#learning how they move so it becomes innate

[cherrysnax]

I doubt its just me but I can’t comprehend how other artists can draw in a 3D space

[fumifooms]

do you happen to have that page that talks about the beauty standards of each race?

Yeah sure. While scavenging pics for this I found this neat reddit compilation & chart & theory talk too. I had um, way more to say than I anticipated (I know you only wanted the one page. I have nothing to say for myself. Like most topics in Dunmeshi things snowball because they’re so interconnected. Mercy…) so, many races and observations are only mentioned near the bottom.

Beauty standards and race in Dungeon Meshi

Not pictured there’s also how elven society is harsh on visibly disabled people, and how the demon took away Mithrun’s silver eyes and ears to take away his pride. There’s also how Senshi might have fit in with the orcs more easily because of the dwarven wide body shape, and how they tend to have more body hair too I suppose. In the extra on orcs we see Senshi living with the orcs and he gets judged because of the hierarchy rather than his looks.

What is fashionable also differs from culture to culture, and there’s how tattoos only seem common with elves, though dwarves and others do also sometimes have some. They seem to not raise much brows, which makes sense since for many essentially they’re for professional (magical) purposes especially with elves. Gender roles also differ in type and importance, but generally they are similar to irl ones for the races we see. Elven society seems to be the least gendered, which would be an unsurprising logical outcome of having lesser sexual dimorphism aka they look more androgynous. Comparing fashions and gender roles and how they affect beauty standards would be a whole other compilation and conversation. Kui has great worldbuilding partially because she’s got such a good grasp on sociopolitics and geopolitics. History affects cultures and beauty standards greatly. Kui’s oneshot Distant Utopia was very eye opening on her way to worldbuild and the consideration she gives these things, I do really recommend reading it.

Out of the big 5, we know the least about gnomes, but their sheet does say both culture and region are similar to dwarves’ and they end up being confused together often, so we can imagine the beauty standards are similar to dwarves’ as well.

I wanted to touch on this in a post eventually, but how one daydream hour page said half-foots tended to be curvaceous like in the artwork below puzzled me for a long time, all the half-foot characters we see during canon are rather slender and lanky after all, Chil’s succubi also being more curvy than plump. Economics are for sure a factor in that I imagine, the half-foots characters we see are all implied to be some flavor of poor or malnourished, as are half-foots depicted as empoverished oppressed minorities in general. Even comparing the artwork with the half-foot sheet’s depicted average half-foot, the ones on the left seem bigger. Wouldn’t it make sense though, if unlike dwarves half-foots don’t have similar naturally wide bodies, yet due to idolizing dwarves they work towards having a similar body shape/type to emulate them?

It’s said half-foots tend to stick to pretty ethnically homogeneous regions (aka half-foots-only communities) unless they move to the big city with ambition to try and make it big (like Chilchuck and his wife & kids did), and that’s interesting imo because then that would mean that in a ton of half-foot communities, they rarely see or interact with dwarves whom they try to emulate. Of course, one thing about beauty standards is that when they get adopted, at one point it stops being "this is how dwarves look and so this is how half-foots should look" and just becomes "this is how half-foots should look", most people feel as though beauty standards aren’t learned but innate, so I figure the half-foots wouldn’t have any problem still seeking dwarvish traits when there are no dwarves around.

There’s also stuff you can glean here and there if you want to extrapolate more. Like how in the race swap artworks, Mickbell is only smiling in the dwarf portrait, and Rin’s elven portrait looks very close to her elven one- Rin who is stated to be beautiful in her profile blurb. Benichidori’s extra does teach us tallmen can definitely have harsh beauty standards, but also since the text portrays her as very dysmorphic that’s likely reflected in her thoughts to a much more intense degree than is common, not an accurate strict baseline to go off. Ah, Kabru’s blue eyes are also why he and his mother lived a rough life in Kabru’s hometown, but that seems to be regional. Good post here on the topic of Kabru’s blue eyes and ties to irl history. There’s a lot to be said about Kabru being a man that in many ways is close to elven beauty standards, and how that might have affected or been affected by his upbringing with elves + his persona as someone that can effortlessly charm most people. Marcille’s section here in this essay also goes into Marcille’s struggles to fit in with the ideal image of an elf.

Looking human

Also notable are beastkins and demihumans: Demihumans are all dehumanized which makes people treat them worse. So if you differ from the visual idea of "human" (an in-world subjective categorization just as much as demihuman is) most people do judge you negatively. Elves and dwarves get to fight about which type of human is considered the prettiest, but demihumans are below tallmen and half-foots, they are considered as simply below the beauty contest, incompatible with it.

Onis are perhaps the demihuman people we know of with the least cultural influence on the dunmeshi world, and with the least intensely different appearance than other demihumans—they seem to be technically categorized as human to people not from the eastern archipelago?— but even them are treated as lesser than human, treated as beasts to slain for reputation points or useful strength to have around and command. It’s said their "magnificient horns" and fangs are often shaven off when the oni lives in tallman towns, so you could easily make the argument that onis are denied the right to have their own beauty standards, having to conform to other people’s and going through mutilation to take away features they might otherwise have taken pride in. Inutade was bought by the Nakamotos from a dangerous sumo fighting ring that got one of Inutade’s tooth broken on her first and only fight, and kept as a low ranking servant ever since. Remember when I said different fashions existed in dunmeshi and how those could also affect beauty standards? Like the elves, if you look at the portraits pages which include a lot of characters that aren’t in the story you can see distinct cultures within the same races, for example one young elf is bald which is in sharp contrast with the usual elven long luscious hairstyles, and that’s especially true for onis I think. Maybe not only from different regions but different eras as well… They have a bit of population in the very north of the western continent, so I like to think some of the ogres live in very cold, maybe even subarctic or arctic conditions. The point I’m getting at here is that within a race, culture/ethnicity like with Kabru will also influence them it isn’t just tallmen as a whole, different communities will have differing beauty standards. The oni history blurb and third row first collumn portrait remind me of Mongolia (which historically was a lot of different nomadic communities with different cultural identities as well. Something something, the oni empire experienced a decline and then tallmen overpowered them, and now they’re governed and split apart by stronger social classes & slavers and the richness of culture was hurt for it especially if they have no real community left of their own), but obviously many of them are dressed and look rather japanese, makes sense considering living in/close to Wa, and first row second collumn portrait reminds me of ainus which again would be logical considering geographical placement, though I’m far from an expert. Interestingly, ainus are indigenous people both in Japan and Russia- Perhaps the northern western continent ogres are meant to be closer to Russia than Canada like I imagined? Ok tangent over.

The kobold sheet says they’re especially sought after as slaves because they’re "adorable", but locally in the western continent they’re repeatedly said to be seen more as ferocious and dangerous. The dehumanization is most apparent in the first comic below. The language barrier and conflicts no doubt worsen this by a lot, but I think it’d be hard to deny that their canine appearance makes the dehumanization worse. "They’re ferocious beasts, they’re demihumans, they can’t be communicated with". Most characters in Dungeon Meshi’s world are desensitized to slavery and most characters are prejudiced one way or another. Point being, kobolds are fully removed from human beauty standards, but no doubt for kobolds, other kobolds are more beautiful than humans are. They’re assumed to be an uncivilized bunch, but just like any other people they like to adorn themselves with nice clothes and jewelry and keep themselves clean and groomed; they too take care of their appearance and take pride in it.

And the orcs! This one we have the most contact with in canon, with not only there being foreigner characters from the ethnicity or hearsay of their homelands and culture but full on contact with a community. We get to see up close what they’re like and what they think, and of course in turn they’re our introduction to how demihumans are harshly looked down upon and seen as inferior, less human and thus less worth valuing and less dignified. It’s text that orcs are ugly to most humans and humans are ugly to most orcs. Since I judged they didn’t need accompanying explanation the pictures showing this are in the pictures dump at the top.

God forbid you sell vegetables to orcs my god- but then again they do basically mandate adventurers to kill any orcs they come across so yeah the world isn’t above that even a little bit.

So yes, my main point here is simply that orcs are yet another evidence of the physical ideal of "human" being an important beauty standard for human societies globally.

Izutsumi is our glimpse at how beastkins are treated in the world, and in Wa at least that’s ending up being caged and mistreated as part of a freak show. Izutsumi hates her appearance and wishes she could leave the feline part of herself behind to only be human. Interestingly, not that we have a lot of info on them so this is very much a take with a grain of salt situation, but there seems to be less stigma around artificial beastmen, those who can shapeshift at will. The main difference is of course appearance, that most of the time they simply look like average tattooed humans. Artificially creating humans is an illegal practice, and no doubt it’s not well regarded, but being able to hide that makes them less likely to be discriminated at any moment, or even just discriminated less intensely. Again, looking human is important, not only for belonging but for safety’s sake. Beauty standards rule the world with harsh hands.

Mermaids and fishmen

Ok we’re done now right? Right-! But wait… Wait…! Mermaids and fishmen are said to be demihumans too, special separate cases to the main three demihuman species however, which is also represented by how mermaids and fishmen both are in the Adventurer’s Bible chapter Monsters meanwhile ogres, kobolds and orcs are in the chapter World. They’re an interesting topic because they directly tackle this topic, not only in a meta way for the readers but also making characters themselves struggle to quantify their humanity with the goal of knowing wether they should be eaten or not, especially Chilchuck. Chilchuck’s "is it really just a matter of feelings?" mini arc.

The party asking themselves "Should we eat this?" is very common, and often they end up playing a little loose on morality, like eating the red dragon’s meat despite it having digested Falin. Not unsimilarly Marcille freaks out a little over the vegetables they harvested having been grown with fertilizer, aka largely human poo. Half of the motivation of "should we eat this perhaps sentient creature" is out of consideration and compassion, but more strongly and more often, the characters struggle with a sense of taboo at eating something too closely related to humans. Even, feel uncomfortable because of the deepseated impression that eating it would dirty them in some way. Cannibalism is an interesting and relevant topic in many ways, but what I want to mention is how there’s the more or less universal belief that committing cannibalism inherently taints you as a person and turns you more monstrous, morally but also literally depending on some myths such as w*ndigos and onis in some cases, like in Touge Oni. Marcille and Izutsumi both express a fear of eating monsters turning them monstrous. Maybe this is part of what Laios was hoping for, honestly. There are two fears here, if eating a demihuman monster constitutes as cannibalism or not, and so, will eating it taint you because it’s a human, or will eating it taint you because it’s a monster? You are what you eat, until it’s a little too literal. You morally are the means by which you get your food, and you physically are the result of your nutrition. Dungeon meshi manages to mix an exploration of humanity with the theme of food because our relationship to food is very deep and complex, psychological as much as physiological.

In the end, the characters sort of shrug and accept that they’ll never quite understand the world of mermaids and fishmen and how they operate, and what that means about them. Laios is the one always challenging these notions other characters take for granted, it’s not obvious to Laios why people are softer on mammals than other animals and plants, it’s not obvious to Laios why people would be afraid of eating a monster just because it’s a monster, it’s not obvious to Laios why some food is gross to Marcille but not fish testicles, it’s not obvious to Laios why you should immediately regard orcs and kobolds badly.

"Cows are probably closer to humans [aka closer to being human] than fishmen, though they’re clearly intelligent", dehumanization to lessen empathy towards them to be able to eat them. Meanwhile, mermaids seemingly have a less noticeable "civilization" or intelligence, they hunt in groups like fishmen, but they don’t use tools and such, they feel more primal and similarly instinct driven, and yet… Do they attract sympathy more? Mammals, humans, is it because of their nature or because of their appearance?

Both the nature and appearance of fish are ones people don’t typically sympathize with. "Fish don’t feel pain", "goldfish only have 5 seconds of memory", "it’s okay to keep fish in completely empty bowls too small for them until they die from it", so many lies and misconceptions exist that make people less considerate of them. The average lifespan of a goldfish is 10-15 years, the record is 43, but they’re not seen as lives that really matter, so a lot of goldfish die in a few weeks of bad aquarium conditions. There’s a lot of research on animals evolving to look cute and appealing to make some predators want to kill them less and parents want to care for them more, including humans. First good google research result gave me this credible short article on the topic. In Chilchuck’s weighing wether a fishman is far enough from being human or not to eat, "face is 100% fish" is his biggest argument for it being more acceptable. The face, the most important thing for empathy and recognition. The face, the decapitated fishman one that falls into his hands next chapter.

