man’s seed inside your womb and gift him with a bunch of unruly but cute kids? That’d gnaw away at just about anybody’s inhibitions, even if it grudges you to admit that. It lessens what remnant you held onto of this idea of ‘autonomy’, makes you fully lean onto him.

Sylus takes that news much, much better than you.

It’s… got to be more than physical between you now, you think distantly as he bullies his cockhead against your smooth walls, stroking a spongey spot in the bulwarks of you that makes your head go kaput. Like something spiritual, perhaps. He’s joined his soul with yours and that’s why you’ve been so obedient lately, so needy, clinging onto him and making his back your own personal scratching post as he plays at the idea of impregnating you again.

Oh, fuck, he’s such a bastard you hate him you hate him you—

You suppose your baby girl, inevitable to come somewhere down the line- whether that means during the next pregnancy or the third- won’t be like him, either.

She’ll be a sweetheart, and soft. Perhaps she’ll inherit her daddy’s crimson eyes or his smooth, sharp tongue, his inclination for success, but she’ll carry her mother’s heart with her. She will be kind.

Until someone like her daddy comes along. Flips her world on its head.

(And you know that having Sylus as her daddy would be the simple fact that staves off all potential men intending to prey on her, but still, the thought remains, niggling and bitter.)

“Take daddy’s cock, sweetie,” he goads, breath shot right from his lungs as he traps you beneath him- not that you’ve much the will to resist anymore- and moans over you. “You’ll take what he has to offer, won’t you? Your pretty belly will take all of it in?”

Tears prickle at your eyes when his flit down to your tummy, pupils swelling wildly as his jaw sets tight. He hisses through clenched teeth, cock giving a hot pulse accordingly.

It’s not difficult to imagine the bump there, the mound that’s not yet formed over a for now slim belly and wrinkled skin (stretch marks that you loathe but he worships on most nights, with your heels over his shoulder and his tongue lapping greedily at your pussy, palms kneading the flesh with reverence). It’s hardly been six months since you had the twins (a home birth, he’d insisted, because it was safer that way, more sterile, less stressful for you), but Sylus finds himself pining for your body to adapt to his seed again, for your breasts to plump and your stomach to round, your skin to glow.

(Your hands to reach for him because your emotions have been sat on one long rollercoaster ride and you can’t help whatever the fuck is going on inside you.)

“Sylus—“ You mewl, panting as he knocks his forehead to yours- with a whit more force than you think he’d meant, but he’s a little dazed right now, and your pussy feels so good, so don’t hold it against him, kitten- and grunts back. “Yes?” He breathes, and you liken the sound to a gust of wind, powerful and shaking.

“I- I don’t know,” you all but wail, desperately trying to tamp down your sounds of pleasure before they can escape. You’re failing.

Your reticence is for a number of reasons. First of all, your boys are just down the hall, swaddled in their respective cradles under their rotating airplane fixtures and sleeping soundly. You don’t have any intentions of changing that- especially for something as stupid and pathetic as essentially whoring yourself out to their father (and you’re not a whore, but you can’t help but feel like one when you start to bask in the attention he gives you- your hormones post-pregnancy compelling you to do all sorts of wild things).

And secondly, Luke and Kieran don’t renown you as stubborn for no reason, or your husband, lovingly, as a drama queen— and there’s a defiant part of you that does not want to see the satisfaction on his face when you start to crumble under his ministrations and open your mouth about it.

But all that, for Sylus, is a wonderful work in progress.

And if we’re to be crystal, for as much as the N109 Zone’s number one magnate prioritizes the end goal, he thoroughly enjoys the process.

“You don’t know what, Sweetie?” He whispers. It’s all he can manage right now, you’re squeezing him so tight. In that moment, the fog parts, and he knows with a hundred percent certainty that you do not want him to leave. Yes, your cunt is saying as much, and he rewards it with a carefully angled thrust right against your g-spot, but your face tells no different a story.

You’re beautiful. Perfection embodied. Makes him lose his breath a little.

“I-If I want a girl,” You heave. “If I want one at all.”

Something like dejection passes across his handsome visage then, or maybe it’s uncertainty that weakens the tight knotch in his brow as he inwardly struggles- between his approaching climax and the single mind he’s got to stuff you full of his release- for an appropriate answer. He doesn’t want to anger you. Doesn’t want to make you hate him, no, especially not when you’re finally starting to dip your toes in his waters after all his painstaking efforts to make you comfortable. Oh, God knows Sylus would kick himself for that.