To quote @room-surprise: "Chilchuck can't explain why it's wrong to eat the merpeople, even though it's NOT complicated. But the problem is Chilchuck would have to accept and acknowledge that the merpeople might be people? And that's outside of the worldview he passively believes, so he can't just say that, because he doesn't think that's true. But that IS why he "feels" it's wrong. And it's all you'd need to say for Laios to understand! But it would require acknowledging that maybe the way they're treating and talking about the merpeople is wrong."

The idea of Chil not being able to grapple with how maybe some monsters are more humans than they seem, him who had been an advocate of half-foots rights, half-foots who get undermined and treated as inconsequential sacrifices… Grappling with how he could relate to the merpeople’s situation almost, and pulling away because it’s so existentially horrifying. I do not want to see myself into an hostile fish-faced warrior I can’t communicate with. In a way this also relates to Chilchuck being the only party member who doesn’t see Izutsumi as a cat in the relationship chart, the only one to treat her with full human dignity. He knows the struggle to be taken seriously, he knows being infantilized and he knows what it’s like to be treated as less than human.

Below, you will see Chilchuck draws the line of where they become not okay to eat as when "they already look like mermaids". Above, there’s speculation that the algae hair is partly to mimic "the mermaids’ beautiful female form". Is it because mermaids are their enemies and the ambiguity might give them extra seconds to attack or flee? Is it to trick adventurers instead? It’s striking to me that this is what works, with the adventurers. Sure the fishmen are intelligent, but explicitly here, what makes them no longer acceptable prey to Chilchuck is that they look close enough to a mermaid, close enough to human. Mermaids who of course themselves have this form to entice and seduce and charm the adventurers they prey on. Chilchuck considers the intelligence due to the tridents, but most of his internal debate centers around their appearance, and the image of a fishman skewered sickens him. The power of mimicry… Mimic being a beautiful human woman. Mimic being cute, babies being wired to make us feel protective and softened. Half-foots, sometimes pretending to be children for scams or help or avoiding trouble.

The mermaids are only concerned by their differences and not their similarities, and have no trouble treating the fishmen as food rather than peers. To an outside perspective like us, the audience, all these categorization of "more human" and "less human" between onis and orcs and elves and tallmen etc seem stupid and unfounded, but to the people living in Dungeon Meshi’s world, elves may as well be mermaids while onis are fishmen, not alike at all, unworthy of empathy and thus fine to eat.

Ultimately, Dungeon Meshi promotes unity. It’s about seeking to understand the unknown and the misunderstood, the dehumanized and the inhuman. It shows the good that comes from seeking to understand what you do not, even when that’s one another.

[atticmichaelangelo]

Junko: How patriarchy, time, and perception influence ( female ) friendships:

Junko is without a doubt a rather polarising figure within the Nana fandom. While some are inclined to view her as the epitome of a terrible friend, others find that there are aspects of her character that are not completely unreasonable. Some even argue that she is fully justified in her actions, interpreting them as a weary response to Nana Komatsu (Hachi’s) dependent and at times childish behaviour. 

I personally find her to be an extremely intriguing case study on female friendships - it is rare to find a depiction of female friendships that deviates from the endlessly supportive, forgiving, and nurturing portrayals of female relationships. Often times women are not as forgiving and sweet to each other as is often idealised in popular media, with dynamics often being fraught with internalised misogyny, societal perceptions, past experiences, and unhealthy attachment - so it is refreshing to see such a realistic, unorthodox, and complex portrayal of relationships dynamics between women—an topic that is often underrepresented and undervalued, yet crucial in order for people of any age to reflect on their own friendships and the factors that shape their beliefs and behaviours within them.

Firstly, I think that there is no point in disputing that Junko, in her own, often unconventional way, cares about Hachi. Throughout the early episodes and chapters of Nana, Junko frequently steps in to protect and comfort Hachi when she thinks the situation calls for it. This can be seen when she immediately leaps into action when Hachi breaks down in tears, drunk and distraught over memories of Asano in Episode 2, calming her down. This concern is seen again when Junko berates Shoji for hurting Hachi’s feelings and leaving Hachi alone in an unfamiliar place before rushing out to go find her. When Junko learns that Hachi plans to move in with Nana Osaki, who was practically a stranger at the time, she tries to convince (scare) Hachi into reconsidering the decision, concerned with how Hachi would manage and what kind of person Nana would turn out to be. Accepting defeat when Hachi stayed steadfast in her decision, she challenged (Hachi’s words) Yasu, trying to support Hachi by passive aggressively asserting Hachi’s right to the apartment when Hachi failed to do so to her standards.

Infantilisation and stifling growth

However, Junko’s protectiveness often crosses the line into infantilisation, an action which is a mixture of both care for Hachi and an unconscious subscription to societal perceptions of ‘femininity’, which ends up doing more harm than good.

Ai Yazawa makes a point of emphasising that Junko has known Hachi for a long time - she is familiar with her romantic struggles and emotionally dependent tendencies. But Yazawa also shows us from the start as well that Junko is immalleable. She is a character that does not bend to displays of emotion or whims - a foil to Hachi’s very passionate and dreamy personality. It becomes apparent from their interactions that Junko, after having been around Hachi a long time, internalised how Hachi behaves and acts to the point where she sees these traits as innate to Hachi as opposed to behaviours that have developed and formed over time. This strongly held perception of Hachi becomes a problem, as instead of encouraging growth ( which is what every healthy friendship accepts and promotes), Junko reinforces these observed traits, often treating Hachi as if she were a younger sibling or even a child. She seems “relieved” when someone else is there to “take care” of Hachi and even makes decisions on her behalf, such as revealing Hachi’s crush on Shoji despite Hachi making a conscious decision to not be romantically involved in anyone, assuming that Hachi does not have the scope to actually achieve the emotional goals she sets for herself.  

This dynamic consequently stifles and hinders Hachi’s ability to grow as an independent person throughout the anime, as Junko continues to see her through the lens of their shared past rather than as a peer. Even when Junko chastises Hachi for her lack of independence, she paradoxically expresses relief when someone else can ‘step in’ to care for her. This cycle of infantilisation keeps Hachi trapped in a dependent role within her friendships, and Junko’s inability to adjust her perception only reinforces these traits in Hachi. How people around you perceive and treat you influence how you subconsciously view yourself, and in Hachi’s case, she would see herself through Junko’s eyes as exasperating and hopelessly dependent. While Junko could very well believe her treatment stems from a deep and intimate understanding of Hachi, she in fact implies, most likely unintentionally, that Hachi is not capable of better. Junko's habit of infantilising Hachi repeatedly yet chastising her for the very thing Junko validates puts her in an endless pattern of being enabled, but not giving the genuine support when she does attempt to break the cycle. 

Internalised misogyny and and complicity to the status quo

At the root of Junko’s behaviour there is a subtle form of internalised misogyny that permeates throughout her interactions with Hachi. Hachi’s personality is characterised by dreaminess, emotionality, and dependence, and aligns with traditionally "feminine" traits that patriarchal societies often devalue. She is romantic, frivolous and dependent, and Junko, in contrast, is portrayed to be and see herself as more pragmatic and career-oriented, which she is shown to be aware of and even proud of in the anime and manga. She firmly corrects Hachi when Hachi hopes she will give up on her dreams of art school in Tokyo, and pursues her passions and career with dedication throughout the anime. Her more modern lifestyle ( living unmarried with her boyfriend and striving for her dream career) contrast heavily with her more conservative mindset with gender - through interactions between Hachi and Junko, we can see that she seems to have adopted a more ‘masculine’ role between the two of them, acting as the voice of reason and logic, traits which are stereotypically associated with masculinity ( haha). You can see that this patriarchal compartmentalisation of personality traits is something that Junko had internalised growing up through her interactions with Hachi, perceiving Hachi as hopeless and in need due to her personality, when in actuality we find out later that Hachi is perfectly capable of making decisions herself, and managing difficulty by herself (with more resilience that others can muster). While she surely does not always make the best options, she is able to adapt and persevere - not exactly the actions of a hopelessly dependent person.

This is a greatly nuanced decision on Yazawa’s front, as she perfectly depicts how growing up in a patriarchal society does not only influence male and female relations, but all - due to Junko growing up in a patriarchal society where women with ‘feminine’ traits are simultaneously taken care of and condescended, she too mimics and appropriates such beliefs and actions. The status quo in such societies ( like Japan in the time the manga is set)  are rigidly upheld yet at the same time result in the mocking and contempt of women who adhere to or fit the mould shaped and maintained by the same people who patronise them - and often times women are complicit in upholding harmful patriarchal ideals.  I think this is a refreshing (and depressingly realistic) depiction of relationships between women, as it perfectly captures the delicate and painful cognitive dissonance between caring for someone and not doing what is in their best interest due to internalised misogyny. 

A large aspect of internalised misogyny is putting male approval and attention on a pedestal, and Junko depicts such influences as well when she compares her love life to Hachi’s. She flaunts her alleged ability to form platonic male friendships without becoming romantically involved, ironically right before quickly entering into a relationship with Kyosuke. Junko then feels the need to justify her own quick decision of sleeping with and getting with Kyosuke to Hachi, showing a unconscious adherence to the notion that as a woman, getting with or attached to a relatively unknown man simply because of a desire to is a disdainful trait, and one that Junko makes a conscious effort to differentiate herself from - and not for Hachi. Hachi did not judge or even understand why Junko made such a fuss explaining; Junko’s attempts were more a form of self reassurance that she is not like the ‘others’ who are deemed undesirable and whorish ( a belief she holds due to her close interaction with patriarchy growing up). Junko is in fact not so different from Hachi, from what we can see from her actions in the anime and manga. We are told by her she does not attach herself romantically to men quickly, yet in the first instance possible we see otherwise. We see her look down on Hachi’s air-headed desire for a stereotypical, domestic relationship with a reliable man, while staying with Kyosuke throughout all the anime and manga, using him as a mode of support and guidance as well as a romantic and seemingly life partner. Her contempt of Hachi at times seems to be a reflection of her own insecurities with the aspects of her personality that do not fit the mould she wants - the aspects of her personality she was raised to see as less valuable and worthy and therefore grew up and internalised.

Junko’s internalised misogyny is also apparent in her loyalty to the men in her life, particularly in her defence of Shoji after he cheats on Hachi. Instead of holding Shoji accountable, Junko places the blame on Hachi, telling her that it was her fault for being too dependent, too self absorbed - too absent ( the very traits she was telling Hachi to adopt). This reaction reflects Junko’s struggle to justify her friendship with Shoji through her own internalised belief that women are responsible for men’s behaviour ( a common belief in patriarchal societies to take accountability away from men, instead vindicating and blaming the women involved). This scene serves to reveal Junko’s desire to preserve her own relationships and avoid conflict with male peers - by justifying Shoji’s actions, she maintains the comfort and security of her social circle, which includes her boyfriend Kyosuke, who is also Shoji’s best friend ( again rather similar to Hachi and her want of companionship) - she puts her male centred relationships on a pedestal at the expense of her female friendships and Hachi’s wellbeing.

Junko’s character serves as a window into the nuanced ways internalised misogyny, perception, and shared history can influence female friendships. Her dynamic with Hachi is shaped by her rigid perception of Hachi’s weaknesses and her own internalised biases about what traits are "acceptable" in women. While Junko is portrayed as a capable, independent woman—someone Hachi and other women can in some ways even looks up to—her patronising attitude ultimately undermines the potential of their relationship. Junko’s failure to see Hachi as an evolving, autonomous person perpetuates a cycle of dependence, preventing both women from growing as individuals and as friends, with Junko feeling equally responsible and burdened by Hachi but not allowing the relationship to develop beyond how it was in the past.

By portraying Junko, one of Hachi’s closest friends, as such a complex, multidimensional character, Ai Yazawa offers a compelling critique of the ways in which societal norms and internalised beliefs can distort relationships between women, and bring attention to topic that is often neglected yet experienced and lived by women universally. Junko’s story illustrates that it is not only overt sexism that influences women’s lives but also the more subtle, internalised forms of misogyny that shape how women perceive themselves and each other, and the pitfalls of relationships that remain stagnant in the past instead of allowing both parties to grow and flourish. 

[solarmorrigan]

You know how cats seem to have an innate sense of when you’re about to get up, and they choose that exact moment to sit down on your lap? And no sooner have they made themselves comfortable than you realize that you have to go to the bathroom, or someone calls you over, or the phone starts ringing, and you have to shove the poor cat off your lap?

That’s basically Eddie’s sex life right now.

Well alright, no, not entirely, but – it’s a component that’s certainly starting to become an irritation.

It’s just that Steve has a wonderful lap.

At least, Eddie assumes it’s wonderful. It’s wonderfully inviting, at the very least; it’s wide enough to offer Eddie (who is not quite as generously endowed in the whole… thighs-ass department, he’ll admit) a good seat, and he’s had his hands on the area often enough to know it’s firm but with just the right amount of give to be very comfortable.

But Eddie’s never actually gotten to spend much time on it.

He doesn’t even mean that in a sexual way (although that much is also true). Every time he’s so much as tried to plop himself down on Steve’s lap to do something as innocent as watch a movie, Steve seems to remember something he needs to get up and do within just a few minutes.

For a little while, Eddie had been worried about what that meant. Did Steve not want to spend time with him? Did Steve not want Eddie near him? Did Steve not find him attractive? Did Steve just find him annoying?

But further time spent together has given Eddie more confidence. Clearly Steve enjoys spending time with him—submits to it willingly and often—and does find Eddie annoying but in a way he enjoys. Steve also most definitely finds Eddie attractive (and, in fact, has no trouble at all spending extended time on Eddie’s lap). So at this point, it’s more of a puzzle. A frustration.

It can’t be that Eddie’s too heavy for him; Eddie isn’t a small guy, really, but he isn’t huge, either. He’s seen Steve push and pull bigger people around – hell, he’s seen Steve carry Mike a good ways through the woods and back to the car after the kid had slipped and twisted his ankle when they’d been out walking (an incident which none of them are allowed to speak of ever, for varying reasons of blackmail and dignity), and he’s not too much smaller than Eddie.

Eddie is nothing if not a direct sort of guy, though – if he’s thinking something, he’s going to say it. This is mostly because he has very little brain-to-mouth filter, but he’s learned to make it part of his image. He’s pretty sure it works for him.

All of this to say that one afternoon, as they make out on Steve’s couch, Eddie freshly settled on Steve’s lap, Eddie decides to just… ask.

He waits until he can feel Steve’s hands sliding down around his thighs—not groping, but with the intent to move him—before he pulls back to say anything.

“Hey,” he says—gasps, really, still a little breathless with his attempt to seize the opportunity, “question.”

Steve blinks up at him, startled. “Uh. Shoot.”

“Do you not like it, when I sit on your lap? Because it kinda seems like you find other places to be when I try to make that happen.”

If Steve had been startled before, that’s nothing on how he looks now. He covers it in an instant, but Eddie’s seen it; Steve’s good, he’s very good, but Eddie is literally right in his face.

“What?” Steve pulls back, brows drawn in confusion. “No. Why would I have a problem with you being in my lap?”

Eddie shrugs. “Not a damn clue. That’s why I figured I’d ask. It’s just that whenever I get myself settled here, you suddenly remember you have to get up.”

“I don’t do that,” Steve scoffs, throwing in a good-natured eye roll.

“You kinda do, babe,” Eddie says, keeping it light; this isn’t an argument, nor an accusation – it’s literally just a question, and he doesn’t want to scare Steve off.

“So you’re saying, that every time I have my boyfriend on my lap – a guy I find insanely hot, by the way,” Steve’s hand slide back up Eddie’s thighs, edging towards his ass, and this time he’s groping, “you’re saying I don’t want him there, is that right?”

Eddie’s resolve almost breaks as Steve stares up at him with his ridiculous, pretty eyes (he’s good, he’s very good, Eddie will give him that) and tugs him closer with his ridiculous, strong hands, but he knows Steve is lying. He knows it.

He just doesn’t know why.

And isn’t that interesting? Eddie wouldn’t exactly call Steve an open book, but they know each other pretty well by now; Eddie can usually read Steve, but he has no idea what he’s thinking just at the moment.

So he decides to allow it.

He’ll see where it goes.

“Hm,” Eddie hums, as if he’s thinking. “That does sound a little silly, if you put it like that.”

“Completely silly.” Steve grins up at him, but there’s a thread of very genuine sincerity in what he says next. “Of course I want you here.”

And Eddie’s not sure what to say to that, so he leans back in to kiss Steve again.

And for a while, it’s fine. Great, even. Steve is a very good kisser, after all, and Eddie likes to think he’s no slouch himself, and a good time is being had by all, except before too long Eddie can feel Steve starting to tense up under him.

Once again, Eddie doesn’t mean this in a sexual way.

It’s not the fun, anticipatory kind of tensing, but the ready to run or punch something kind of tensing. The kind of tension that comes from a threat, not from having your boyfriend on your lap.

Eddie waits to see if Steve will do anything, say anything, but he does nothing. His kisses grow more distracted, quicker and shallower, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t push Eddie away.

It’s when Steve starts shaking that Eddie gives up.

“Okay,” Eddie pulls away, shifting himself to the side so he doesn’t have more than an ankle draped over Steve’s legs, “what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong? You’re the one who pulled away,” Steve snaps.

“Yeah, because it feels like you don’t want me up there,” Eddie shoots back.

Steve rolls his eyes again, irritated this time. “What, you don’t like it if I don’t let you sit on my lap, you don’t like it if I do let you sit on my lap– What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Maybe just the goddamn truth.”

Whatever Eddie expects, it isn’t for Steve to just… stare at him.

He stares at Eddie for a good five seconds in full silence before shaking his head. “No,” he says quietly, “you don’t want that.”

His sudden reticence only sparks Eddie’s irritation. “Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want, Steve. You don’t want to tell me, that’s on you, but don’t decide for me what I don’t want to know.”

“Well what do you think you’re going to hear, Eddie, huh?” Steve barks. “What do you want to hear? You wanna hear how Billy Hargrove sat on me – pinned me down while he beat me unconscious? Or you wanna hear how it felt to be handcuffed to a fucking chair while some Russians– while they– how it felt to be held down and not be able to stop them from doing anything?”

Steve has stood up now, pacing in front of Eddie, and Eddie wishes he could do anything other than fucking stare while his boyfriend has some kind of breakdown that he started.

“Or – or how about how I ruined multiple dates, or hookups, or whatevers when someone tried to sit themselves down on top of me and I damn near shoved them off onto the floor and then had to make up some dumb fucking excuse and run out on them before I had some kind of fucking panic attack? You wanna hear all that?” Steve demands, rounding back on Eddie. “No! You don’t… you don’t want to hear that.”

“Steve… no, I don’t wanna hear all that,” Eddie says, and hurries on when he can see Steve practically crumple in on himself, “I don’t want to hear that all that horrible shit has happened to you, but I need to.”

“Wh– what?”

“You don’t… I mean, you don’t have to give me specifics if you don’t want, but I need to know what might set you off so I don’t accidentally do it, okay?” Eddie says. “It fucking terrifies me that you went through all that, and I know I can’t do anything about it, but I’m at least not going to be one more thing that makes you hurt. I’m gonna make damn sure of that.”

“…Oh.”

It’s clearly not what Steve was expecting to hear, and for a moment he shifts uncertainly in front of Eddie. He wraps his arms around himself before seeming to think better of it and crossing them over his chest instead. Eddie wants nothing more than to draw him close and hold him, but Steve’s not quite ready yet.

“I’m not… I didn’t want to say anything. I don’t want it to be an issue,” Steve finally says.

I don’t want you to treat me differently, he doesn’t say.

“Then we won’t make it an issue.” Eddie shrugs. “You got some kind of trauma associated with sitting on other people, or can you come back over here to me?”

Steve blinks at Eddie, startled, before he gives in to a little huff of laughter, slowly crossing back over to the couch.

“You’re an ass,” he says, all fondness.

“Mm, so I’ve been told,” Eddie says, aiming a smug smile up at Steve as Steve settles himself right over Eddie’s lap. “And yet, here you are.”

“Yeah…” Steve leans in, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth, quirking a little smile as he pulls away. “Here I am.”

[larvasmoon]

Purpose

Summary: Sewing was a tedious activity all things considered. One that Astarion had never imagined himself doing for a living.

Rating: T Word Count: 2132 Content: Tailor Astarion AU, Fluff and angst, well quite a lot of angst as usual, mentions of death and grief

A/N: This little one shot is spoiler free but I wrote it as a prologue to my fic Portrait of the pale elf ! I hope you'll enjoy!

Sewing was a tedious activity all things considered. One that Astarion had never imagined himself doing for a living. 

Well…To be fair, during all those centuries, he’d never dared to dream or hope for anything. Torture was Godey’s speciality, not his. And indulging in grand fantasies of freedom would have certainly felt like a new kind of torment — especially when the only thing to look forward to was the next mucky rat he’d be allowed to feast on.

But becoming a tailor? Gods no, it had never been part of his plan.

Spending hours and hours in complete silence, hunched over some intricate sewing pattern. Struggling to pass a thread through the needle of his sewing machine, or finding it impossibly tangled around its mechanism. Stichting thousands of pearls in the shape of a blooming flower, until his vision blurred and his finger swelled under the thimble. 

Hardly an exciting prospect for someone like Astarion. His definition of a ‘fun night’ usually involved good wine, a little shopping spree, the latest plays or operas, and —if he felt like it— good company. 

Needless to say that his love for the profession had been an acquired taste, at best. 

But then again, he’d never really taken the time to think about the things he liked. Sometimes, he wondered if anything of what made him ‘Astarion Ancunín’ was truly his. Had he always enjoyed the scent of rosemary, or was it just the only trick he’d found to hide the faint smell of grave dirt clinging to his skin? Had he always enjoyed getting lost in extravagant parties and crowded dressing rooms, or had he always seeked to silence his own dark thoughts by visiting those places? He would never know. 

He’d first started sewing clothes for himself a few weeks after coming back to Baldur’s Gate. Nothing of what he’d found at the clothiers suited him. 

Poor quality. Crooked seams. Too tight around the shoulders or too wide near his waist. 

One night, on a whim, he’d come to the conclusion that if the city was full of incompetents, he’d do it himself. He’d stormed out, bought a few fabric rolls, before decidedly sitting at the desk of his room at the Blushing Mermaid. It really hadn’t taken him long to work out a few patterns, cut the blue brocades, and make a few doublets out of them. He’d mended his clothes time and time again, back when he was still a spawn, but he’d never made a garment from scratch before. Yet, something about this felt so innate, so instinctive, almost as if… As if he’d done it before. 

He already knew what to do without having to think — what to measure, where to pin the silk, how to stitch the seams. And from time to time, when the needle moved too quickly between his fingers, he was reminded of something. 

A vision, barely out of grasp. 

Old weathered hands holding an embroidery hoop, the crackling of the fire in the earth, and his own pudgy fingers clinging to the worn wool of a soft jacket.

“Needlework is a labor of love and patience. One sews like he lives, one motion at a time, designedly and purposefully. Diligence is a virtue you still need to learn, young master.”

So many stolen memories.

So many years spent living as an instrument of death.

Maybe devoting his time in the pursuit of beauty was the only way to atone for it, to prove to himself that he was meant for more than this eternal darkness.

Art imitates life, after all. And Astarion felt powerful each time he finished sewing a piece. As if he'd secretly stolen a bit of the gods’ power by doing so, as if he’d shaped something out of the void with his undead hands.

It was addictive, intoxicating, healing. 

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Astarion never forgot his first customer.

It was right after he’d bought his shop. Some old and luxurious apothecary — or so he’d been told. He vaguely remembered walking past it during his nightly strolls, idly admiring the pretty jars on the shelves. A never ending procession of giddy ladies stepped out of the shop with bright silky pouches in their hands, filled to the brim with glassy bottles of rose water, perfumed soaps, and all sorts of scented lotions.

Now that Astarion was the owner, it was slightly less… glamorous.

The shop was still dusty and empty. He hadn’t painted the walls bright red yet, or bought any of the black lacquered furniture and Persian rugs that would soon decorate the space. Here and there, he’d placed a few sewing mannequins, dressed in dazzling silky ball gowns and eye-catching embroidered doublets. His workshop table was pushed in a corner; spools of threads, fabric scraps, and messy sketches scattered on top of it. 

He was busy sweeping the floors when the door flew open. Out of habit, he reached down for his daggers, but the only thing his fingers were met with was the cold silver of the sewing chatelaine. His embroidery scissors could work as a substitute — though perhaps a little too dull to deliver a killing blow. 

But when he turned around, there were no men in armor, no monsters and no foes to fight. Just a little girl, crying and trembling on the threshold.

“Is this a tailor shop?” she sniffed, wiping her snotty nose on her red scarf. 