…But this will be good for you. Having another, he means. It’ll be good for the both of you and if you’d just let him show you—

He’s painted the perfect demonstration of that quite well with the boys, hasn’t he? In this past handful of months, you’ve never looked happier and you’re positively glowing and all Sylus has ever wanted was to see your pretty face light with that dazzling, little smile. The twins he’s given you, unbidden as they initially were through your lens, make you so, so happy.

This will be so, so good.

Perfect.

If you’d just give in.

Oh, you’re so maddening sometimes but he adores you, every part and piece. He stoops over so his damp lips brush the lobe of your ear, the perspiration dotting his temple wetting your flushed cheeks. He croons, “You do. You do want it. I’ll show you, kitten, just how bad you need it. The twins need a sister, don’t you think? They won’t know anything other than playing rough, if not.”

Your fingertips squeeze into the lean planes of muscle of his back. He’s burning up, near feverish what with the heat sweltering between your sandwhiched bodies, but he gives a shiver in response like he’s enduring temperatures below freezing.

Panic, beneath the misty veneer of pleasure that makes your face go slack- and the subtle, inexplicable flash of something that almost convinces you Sylus is right, that you do want it- slips into the forefront of your muddled brain. Reaches a hand through the dirt and revives itself, reminding, no, no, you don’t want this, you don’t want him, you don’t want—

You let out a delicious gasp as he spears into you, the flesh of your thighs dimpling as he presses down the undersides of them. Firm, but gentle. It’s true, you’ve become considerably more flexible since meeting him- since having to accommodate him- but he’ll never give you anything more than you can take.

You’d never admit it, but there’s almost a little bit of comfort in knowing that.

“I-I’ll make sure they know how to play nice,” you force out, taking your lower lip in your mouth and suckling as the telltale rush of your climax draws nigh, hardening in your belly as it builds. “I’ll make sure they know how to be gentle, Sy!” Foreign to your own ears. Your voice is horrid as you belatedly register it, all sniveling and gasping- downright pathetic as you cling onto him for dear life and he ruts into you like a dog in heat.

You’re grasping at straws now, you know, but for as feeble as your excuses are, you hope they hit their mark. That they’ll get him to reconsider-

“But sweetie,” he breathes tenderly, “you’re already making sure I’m gentle,” he reminds in a pleasant voice, edged with the remnants of a self control that unravels at a steady pace. “How will you juggle between the three of us? Hm?”

His cockhead, fat and precise, catches on that spot in you that makes you go positively crazy and your eyes flutter back. You let out a strange, choked sound that he marvels at before he capitalizes on the reaction completely, buffetting away at the final walls you’d erected against him tonight.

All are near crumbled.

“I’ll find a way,” you nearly squeak- high-pitched and unconvincing because his mind’s already made- before he’s lolling your jaw back towards him and smashing his lips to yours in a decadent kiss, silencing your protests- for as weak as they are.

It’s close to visceral, the contact, wet lips melding hungrily with yours, trading groans and mewls as he effectively pistons his hips into you and paints colorful stars across the black span of your eyelids. In a word- invasive. Torpefying, all your limbs unfurling and slipping away from him in favor of curling into the sheets as your release approaches at whirlwind speeds, blunt fingernails clinging onto you so tight there’ll be bruises formed tomorrow- as well as an apologetic, rueful sigh on Sylus’s end, because he swears to God he’s trying to hold back—

Fucking mind-numbing.

And isn’t that just what you need? A quiet conscience? A shot of morphine fed through a needle straight into the veins, an emotional kind of tranquilizer or- or something to moderate the snarled mess your heart’s become all because of him—

It seems he’s cognizant then, pupils dilated madly as he finally blinks, of the hands that clench too tight- withdrawing them immediately from your thighs (regrettably, they remain cleaved open in a willing offer for him, shaking and red with his prints) to loop your wrists either side of your head. Holding your hands. Ever the romantic. You almost laugh, seconds off from that white-hot tidal wave of pleasure, at the irony of it all. Onychinus’s formidable, takes-no-bullshit leader, fucking you with all the grace of a big clumsy dog but all the love of one too— loyal and determined, bleeding heart on his sleeve.

He’s still kissing you, sucking on your tongue filthily, and all you can think of is waking the boys sleeping soundly next door how exquisite it feels, his thick member dragging in and out of your walls like it’s his right. Sylus certainly believes as much.

He’s ruined you too good for anyone else; you’re starting to believe it, too.

“There you go, kitten!” He gasps. “Let go. Just- fuck- let go for daddy. Such a good, good girl. Such a good mommy, you are. Our- oh, fuck, that’s it, that’s it, perfect- Our little girl will be so, so lucky to have you.”

When he comes, you do, too.