She was very small, two funny little pigtails on top of her head. The stubborn look in her icy blue eyes was intriguing though, such determination didn’t quite fit on the face of a child. She swayed on her feet now and then, struggling to carry the satchel flung over her shoulder, twice as big as her.

“We’re not open yet,” he sighed, going back to his cleaning chores, “Sorry, dear.” 

“But- You’re the last place I haven’t gone to yet! I went to see all the seamstresses, all the clothiers, all the tailors! None of them want to help me!”

“Help you? I think you knocked on the wrong doors, darling,” he huffed, crouching down to dust the shop window. “People rarely do favors around here, you see. They offer their services in exchange for a generous sum of money.” 

“I can pay!” she proudly declared, thumping her little boots on the floor, red as a beetroot.

“Far from me the idea of discouraging you, my dear, but I doubt you can afford me.” 

He heard her rummaging in her bag, and soon a familiar tinkle sound. 

Astarion’s favorite little symphony. 

“I have daddy’s money,” she finally said, holding her heavy purse of coins in her quivering fist.

He slowly let go of his broom, eyeing her and the pouch in her hand with renewed interest. 

“And does daddy know that you’ve dipped into his coffers and fled with the swag hidden under your coat?” 

The last thing he needed was to have an army of flaming fists officers on his tail; he’d done his best to lay low during the last months, to be a picture perfect citizen. Being a vampire was enough of a problem already, and Astarion’s greatest wish was to be left in peace, to be forgotten.

“No, daddy’s too busy, don’t worry,” — she furrowed her brows, her blue eyes darkening like the sun behind a rainy cloud— “He won’t notice.”

He looked at her for a little while, hesitating, and she kept her round serious eyes trained on him. 

“Very well, it’s a deal then,” Astarion sighed, bending down to grab her hand and tug her inside of the shop, “This way, madam.”

The little girl giggled, whispering a few ecstatic ‘thank you,’ trotting about the messy atelier. She dragged her satchel on the floor with a sigh, before taking a long piece of blue fabric out of it. It was in a very pitiful state, torn and stained in various places, covered in soot, as if someone had attempted to burn it. .

“What in the sweet hells is that?” Astarion asked, scrunching his nose when she clumsily laid it flat on his workshop table.

“That’s mommy’s caplet.”

“Yes, what’s left of it, at least,” he mocked, examining it with a disgruntled look on his face. “What happened to it?”

She clung to the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white, her eyes silently filling with tears again. “Can you fix it or not, mister?”

He looked at the coat some more, trying to think about ways to clean or dye it, maybe by stitching a patchwork of new fabric onto it, but he always arrived at the same conclusion. 

This rag was beyond saving. 

“It would be much easier to sew a new one. I’m not sure I can make anything out of this.”

Her face fell, Astarion’s stomach flipped, and she started to sob. 

Oh gods, he’d forgotten just how dreadful witnessing a child cry was… He’d seen Arabella do it a few times — fists curled by her sides, face tense and awfully red, voice so high-pitched that he'd thought the sound would pierce his eardrums. 

What did Karlach and Lia do back then? Give her a handkerchief? A little pat on the head? Something sweet to eat? He couldn’t remember.

“No!” she screamed in the middle of her crying fit, “I don’t want another one, I want this one!”

“But you can’t possibly want to keep this miserable—” he tried to say, stepping towards her with wide panicked eyes. 

What if people heard her scream from the outside? What if they got the wrong idea? He needed to get her to stop. Quickly.

“It has to be this one,” she breathed, burying her face in her hands, “It’s the last thing I have, it still smells like her.”

Oh, so that’s what it’s about, he thought, and somewhere in his chest, where his heart was supposed to be beating, he felt a pang of hurt. 

Some old wound, reopened.

He knew a thing or two about that feeling too, about the agony of grief and loss.

He’d died, he’d killed, and he’d lost so many things along the way. 

A trail of corpses and blood in his wake.

And suddenly the garment sprawled in front of him was more than just a dirty mantle; it was a shroud, freshly dug out of cold soil of a tomb. His fingers shook around the seams, pensively tracing the stitched lines.

“How about this then?” he asked, softer this time,“See this half of the caplet? It’s as good as new, darling. What if I made something else out of it? Something you can wear all the time?”

She wiped her tears, droplets of salty water sparkling on her long lashes. “What would you make?”

“A scarf? I could embroider something on it, stitch a few pearls or gemstones, it would make it worth the money.”

“Mmm, I like it,” she nodded, with a sad little smile, “It’ll feel like mommy’s giving me a hug.”

Astarion’s hands were a little unsteady when he started cutting through the blue wool, afraid that he’d ruin it any further. It was his first time working on such an old fabric, something woven with so many memories and love. And his little customer was looking at each and every of his motions with rapt attention, her fogged eyes lingering on the parts of the caplet she’d have to leave behind. 

Stitch after stitch, little tassel after little tassel, the fabric came back to life. Resuscitated.

It had been beautiful once, he could tell. Soft and bright, warm and nicely tailored.

When he was almost done sewing it all together, she tugged on his sleeves and asked him to embroider a name on it. 

“Gabrielle.”  Her mother’s name, surely. 

And so he did.

In threads of gold, floating in a sea of pearls and crystals. 

Like a spell.

Most people came to his shop to buy something new: an armor of silk and satin for the next season, or a pretty dress to wear at tea one of those ridiculous five-o-clock tea parties.

But from time to time, someone entered his shop with a damaged and torn garment in their hands, and Astarion never denied them. He cleaned and he washed, he mended and stitched back in place.

He had a strange sort of sympathy for the old rags now, as if he could see more in them than the stains and the unstitched seams— perhaps some old and distant memory of himself, or an opportunity to prove that everything that is a little broken can be fixed.

Tailoring wasn’t just about sewing pretty ballgowns and enchanting attires, and on good nights, Astarion took pride in that fact.

He’d found so much more at the tip of his needle.

A craft teetering on the edge of life and death, an art dedicated to ghosts and social butterflies alike.

But above all else— a purpose, a reason to keep pulling the thread.

[oharabunny]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Say That You Love Me

Warning: soft yandere and caretaker!Miguel; some controlling behavior; shy, fem!afab!, lonely and socially awkward, inexperienced reader; relationship is not established yet; dark content if you squint; also implied chubby reader; fluff (ish); smut; not beta read

⋆✮↪ based on my nonlinear yandere Miguel series ₊˚⊹♡

You always gave people the benefit of the doubt, or rather, no matter how wrong people treated you, you gave them a pass, as long as they were dubious and vague enough with you so that you never questioned their sincerity. You were lonely to say the least and grew up alone, so you accepted whatever came your way, and worked hard to keep your ‘friends’ around since you were socially awkward. 

Of course, over time you learned to filter out the good and the bad, but the elephant in the room never went away.

Living with Miguel had its perks. You could do whatever you want, as long as you never try to escape. You once had a reason to leave, but you had no place and no family to go back to. Your universe was also gone for good (or so Miguel says). 

For the most part, you generally listen to him and do as he says. It’s for your own good he’d always say.  

You were beginning to wonder if he had romantic feelings for you. Aside from his weird obsession of taking care of you, he didn’t make any moves on you, up until recently. Perhaps you always had an innate attraction towards him, like, he was built like a Greek god, for multiverse’s sake. His face card was serving. He could get any girl he wanted, so you had always assumed he had no sexual attraction towards you. Just that, he had this self-proclaimed obligation to be your caretaker.

One day he suggested to sleep together since sleeping on the couch was becoming too uncomfortable for him. It was a one bedroom apartment, so it wasn’t like there was a spare bedroom for him to sleep separately in. (Something you appreciated despite trying to argue with him to take his room back, but he vehemently refused for your sake.) 

You didn’t think much of it, at first, since you had experience with sleeping with the opposite gender nonsexually. You were right to think nothing much of it for the first few minutes since he was turned away from you. That is…until he fell asleep. (You tend to take a lot longer to fall asleep than him, so you were able to observe his unconscious form.)

And his first instinct was to cage you in his thick, beefy arms. 

Miguel drew you into his chest as if he was snuggling a childhood ragdoll. He rubbed your smaller fingers in between his own, inhaled the scent of your shampoo in your hair, all the while his long and much larger legs than yours locked you into his body. He was completely smothering you. 

Your own body was heating up like a kettle on a stove. He was only in his boxers, and you can feel his cock outline through his boxers on your butt. Was he getting hard too? 

You didn’t dare move because you wanted to stay like this for as long as he could. If he didn’t have any attraction towards you, this was as close as you were going to get.

Now every night going forth, he cuddled you in his sleep. He got bolder eventually and simply cuddled with you as soon as he got to bed. 

You were surprised one night when he asked to kiss you. Up until this point, he had only cuddled with you, but never dared to be even more intimate. He’d usually at most rub and squeeze your tummy while he was asleep which made you self conscious. You never bat his hand away though.

So when he asked you for a kiss, your brain was like a train that braked too quickly and flew off the rails. You hadn’t realized you didn’t react nor answer him until he said, “Nevermind.”

You immediately reached for him to say, “N-No wait! I do, I…do want you to kiss me.” As you finished your sentence, your eye contact left him, in embarrassment. You basically admitted that you were attracted to him by reciprocating, and you didn’t know how to deal with that. Would he laugh at you? Would he play those kinds of games with you?

He could see you overthinking and feeling conflicted. He took your chin and tilted your gaze back up to him. “Then, look at me.”

And you do.

Everything came to a stop when his lips met yours. All your thoughts and worries melted away. His lips were just so perfect. You couldn’t remember the last time you were kissed, especially in this way. He pressed your body into his as he cupped your neck so you couldn’t escape out of his hold. He gently prodded your lips to enter with his tongue, and you had instinctively let him in. His tongue battled with yours and you willfully lost against him. He explored your mouth as if he was burning every inch and corner of your mouth into his mind. A level of desperation that you could feel from his touch growing more and more intensely. 

He rolled over on top of you and broke the kiss. You would’ve whined but he quickly satiated by peppering kisses all over your face before finally landing a final one on your nose. From there, he just admired your face while he stroked your hair. You couldn’t maintain eye contact from his face being so up close to yours, and tried to hide your face as your self consciousness crept back in. You hated how your face looked when you laid down. 

“Hey hey hey, don’t look away.” Miguel lightly tapped your face. You could barely look back at him as he shifted his weight because you could feel his hard cock on rubbing on your thighs. His handsome face in such close proximity to yours made your mind do flips. “And don’t forget to breathe.” 

How could you breathe when the hottest person you’ve ever seen in your life is all over you?

You were taking shallow breaths which isn’t what Miguel wanted so he squeezed your tummy and tickled your sides. “Waitwaitwaitstop!!” You couldn’t help but laugh and push him off.

Your laugh was like a song to his ear. Miguel kept tickling you as he buried his face into your neck and nipped on your skin. He kissed and drew up your jawline as he stopped his tickling so he could capture your lips once more. 

“Breathe.” He said in between kisses. He squeezes your sides when you still didn’t listen. 

Your breath staggered from the laughter and steaminess of the kisses. He smirked at your inexperience and sensitivity. You were just so cute to him when you were overwhelmed and overstimulated.

Miguel licked your lips and planted a final kiss before tightly holding you like a ragdoll again. He laid on his back this time and you were on top of him. The weight of his arms kept you in your place, especially when his hand was placed on top of your head while you lay on his chest. You could hear the sound of his heartbeat.

Now, every night whenever he came home, he kissed you fervently as he cuddled with you to sleep.

“YOU WANT ME TO WHAT-?!”

You had been extremely lonely the past couple weeks since Miguel had gone to another dimension to catch a difficult anomaly. As established, you were not allowed to go outside. You did think to ask him if you could invite some of your Spider friends you befriended during the short period you stayed at HQ, but he refused, and seemed angry at the notion of you hanging out with them. 

Instead you begged and begged him to at least let you access Discord or some kind of social media to talk to someone, other than Lyla (no offense to her), especially for your special interests. 

At first Miguel was hesitant, but eventually went on board with it when considering your mental wellbeing. You had never done anything to betray his trust.

“I don’t want you spending any more time talking to them anymore. I shouldn’t have to compete for your attention.” Miguel stated flatly as he possessively held you in his arms in bed. He took your phone from your hand and placed it on the nightstand away from you. 

“But that shouldn’t be the only reason why you want to impregnate me…” You backed up against him to get away from his hand that was stroking your tummy. A habit he kept up since sleeping in the same bed with you for the first time. If anything, your tummy was treated like a stress ball. (Sometimes he’ll also grab at your love handles, your ass, your thighs, and anywhere that’s fleshy.)

“It’s not.” Miguel’s hand lowered his hand and flicked the elastic of your shorts. 

Your heart skipped a beat at his implication. You two hadn’t actually had sex yet despite all the sexual tension. Perhaps he wanted to wait till you were ready, or maybe he saw it as a means to procreate. 

He slid his hand under your shorts and panties to your freshly shaven pussy (he shaved it for you 😥) and rubbed circles on your clit. You immediately locked your legs together and grabbed onto his arm to hold on. Your puffy pussy hid your clit, but his middle finger pushed through and found her. Your breath hitched. He didn’t stop when you gripped harder, if anything he rubbed faster and faster. You kept wriggling and squirming back, but his chest was a wall and you had nowhere to escape. Your ass pressed up against his clothed cock that sat neatly between your cheeks. 

You screamed. He was directly on your clit applying hard pressure. Not even you would touch it bare. You squirted all over his hand quickly and he slowed his pace, but didn’t stop, to help you ride out your orgasm. You huffed and puffed. His hand rubbed a stripe over your entire pussy to draw out the slick so that he could lick and drink it off of his fingers. You looked back at him as he was savoring your taste, and you couldn’t help quivering at the sight of that.

Wordlessly, he shifted himself so he was on top of you and you reached out to halt him in place. “Wait, can we please talk about this?”

He raised a brow as if you just confused him. “What is there to talk about?” 

You sat up with your knees to your chest, nervous for what you were about to ask, “Why do you actually want a baby? Why me? And it’s going to be a huge responsibility, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it. I…I also want to figure out my own life too.”

He moved closed and placed his warm hands on your knees. “It has to be you. We are meant to be together. You have such a kind and gentle soul; you’d make a great mother.” He paused, “And you don’t have to worry about a thing, your husband will take care of you for the rest of your life.”

“Wha-?” You were cut off when he crashed his lips to silence you. He pulled you down from where you sat and swiftly pulled your shorts and panties down in one fell swoop. He gives your clit a good rub before he leaned back to take his boxers off. 

You stared at his rock hard cock, finally in full view. His size was never something you ever had before. Hell, you couldn’t even fit a regular sized dildo up inside. “I can’t fit that…”

“We can make it work. Don’t worry, just leave it all to me.” Miguel cooed and stroked his length against your slick brushing your clit along with the way. Your hole tightened from the sensation. “Remember to relax and breathe, bebita.”

Slowly, he pushed inside your fluttering hole. You hissed at the stretch. The pain was quickly replaced with pleasure when his thumb rubbed over your clit. When he saw your face relaxing, he pushed deeper until he bottomed out. You placed your hand over your pelvic region and felt his bulge. 

“Mmm, you like that?” He groaned as he began to pull out slowly. You instantly moaned and nodded to that. Something about him pulling out his big hard cock dragging your walls out was tipping you over the edge.

“Keep doing that!” Everything from his pelvis meeting yours, filling you up, and his balls slapping your ass sent sparks into your abdomen and tighten your abs. His languid motion of his hips drew you insane. You didn’t know your eyes were closed until you opened them up and saw his eyes glowing red and predatory. His fangs hung out, his hair a mess, and he too was losing control.

Miguel gripped hard at the bed sheets and ripped them under his nails. He couldn’t take it anymore. He sat back up to his knees, lifted up your hips up to his, and rabbitted hard and fast into you. “God- Your pussy is perfect-!” He groaned and grunted in every push. His head flew back and bucked faster.

“Mig-Miguel- fuck-!” Right there, right there, right there. All of your buttons were hit and signals fired off in every direction. He didn’t dare stop and change course now. Your hands were searching for something to grab on for dear life. He clasped your left hand and held it over your head.

“Say that you love me. Say that you will marry me.” He began to slow by only a little bit. Your eyes flew back to him in desperation for him to speed up again. You didn’t even hear him say anything to you. “D-Don’t slow down!”

He repeated, “Say that you love me. Say that you will marry me.” 

“Yes!” You practically shrieked.

“Yes, what?” He slowed down even more.

“I love you! I will marry you! Please-!” You begged and grinded your hips against his in tandem.

Satisfied with your answer, Miguel jolted himself hard into you, and went back into rabbiting. You crumbled. Your legs trembled and your body shuddered in tremors. Every muscle in your body contracted; your pussy tightened around his cock as a result. 

He fucked you through your orgasm similarly to when he did so with his fingers earlier. Except, he was chasing his own high now. As your pussy tightened, his breath hitched and crumbled his resolve. He came immediately, and ensured to do so completely sheathed inside. He came at the entrance of your cervix and did not pull out until all of his cum was spilled. He gave you a couple pushes inside to ensure all of his cum was deep inside and not spill out. 

Miguel leaned over to the nightstand and opened the drawer to pull out something. Some kind of clothed sticker of sorts. He took off the sticker from the paper and sealed up your pussy with it. You were too fucked out to care what and why he was doing that. You were too focused on his warm cum sloshing inside.

Your eyes fluttered closed and began to drift off to sleep as he cradled you into his arms once more, as he habitually always had. He took your left hand and slid a sparkly ring (a ring you’ve been secretly, not so secretly, been eyeing for the past few months) on your ring finger. He planted a kiss there to seal your fate.

You were finally his, and you were finally never alone. 

Tags: @belle-oftheball34, @mrs-oharaxx, @crystalcrynight, @sukunash0e, @juicyprncess Additional tags: @kaoriloveskeiff, @twinklingbeautifulstars, @tayleighuh, @freehentai, @mythologicalgodsblog [I'm aware this is not the part 2 for The Grass is Greener on the Other Side fic, but I thought you might be interested as this is part of a series.]

Graphic credited to @cafekitsune

buy me a ☕?

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮

© oharabunny—do not copy nor translate my works. please always give credit

[avelera]

So remember in season 1, Viktor has visions directly given by the Arcane and that's how he comes up with the idea of the Hexcore - and he also says that "the Arcane speaks through mages". So, even back in season 1, the idea that Viktor has been chosen by the Arcane was already alluded to! He was always on his way to becoming a mage, even before the Hexcore and the merge.

Do you think Jayce subconsciously felt it? Jayce, who was always so fascinated by magic that he was ready to commit suicide rather than live without it, who immediately told Viktor how "beautiful" magic was and then used that very word to describe Viktor himself in season 2 - did he realise that his fascination was always with Viktor in particular, do you think?

Oh man, Anon, there's SO many ways to answer this, where do I begin.

1 ) I wish we got more of what magic means to Jayce, because the tastes we get are so tantalizing and btw, I think the show gave us the right amount, it's for us to explore in fic and stuff after, but the implications are SO JUICY.

I absolutely headcanon (with evidence) that Jayce's evolution into wanting to create Hextech went like this:

Jayce as a kid: I want to be the mage who saved us! Look at my drawing of myself as a mage with a magic HAMMER just like my dad has, as the perfect fusion of everything I want to be when I grow up! :D

Jayce as a teen: I'm crushed to learn I have zero innate magical ability BUT I've still got this hammer and an entire upbringing as a member of a family of tool makers. What if there's a tool out there that would let me be a mage in another way? I will call it HEXTECH!! :D

Jayce as an adult: Now I have a degree, and a patron, and I have to be very careful about letting people know about Hextech because I'm from a city that was founded on a hatred of mages, so it needs to be presented to the world as TECHNOLOGY as meant for the BETTERMENT OF OTHERS. I can't be selfish, I have to draw inspiration from the mage who saved me by making magic about helping others. But deep down, part of me will always be that kid who didn't want to have to unlock magic with technology, who always wanted to just be the mage. Magic was secondary, the Mage was always the true first love, the true inspiration that changed my life, and I have been chasing that high ever since.

2 ) But one reason I wish we had gotten to explore this just a little more (cuz I'm an addict not because it would be a better story) is because I think there's a bit of an inherent tragedy to Jayce always wanting to be the mage and, in the process, falling in love with not one but two people who have the Arcane speaking through them?

Then you can also sort of loop it back around to a rather common queer awakening which is, "Do I want this person or do I want to be them?" and for years, Jayce thinking he wants to be the mage but once he's an adult, realizing part of that feeling was love, that he wants to be with the mage.

(And just to be super duper clear, Viktor rescued Jayce and then bounced out of there, immediately, I see Jayce discovering his feelings for the mage as being like a very early-days moment of inspiration that planted itself in his psyche and then years and years later, when he began to think about things like love for the first time, maybe then part of him realized that what he's mistaken as love for magic or Hextech was always love for the mage who saved him, on some level. I just want to be super duper clear that you can have an awakening moment as a child, something that will later define what you want out of life, without it necessarily being romantic at that point in life because I've seen some people be weird about it and I don't think that's what's happening there even if I think it's an element and now I'm rambling OK MOVING ON)

So Jayce has now canonically been in love with two mages and yeah, I think that is very much playing into my take and what we see in canon, he loves magic, but he loves the mage more, and maybe part of what worked as attraction for him was that he could feel the Arcane in them.

But I also wonder if spending so many years trying to find a practical, technological, scientific way to access magic obscured to Jayce the fact that it WAS magic? Like Viktor is right, they're treating magic like a tool, JAYCE is treating magic like a tool, because he comes from a family of TOOL MAKERS. To expand Hextech, they needed to think like mages. And Viktor is the first one to let the Arcane in, to let the Arcane set the course instead of them trying to bend it to their will (which maaaay have been a bad idea, I think the Arcane is way more complicated than that, yin-and-yang, requiring balance and they were actually meddling with forces they couldn't understand, clearly).

So to go back to your question:

1 ) Jayce thought it was the magic that was beautiful but it was ALWAYS about the Mage for him, and he got a fixation on mages after that which even HE isn't fully aware of.

2 ) I don't think Viktor was always destined to be the Mage, but that's a personal preference, I'm not a big fan of "magic genetics" in general and I vastly prefer systems where magic and fate is a choice. So I actually find it MORE BEAUTIFUL that Viktor becomes the Mage because of Jayce's love, because Jayce brought him in on Hextech, in the cycle of Viktor then taking the magic Jayce gave him to go back and save Jayce and inspire him with magic, like that's so tasty for me. But I also think sure, deep down, there was always a subliminal attraction to the Mage which could have played into Jayce's attraction to the person of Viktor, because they're the same person

[shutupineedtothink]

Billy Theory - That boy and Agatha are the same

I know some people want Billy to have these hidden motivations and secretly he hates Agatha so that’s why he put the sigil on himself. So that he would show up with this false, aw shucks persona of Billy Kaplan and fool her into helping him walk the Road and bring his mother back at the end. Or get power, or his brother, or whatever.

But I want it to be the exact opposite. He did put the sigil on himself to hide his real identity from her, and from the other witches. But it isn’t because he hates them. He’s afraid of them. He actually is Agatha’s fan. And he idolizes and respects all of these women. And he’s afraid if they find out he’s Wanda Maximoff’s son, the ultimate witch gone bad, the personification of every negative, evil stereotype Lilia has been talking about around witches, they’ll reject him.

He’s afraid they never would have taken him on the Road to begin with, because somewhere along the last three years, and after the events of Multiverse of Madness, he realized oh my god, my mom was the evil one. (I’m assuming Wanda’s turn was publicized in the MCU, or maybe he sensed it magically.) And he (somehow) learns more and more about Agatha and realizes that she was never as evil as she pretends to be, or at least she never went on a killing rampage like Wanda did. But surely she must hate him, because she hates his mom. They must all hate him. That’s his motivation for the sigil. Fear, of himself, of what people will think of him, not anger. Starting to sound familiar?

Sure, I think it’s narratively interesting if he hates her and then he has to come to terms with who Agatha really is underneath it all. But it’s way more narratively interesting, for both of them, if his own journey, his own trauma, his own inner dialogue, very closely reflects hers. They’re mirrors.

What does Agatha, at her core, believe about herself? Her mother hated her because her mother believed she was evil. She internalized that and sees herself as evil, plays into that persona even as she tries to be the opposite of that. In her mind currently, she’s so innately evil she (directly or indirectly) caused the death of her own son.

It’s not quite an exact match for Billy, but the result is the same. He sees (or maybe even magically feels) how his mother turned bad, killed innocent people (listen I love Wanda, but she did). He thinks oh my god, I have the same magic. There’s no witch out there who will want to teach me. And probably, on some deep down level he thinks, maybe I’m evil too. Maybe just like my mom, there’s no other path for me.

Bottom line? That boy isn’t Agatha’s. That boy is another version of her own inner story. She and that boy are the same, on a deep fundamental level.

Stop here if you don’t want potential ep 6 spoilers! More specifics for how I think we move forward under the cut.

Where does that leave us after ep 5/going into ep 6? Here’s the breakdown.

Billy does what he does at the end of ep 5, basically becoming his worst fear, turning into the evil witch version of his mother.

But it’s not real (see my other post about the false trial). So Agatha, Jen, and Lilia, wake up from the false trial (thank you Rio), maybe they have to fight the Seven and defeat them together, and let’s say Alice is alive too, because I want her to be. Everyone’s still on the Road.

Billy is still trapped in the spell. They have to wake him up somehow. Jen’s already saying uncertainly, maybe we don’t want to wake him up, but Agatha immediately defends him. No, it wasn’t his fault, it was a trap, and she provoked him. That whole “trial” was a manifestation of her punishment by the Seven, it wasn’t really him. She’s adamant about this and the others (maybe reluctantly) go with it.

They wake him up — and in my head, they wake him up by destroying the sigil (breaking the illusion of his identity and the Seven’s spell in one go). Of course, it’s Agatha that has to do it, because she and Rio are the only ones who know. And really, Agatha’s known all along, right. I think she knew from the second he broke her out of the spell in ep 1. She just wanted to believe otherwise. So after a few failed attempts to shake him awake and probably a line from Rio along the lines of “You know you have to say it Agatha,” she does. “William Maximoff.” It’s sad, and soft, without any intention to hurt him. (A sigil is destroyed when it’s no longer needed.)

So the sigil is destroyed and our boy wakes up. There’s some initial remnants of anger on his face, but then once he sees them all staring at him warily, he starts to get scared. He remembers what he’s done to them, even if it wasn’t real. He scrambles away from them, please no, I didn’t mean to — I swear I want to be good.

It’s Agatha’s trauma, a version of herself, playing out right in front of her. Playing out in front of us, again. Only now she gets to do for him what her mother never did for her, and what the coven never did for her in the false trial either. She sees him. She defends him, his true self, the curious hopeful smart boy he’s been this whole time. (You don’t need to know someone’s name to know who they really are.) She goes to him and she says it wasn’t real. That wasn’t you. It was me, my punishment. Not yours.

But he’s not convinced yet. And now it hits him — But you know who I am. You said my name.

Agatha says, I think I always knew who you were.

Then why don’t you hate me?

She’s genuinely confused. Why would I hate you?

He looks at the rest of them and back to her. Because I’m… Wanda Maximoff’s son. She hurt you, she hurt so many people. And I have her magic. I was born… (evil? Bad? he can’t bring himself to say it.)

And this is Agatha’s big moment, and the big emotional pay off for us. She says, Billy (the first time we hear his casual name spoken) — Never let anyone else’s fear of you decide who you are. Not mine, not anyone else’s. Never let anyone else tell you you’re horrible, or worthless, or evil. You get to decide who you are, and only you. If you want to be good… you can be. Do you understand?

She’s talking to him, but on some level she’s talking to herself, her own inner child. Does she believe that for herself yet? No, but I digress.

And maybe wryly she adds, because Agatha can’t be serious for too long and I want this line, “Besides, as we’ve already established, I don’t punish children for the sins of the mother.”

Didn’t mean to turn that into a whole fic but there you go. Anyway, Billy gets the message. The coven sees him and accepts him. Maybe there’s hugs. I’d like there to be hugs. We move on to Agatha’s real trial.

Tl;dr? Agatha Harkness is walking out of this Road with Billy Maximoff as her apprentice, goddamnit.

[theblueflower05]

Imagine alpha!Jake fucking reader for the first and slightly freaking out when his dick is stuck inside reader. But once she explains knotting it drives him crazy. He pulls his half shrunk knot before slamming it back in moaning about how he wants to knot her over and over again marking her as his.

LMFAO WHY IS THIS ACTUALLY ICONIC?!😂

Because like-

You’re such a little minx. You’ve had your eye on Jake since the night he’d made his appearance at Home Tree. Trailing behind Neytiri like a lost pup.

While everyone else had been outraged, scared or upset- you had only felt curious. Innately intrigued by the five fingered dream walker.

When Jakes gaze had met your own in the crowd- you hadn’t backed down. Instead you’d given him a small smile, and a flip of your long braids.

Clearly interested.

Smut under the cut

As the days go on and he starts his Omiticayan training- it becomes apparent that the man is an Alpha and well, as an unmated Omega your self, that only spurs your desire for him.

You’re shameless and Jakes touch starved. It’s not long before the two of you are sneaking into the woods, your mismatched fingers linked. You drag him to all of your favorite hiding spots, one’s no other knows exists and let him touch you.

He’s so different then Na’vi men. Like a child almost- fumbling and not leaning into his sexual nature.

But just at first.

Just while he gains his bearings. While he learns what it’s like to feel pleasure in his Avatar body.

After that, he fucks you like a man possessed. With his tongue and his five fingers. His whole face. Oh it’s so so good. You become addicted to his touch.

When you finally let him inside of you- he slides into you, and you both emit punched out sounds.

It’s too good. You’re so SO tight. Tighter then anything he’s ever experienced.

It’s a dance, primal and sweaty and hot and you hold on tight to him as he learns it’s steps.

It’s familiar- not human- but close enough that he feels comfortable.

That is until he comes and can’t pullout.

He’s fucking terrified. His big golden eyes are round and his ears are pinned to his head- tail flicking erratically behind him as he tries to figure out what’s going on “Oh fuck- Y/N are you okay? Am I hurting you? I don’t know what’s going on- this has never”

You hiss- irritated and sore as his fat knot tugs on your rim. Your arms and legs go around him as you pull him down, trying to make him stop moving. “Stop moving, where is this energy from? Why would I be hurt?”

“I’m stuck” Jake does not get why you aren’t freaking out and chalks it up to the fact that this has to be normal for Na’vi. Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told him about this? “I’m literally stuck inside of you right now”

Your brows furrow and you reach up to cup his face “Yes, you knotted me. How else will we ensure your seed takes?”

And that just throws him into a whole nother wave of freak out. You essentially have to soothe and calm down the 10 foot tall hulking man that’s inside of you. It’s lots of back rubs and calming words spoken into his flicking ear. It’s okay, my love. We are joined by our bodies, isn’t it beautiful?

And

It kind of is. Beautiful. Jake thinks. Beautiful to feel your insides. Your tight silky walls pulse rhythmically around him. His cum is plugged into your womb.

Also soon as he’s done freaking out he realizes just how horny it’s made him, he’s almost fully hard again. He filled you up, and knotted you full. His Britain is buzzing with animalistic satisfaction.

His Pornhub history had always been filled with “Breeding Kink” rhetoric. Cute brunette gets her pussy creamed. Things of that nature.

This takes it to a whole different level.

He has a feeling he’s going to spend as much time as you’ll allow stuck inside of you.

….sorry you guys. I got carried away lol

[beevean]

An idea that won't leave my head is that Lydie is an excitable tomboy.

Think about it. Lydie, who in appearance is a frilly delicate girl, has two boys as her best friends. Two rough warrior boys, at that. How did she become part of the group? Surely she does more than just sitting demurely as they spar?

I like to think that Lydie is actually kind of reckless and likes to play dangerous games. She's the kind of girl that would ruin her skirt climbing up trees or jumping on stones to cross a river. She causes a lot of headaches for her family, who want her to act proper, and this may be why she loves to spend time with her friends, who don't care if she is improper because they just like her as she is. I don't think she is that big of a rebel, because she still looks like someone who takes care of her appearance (the hair alone requires careful styling), so she might play coy with her family and be on her best behavior... until tempted by her besties.

Generally speaking, if I were to write Lydie, I think I'd move away from the "gentle" archetype and make her a ball of energy lol. The kind of person who is constantly fidgeting, bouncing on her feet and clapping her hands because she just can't wait to spend more time with her favorite people in the world!

I could also take this artwork as proof that she likes nature and animals. She doesn't have the innate talents of a witch or a Devil Forgemaster, sadly lol. She just tries her best even if she gets her fingers picked at or bitten.

Also, we know that after Simon's victory, the Belmonts became heroes of the land, and a whole village was built around them. Juste, most likely, didn't grow up shunned for his bloodline. But! He was still born different. Frail, pale, and with strange magic potential. While discrimination due to magic is not as intense at this point in time as it was in centuries past, it's possible Juste was surrounded by rumors, perhaps even doubted as a worthy successor of his grandfather. You know, for that nice family legacy stuff :)

The point is, I think Lydie never cared. Along with Maxim, who gets to experience for himself how strong and driven Juste is, Lydie might have been the first person to not treat Juste like the latest Belmont with all that comes with it, but as a boy worth of befriending. Lydie got to know Juste's various quirks, like his stubborness, or his fastidiousness when it comes to fashion and decor (I bet they joked that she could learn from him lol), and decided he was funny and that's how a friendship started.

Oh, and the wiki suggests that her surname hints at her ethnicity being Transylvanian Saxon or Banat Swabian. I think it's pretty cool and it could influence her in some way.

I need to think of more quirks to give to her. But I really would like to flesh her out a bit because she has potential to be interesting :>

[tarbuchyloewenthal]

Pillars of Eternity to Avowed Pax West Panel

this hasn't popped up on my feed yet, so here y'all go. i'll see if i can summarize it a bit below (apologies for absurd length lol).

Josh Sawyer Pre-Recorded Interview

pillars ended up feeling a lot more traditional crpg than he expected

wanted to make the setting have a blend of the exploration of baldur's gate, dungeon crawling of icewind dale, & philosophical themes like planescape: torment.

while eora contains many things he is interested in, he doesn't feel much ownership over it. made the setting specifically for obsidian to use.

creating maps for pillars a lot more technically complex than for the infinity engine games.

maintaining continuity of feel more important than recreating everything one to one when talking about adapting the setting to 1st person action rpg.

Carrie Patel & John Cotto Live Panel

Carrie (game director) - first game at obsidian was as narrative designer on pillars 1. John (area designer) - first game was deadfire, fell in love with eora after playing pillars 1 in college.

setting the game in the living lands allowed the team to make a colorful & fantastical game - famous in lore for being legendarily dangerous & fantastical & unknown.far enough away from eastern reach & deadfire for a clean slate.

clean slate but there will be call backs and returning characters from previous games.

morrowind was a formative game for john. excited to get to create a game in that same vein.

carrie reiterates how she loves the mix of grounded physical layer & metaphysical layer & the player character's ability to move between the political & mystical. john also loves the metaphysics

john - area designer is akin to being a dungeon master. he is the official unofficial eora lorekeeper on the project.

carrie - classless system decided early on to encourage players to experiment w/ builds as they discover the game. talks about how most of the class abilities in pillars were learned vs innate.

john made sure to include "at least one" book of smut to be found in the world.

carrie - excited to explore animancy even deeper in avowed, i.e. a community of animancers who enhance their crop using essence to become living lands' breadbasket.

john - excited to explore a pargrunen dwarf community.

the team reworked the prologue to be more guided & endgame to let players actually use endgame abilities.

Fun Bugs!

rats that open doors

farmer mosh pit

Sporeling Space Program™

[alovember]

The m4's God Tier if they were in a SBURB session in Homestuck!!

I actually thought about this wayyy more than I should have so here's my reasoning BCS I know too much abt this godforsaken webcomic

I’m classpecting based on values/growth not existing strong character traits

Ex/ Someone might classpect Kyle as Mage of Mind because he is typically logical, knowledgeable, and curious but going off of growth he could be a Mage of Time which would require patience, cooperation, and handling sudden change.

Stan Marsh - Knight of Space

In Homestuck, the knight class is one that provides protection through their sword, their body, and their mind. It’s centers around providing assistance and protecting the other players, from harm or even themselves. Stan knows who and what he cares about, and sticks up for it. This combined with the space aspect makes a character that protects others through physical manifestations or manipulations of space. In Homestuck, the space aspect is taken literally so he could travel through space riffs by cutting through with a sword, combat involving teleportation, etc. He’s the only kid who is physically separated from the rest of the cast due to his family, as being moved out to the farm which mirrors Jade a character homestuck removed from her friends on an island. The space character is the one that breeds the Genesis frog. This would provide Stan with some growth as it requires him to look outside of his own emotional needs, and desires to provide that for another creature. We’ve seen, he can sometimes get to preoccupied with his own emotional reactions which leads him to not put others' feelings first as we see with Kenny’s death in the hospital.

Kyle Brovloski- Mage of Time

I made Kyle a mage due to his desire to actively seek truth and insight, which is what the entire mage class is about. We’ve seen time and time again that Kyle is a character who will take meaning from the mistakes that he and others make. That combined with the time aspect would make a character who knows and utilizes the timeline of the session to further their game. This would require patience and intense cooperation, which I think is something that Kyle would benefit from, and while his role is essential for the success of the session, being the time player is a tedious role. His abilities as a god-tiered character might involve some form of time manipulation whether it is speeding up or slowing down time and intimate knowledge of future and past events of the session as they make choices. Time players are ones that learn to harness the urge to change the environment around them, and often face many hardships that shape them throughout it all. 

ALSO time and space are the two players required to complete a session. This would make these two a formidable duo as Kyle can provide insight into any events or timeline altercations while stan executes those changes in the space area and provide protection and attacks from denizens and opponents. This makes sense from a narrative level as Stan and Kyle are often the two driving forces behind how things get fixed/accelerated in South Park. It’s essentially the planner and executor.

Eric Cartman- Prince of Life

The Prince of Hope fits Cartman extremely well since it is the most active (self seeking) class out of the majority of them and is the most destructive one as well. A prince is an extremely powerful player with a game that can make or break whether a session will succeed or become an offshoot. A prince uses their aspect to destroy and create chaos within a session. A prince of hope would be someone who uses hope to destroy their enemies or in the worst case their teammates. A prince of hope’s power could revolve around the manipulation of a person's innate hope and use it to his own advantage. In the end, a lot of Eric's growth would come from realizing how to use his manipulative skills to aid his friends and provide protection, although this could prove difficult as he is often self-serving throughout the show. This aspect and class fits him because he could either be the greatest obstacle to winning the game or inversely provide the greatest support to win. In the show, he acts as an oppositional force towards other characters for self-gain or provides clever insight and aid to whoever he’s trying to help or assist in any way.

Kenny McCormick- Thief of Doom

I feel like Kenny’s is the most accurate to the show. The thief class is someone who uses their class to steal their aspect for themselves. And like in the show I’m going to keep the Kenny dying and coming back concept as a glitch in the session. A thief of doom would be someone who steals doom or narrative peril from other characters for themselves. This could happen with any tasking or opportunity where he could take the fall and die for other characters over and over again. For example, if Stan was at risk of dying due to the actions of another character, he could steal the doom that surrounds Stan and direct it towards himself, therefore making him the target and allowing Stan to continue to fight or do whatever is happening in combat. Then due to the glitch, he would be revived the next day. So kind of like in the show, Kenny would be the stand-in person for others' injuries and potential downfalls. The growth would come from him realizing you cannot take on everyone’s issues, whether physical or mental, and come to realize that he and others can handle their own issues and don’t require intervention all the time, a hard lesson to learn for someone who is used to the role of sacrifice.

Anyways if you read all that ty!! and if you don't know HS hopefully it still made sense somewhat lmaooo

[moonbaby26]

Title: Interference

(Chapter 14 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Smoker x Reader (referenced), Aokiji/Kuzan x Reader (referenced), Doflamingo x Crocodile (referenced)

Chapter Warnings: language, somnophilia, non con, drugged reader, toxic relationships, violence, physical abuse, references to suicide, substance abuse, breeding kink, addictive personality, reader trauma response, mommy issues, angst

Chapter Synopsis: One step forward with Doflamingo is often also ten steps back. Neither of you have yet to learn the other’s limits, and trust is still being broken and reformed repeatedly. As you endure your latest challenge, former flames from both your past and his make their own plans to intervene.

Chapters: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10,  11,  12, 13, 14, 15

——————————

—————————— 

Smoker hated this clandestine bullshit. But it’s not like he could have slept now either. Those newspapers were still splayed on his desk with your pictures across them. Just candlelight flickering through the room as his ship lurched over waves in the dead of night.

He exhaled from his cigars in frustration, his eyes back on the clock on the wall. How many hours did this really take to rendezvous? He hadn’t even wanted to turn back for Marineford.

He could have been nearly to Dressrosa by now if he hadn’t let the other man convince him to do this. 

All so stupid as they’d had to dance around their real intentions over the phone regardless. The Fleet Admiral had reiterated over and over that everyone was just going to stand by and let this play out for now.

It didn’t make a lick of goddamn sense. What kind of dirt did that freak Doflamingo really have on those that held his leash atop the Red Line? Why could any pirate possibly have this much leeway?

But at last Smoker had heard the door knob moving as he’d straightened up in his chair. The door shifted in that hesitant way which already told him who it was.

Tashigi poked her head in, whispering more than even necessary. “He’s here, sir!”

“Then move and let him in.” Smoker grumbled back to her, already trying to somewhat look past her as he stood from his desk.

The rattle of a rusty bicycle chain was the next sound though as it was wheeled in. Ice crystals were still melting from the tire treads as Aokiji passed Tashigi to fully enter the captain’s office. And she shut the door to remain in the room behind him as well.

“How many sailors saw you?” Smoker asked already, watching the admiral lean that somewhat sea salt corroded bicycle against the wall.

“Not many. But your men are loyal aren’t they?” You told them this wasn’t their business didn’t you?” Aokiji answered, then standing back to his full height once he’d set his bike aside.

“I’d like to think so.” Smoker replied, yet his expression making it clear that he was ready to jump right into this. They’d wasted enough time. “So what do you know about all this, Kuzan?” 

The initial shock to the news about you still had yet to wear off. But plans needed intel, they needed background. And just from tone alone in their short snail conversations, he knew Aokiji had figured some things out.

The two men were close friends. But the trust they shared was one of those innate things. This relationship hadn’t taken years to cultivate. Very similar in fact to what Tashigi was now becoming for Smoker as well, regardless of her greenhorn status and much lower rank. Some marines just clicked.

Comrades he knew he could trust his life to. There was no point in wondering why.

“She made a deal with Doflamingo in Sabaody. That’s why he let those slaves go from the auction house.” The admiral said abruptly then. But still with the air of a man now letting something painful off of his chest that he’d been holding in for too long. “I think Scylla was his way of collecting on that deal.”

Tashigi’s eyes had widened simultaneous to Smoker’s narrowing. But this was just the very beginning of these revelations. Smoker sensed that too in the way Aokiji was scowling. A rare expression on his normally neutral face. 

These were things the admiral didn’t want to talk about. But they couldn’t help you if they didn’t understand. They all needed to know the full extent of this.

“I confronted Doflamingo on Sabaody too. And I confronted her at HQ.” Aokiji confessed in response to Smoker’s continued glare “They were both hiding more. But they…well she told me they’d been together already. Physically. This didn’t start on Scylla. Maybe it didn’t even start on Sabaody.”

The quiet gasp from Tashigi was still so filled with confusion. And Smoker felt that immediately too. Because that just couldn’t be right. 

But he was human as well. And that moment of surprise bled into more complex feelings as his cigars moved with his words back to Kuzan, as disgust and even a hint of betrayal began to take hold. “From when? From when I was dating her?”

He’d called you his girlfriend for a little over two years. All the way until that fight in Mariejois. The morning he’d finally cut you free. You were going to burn yourself out and he couldn’t help you understand why. It felt so much longer ago now though. But it hadn’t been. Not really. 

“She would never cheat on you.” Tashigi surprised them both with those sudden words. “She’s not like that.” 

But her eyes already looked upset. Though she was doing her best now to not let the waterworks out. 

“I hadn’t seen her for three months before Mariejois though.” Smoker admitted. He’d already known by then that it was over, but he’d been waiting for the chance to have that conversation with you in person. He had never wanted to hurt you. 

Obviously you still hadn’t taken it well. But to run into the arms of a pirate? And of all of the crooks out there, it to be that one? Tsuru’s literal enemy? No, Smoker wasn’t accepting this as anything that simple. You’d always been far more complicated. And he was not the only one to have contributed to it.

For two years he had done his best with you. But you’d been looking for something in him that wasn’t there too. He knew he hadn’t been your first choice. Second place was nice for a while of course, but it was still just the first loser in the end. And Smoker could now see that the man who had preceded him to set that unmatchable standard was still out there in the weeds obviously. Not even realizing what was right in front of him.

Kuzan still just didn’t get it.

Out of respect, Smoker had kept his mouth shut for the longest time on this as well. It hadn’t been his business. But now you were in trouble. Your actual life was likely on the line as just a bit of that anger finally escaped to the surface.

“Dammit, Kuzan! You say you made her confess…so you knew something was up when the rest of us didn’t? Then why didn’t you help her then!?”

And the way Kuzan’s eyes immediately widened in surprise didn’t suit his rank at all as Smoker kept on. He had been holding this in for far too long.

“You’d started talking to her again after I broke it off with her, right? I mean immediately, you two were getting friendly again weren’t you? You walked her out of the damned bar that night with her hanging all over you! Wasn’t it obvious to you then!?”

“The hell are you on about!?” And now Kuzan was snapping back at him, though still clearly confused. “She was drunk and trying to get over you! You’re the one that hurt her in Mariejois!”

“Me!?” And Smoker’s chest rose at that. Maybe this fully was that old stereotype of some men not being able to see the forest for the trees. Emotionally blind in these kinds of things. But Smoker could only be angrier at this man because they were friends. He held Kuzan to a higher standard than this.

“Tashigi!” Smoker called her name abruptly to her additional surprise though. “What did she tell you? That very first time me and her had a big fight and she’d only hang out with you in port all that week. Tell this dummy what she said, because I know he won’t believe me now!”

And she looked from one man to the other in a bit of escalating panic. “But she told me that in private!”

“Well you already told me! And it’s relevant now!” Smoker retorted.

“I only told you so that you’d understand what she was upset about! I was trying to help!”

And it hadn’t helped in the long run. Had it? Maybe it’d only made things worse. “Tell him, Tashigi!” Smoker ordered her this time.

Her lip was quivering, but there was a rare indignation to her expression then as well. As if suddenly she was angry at both men herself. 

“She told me that the only real partners she’d ever had were Aokiji-san and Smoker-san! But that…” And she closed her eyes briefly, as if apologizing to you internally before she blurted out this secret that was so personal. “She said that neither of you had ever told her that you loved her! That she kept trying to earn it…and she didn’t think she ever could!”

But Smoker gave her a harsh look still. Because this was almost the whole truth. There was the one other point that’d really been the final nail in the coffin of his own relationship with you. And Kuzan needed to hear it. “And?” Smoker made her keep on. “Tell him the other thing!”

Tashigi’s eyes were open again. She looked to her captain almost pleadingly. “I can’t…”

Smoker scowled. That girl was just too loyal for her own good sometimes. But fine, he’d say it then. Everything needed to be out in the open at last.

“(Y/N) told Tashigi that she kept wanting to find what she’d had before. What she felt with you, you dumbass! You were the only man that she was in love with!”

And it still hurt even as Smoker said it aloud that easily now. It hurt just like it had from the first time he’d known it was true. “I wasn’t you, Kuzan. She was never going to be happy with me. But you’re such an idiot, even when I let her go and put her right back in front of you…you let a pirate pick her up instead!?”

And the main point had still sailed right over Kuzan’s head. Even now, he was hanging on to concepts from several sentences prior as he snapped at Smoker. 

“Why the hell did you date her for two years if you didn’t even love her!?”

Obviously their ranks were off the table currently. These were just two men now at each other like petulant brothers as Smoker fired so immediately back. 

“Well I wasn’t going to say something I wasn’t ready to say! I knew she was still so hung up on you! I was trying to see if she would ever get past it…I knew she was waiting on that word! But if I’d said it, she would have thrown herself away for me and have wanted to get married! She’d probably have wanted kids!” 

Something Smoker could not allow when he knew you’d only been with him as your consolation prize. Your insane drive for accolades, for reaching the top of their ranks had only been ancillary in the end. You were filling that need for validation any way you could. He alone never could have satisfied you, and he wasn’t going to trap you with him. Even if he could have.

But the outburst that came from Kuzan then was something even Smoker didn’t expect. An entire new revelation to hit both he and Tashigi right over the head.

“And what would be so wrong with wanting a family!?” The admiral exclaimed. The hurt in his voice more than anyone could have thought.

Something even Kuzan wasn’t prepared for from himself as Smoker saw that briefly vulnerable look go through his friend’s eyes.

But Smoker was still angry. Beside himself really as all this truth only made everything all the more wasteful.

“You jackass! Why did you ever leave her when you both wanted the same things!?”

And Kuzan looked stunned. But not for long. Never for long as he tried to withdraw into those same old excuses. “Because I can’t protect her! I’d rather be alone always instead of see that nightmare ever play out again!”

“Goddamnit!” Smoker cursed, but just looking fully disgusted now. He wasn’t going to come to blows with his own friend, though he still wasn’t done yelling at him. He had never met someone so innately good, but so thickheaded all at one time. “Marines die every day, Kuzan! She’s a marine! It’s what we goddamn do! She knows that!”

And both of them took a heated breath, Smoker turning away though to go back to his desk as he grabbed one of the newspapers. He shook it in the other’s face. Like a wake up call. You were in danger either way.

You were in danger right now while they were here arguing like children. “We both fucked up, alright!?” Smoker admitted. “I care about her too! She’s a hell of a marine and she’s my friend. Just like you are!” He said to Kuzan. “But now she’s in trouble. So I’m going to Dressrosa! Either help me or get out of my way!”

“You can’t openly defy Sengoku!” The admiral groaned shortly after though, willing to finally leave those mistakes of the past on pause for the moment. To stop screaming at each other and casting blame. The discussion of what to do now was the only reason he’d come here to begin with. “This has to be done the right way.” Kuzan reiterated with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Well then damned talk, Iceman. I’m listening.” Smoker exhaled. Every mission had to start somewhere. Every odyssey had to begin with a first sailing.

——————————— 

Doflamingo needed to get up. He couldn’t reschedule this morning’s meetings, no matter how badly he now wanted to. But the temptation to abandon all responsibility was only growing as his gaze lingered over your unresponsive form.

You were finally in his castle. Finally in his goddamn bed as he wanted nothing more than to put his body back over yours and order someone else to make all those phone calls for him today. 

Money was always coming and going in obscene amounts for him. But you were vulnerable right here, right now as he dug his fingernails back into your hips.

You wouldn’t be bothered by this. No matter how hard he pressed. Because he knew a blackout when he saw one. 

And this result hadn’t even been his full intention. You just hadn’t eaten enough last night after all the arguing had started. And those so called painkillers he’d ordered the doctor to give you were all the stronger on a near empty stomach. Their effects blurring well into the next day for you now.

He knew all about that too. These were actually one of his top selling drugs. Pills he’d purposefully fucked himself up on more than once after a bad day.

Because he couldn’t have nightmares when he barely knew his own name on those nights, could he? 

And you couldn’t feel anything now either as he glanced over his shoulder to that ornate clock in the corner of his bed chambers.

He really did have to go soon. But he’d already showered last night. There was still a little more time to indulge in this if he hurried. To indulge in you, before he did lean back down to close his mouth over one of your breasts.

He sucked that nipple so carefully though, wanting it to gradually harden for him.

Harden like he already was of course. His cock awake even before his brain had been. Morning wood between his legs, and messy blond hair against his scalp as the pillows had forced even those short little spikes in different directions now. 

He’d still have liked your fingers to be smoothing it back down against his head, either that or pulling it roughly as he started to suck your breast harder. His hips already beginning to move while his cock slid across your warm skin.

He was going to summon one of the island’s officials over to the palace by tomorrow at latest. You’d be forced to sign papers that would tie you to him for as long as you both drew breath. Documents to be sealed in the World Government’s records until the time would come to take this fully public.

Because there were strict legalities to be met whenever empires and bloodlines came under scrutiny. He knew the proper timeline must be adhered to. 

You had to be a wife before you could be a mother. All just semantics really. But these games were as old as the world itself. And he would not be outplayed in them.

His anticipation for these results was only worsening each additional day though. Burning in tandem to all of his lust as the words of last night still weighed so heavily in his mind.

He’d thought such emotions would never matter to him. He’d believed he’d just take and take regardless of your own thoughts or feelings.

But it had felt good. So very good as you’d looked him in the eyes and said you were falling for him. 

That these webs of his were working. That his efforts were not in vain.

Doflamingo’s hips were moving harder then, just useless practice in this moment. But feeling so right all the same. Precum was already smearing his tip as it rubbed across you.

He was pressing against your unsuspecting body that he knew his blood would soon be taking full root within. Because Caesar had never failed him yet. 

Whenever that concoction did arrive, Doflamingo would be putting it to immediate use.

And he did raise his head again in this daydreaming, watching your still closed eyes and your slightly parted lips. Your breathing so soft and steady beneath him.

Your life existing for him.

You looked so calm, so peaceful in this state. As if this drugged sleep really were a kindness he had bestowed on you.

But you would be cursing him soon. 

Whenever your clothes no longer fit the same. When you tired more easily, and hungered for strange things. When your feet hurt and your breasts grew swollen and tender.

Whether you begged or even cried for it to stop, he knew those changes would come. Because nature would not be overridden. You would be forming an entire new life inside yourself, and be made to endure every consequence that came along with it.

And how badly he longed to see that progression. How badly he longed to cause it.

Doflamingo groaned, feeling that tension already starting in his own abdomen as his hips pumped harder, beginning to fully dry hump you now.

Why did this particular idea fucking turn him on so badly? Thinking of you full of his seed, and made that much weaker for it, that much more dependent on him as that child grew.

But he’d always wanted to ruin you deep down. Because he’d wanted it all from day one, hadn’t he? He’d told his brother, he’d told Trebol, Diamante, Pica, and Vergo. All of them at one time or another.

I think I just met my first wife, boys.

He remembered joking.

How’d you like to be an uncle, Rosi?

He’d said that too with such incredible lust once, fully disgusting to Corazon when Doflamingo had already been drunk the night Trebol and Diamante had brought him your coat.

He remembered holding that bloodied fabric in one hand, and his brother’s spine in the other. Whispering that taunt in the younger Donquixote’s ear before shoving him away.

Corazon the snitch. Corazon the traitor. He’d probably run off to sit outside that very same night. Just as Doflamingo had retired to his room to pleasure himself against the torment of your scent still on that dirtied garment. 

Doflamingo had been fucking his own hand, wishing it was you while that chainsmoking coward had surely been sitting out in the dark with the other rats in the scrap piles. Probably with a hidden snail in all those black feathers, immediately calling daddy Sengoku to tattle about his older brother’s new urges.

But the old man still hadn’t done a damn thing to save you in the end. The marines hadn’t kept you away from him long enough. They didn’t understand how many years he could hold on to something like this.

Corazon had failed to make them understand. Corazon had failed you. 

And so Doflamingo laughed. Dark and deep as his hands moved back over your thighs to finally spread them.

He’d have what he wanted. Every morning, every evening, every day, week, month and year to come.

Because little Rosinante had failed to save his fellow marine. He’d failed his future sister-in-law with his selfishness and cowardice. And now…he’d even failed his future niece or nephew that he would never get the chance to know.

All by his own choices to turn against his only brother who had loved him. 

He had loved Corazon.

But only death could bring forgiveness.

Doflamingo smiled wide, just before he brought his hand back up, nearly against his mouth as he then spit into his own palm.

You may not feel this affection now, but he knew you would later today as he slicked his shaft, stroking his palm and that fresh saliva across the length of it.

He’d move you back to your own bed, carrying you through the passageway after he was done here. Baby 5 could check on you shortly after and encourage you to eat breakfast.

Food would sober you up. And if not, he knew where the antidote was.

He could have already given it to you as soon as he’d awoken, true. But where would have been the fun in that? This imagery was already so desirable, intoxicating even.

The queen of Dressrosa beneath him, fucked up on pills and currently dead to the world. And the king of Dressrosa fucked up on her, whoring himself like an animal just for another feel of his beloved’s flesh.

And he was grinning wildly now as he pressed himself through your waiting entrance and began to thrust inside. Harder and harder as he let out a moan, reveling in all of it as he got his morning fix between your thighs. He had no shame in his own choices at all. 

Because he was already an addict, your user and your abuser. Your best customer and soon to be husband and father to your child, unable to ever say no to this product that was you.

————————— 

“Hey! Hey wake up! Come on…rise and shine! Hello? Wake up!”

And something was shaking your shoulder.

A female voice was trying to draw you out over and over.

But you didn’t want to go to it. It still sounded far away and you were confused. The pain would be there if you woke up again. You knew at least that much and you weren’t ready.

Then something slapped your cheek.

Hard.

“Wake…up!”

And then again, to the other side of your face.

And again, back to the other side.

Your eyes finally fluttered. But those light stings of being struck were nothing in everything else that had already happened to you. In everything that was still going to happen. 

You ignored it.

You were staring at a foreign ceiling through half lidded eyes then instead. A blanket pulled tightly around you as everything suddenly got brighter. 

Rings were scraping along rods high above. Thick, velvety curtains were being pulled open to unleash the Dressrosan sun upon you.

Baby 5 was leaned over you as well, staring down intently as she stood beside your bed.

And when your eyes eventually met hers, she smiled so genuinely in relief. As if she hadn’t also been the one to just strike you multiple times. 

“Finally! You are alive! I’m so glad! The young master told me I’d probably have to do that! He gave me permission to! I was going to try water next, but that would have been a mess!”

“What…” Of course you had no clue what she was saying at first, just clutching that blanket around your body as a little more sense began to return to you slowly.

“He said you wouldn’t be feeling well, but that you must wake up and eat something if you were still in bed!” She still carried on with her words somewhat excitedly.

And you did somehow force yourself up to sitting at the mention of Doflamingo though. But still regretting it as you immediately felt dizzy.

Baby 5 wasn’t even the only one in the room either as you kept that blanket pulled up to your collar bones while you eventually realized the small crowd milling about.

It was maids. Some opening the curtains still, others setting up a new tray in your reach. Bringing more water, and more fresh food. But you were looking just further disoriented as you realized this was not the same room as the one you’d fallen asleep in.

This was “your” room again and “your” bed.

But the last thing you’d remembered was being curled up against Doflamingo in the darkness of his.

Had he moved you and left you when he awoke?

“Where…is he?” You managed, still watching everyone else so cautiously.

“The young master is on an important business call. Well, several of them. He said I was to report back to him on your condition.” Baby 5 answered dutifully, almost proud in this assignment. 

But for how happy she seemed to be, by contrast the other women were just skirting around her and refusing to even make eye contact with you. All like frightened, timid little animals before they hurried immediately back out of the room after completing their tasks. 

“So eat! Because that’s what he wanted!” Baby 5 insisted then, crossing her arms as she watched you. That suddenly stern look a bit ridiculous on a teenager’s face. 

But you felt like shit. Even if most of your body was still numb. And the last thing you wanted was to be forcing something down that would only be coming back up in a few minutes.

You always lost your appetite whenever you were really stressed though. Tsuru had had to get onto you about it more than once. Not that you ever remembered this many consecutive days of anxiety on her ship, even in wartime.

“If I eat, I’ll puke.” You said simply, head then lowering into your hand as you looked back to the mattress. This wasn’t a typical hangover either. And you knew you hadn’t even been drinking.

Doflamingo had only had them bring water last night, and that too must have been intentional. Because you’d probably be dead if you’d mixed in alcohol on top of this.

What the hell was really in those pills?

You just wanted to go back to sleep. You wanted to close your eyes and not open them again for ages.

“Hey, Baby 5!” Another voice butted in from the doorway though to have you glancing back up. A much younger voice sounding so very annoyed. “Where can I dump these stupid things?”

And Baby 5’s expression flipped instantly from stern to amazed as she gasped dramatically. “What are those!?” Her hands were on her cheeks. 

But all you saw was a moving bush of purple flowers. The pot they were planted in being carried with skinny legs and bright pink shoes beneath it.

“Giolla told me to put them in here. Some guy delivered them.” The boy huffed. “But I’m about to chunk them out of the window. I have better things to do. I’m not anybody’s room service!”

“They’re gorgeous, Dellinger! Don’t you dare throw them!” Baby 5 barked back at him just as quickly as if this was only her kid brother she was now admonishing.

“Then you take it! It’s making me itch!”

And she did, easily lifting the large flower pot away from the boy as he sneezed.

Even with the plant and its flowers moved away from him, he was then wiping his eyes in irritation. You realized the half fishman was definitely a little taller now than he used to be. No longer a toddler at least before he shot you a hateful look when he realized you were staring at him.

“What, you’ve never seen a fishman before!?” He copped an attitude to your perceived rudeness immediately. His teeth looking sharp now in an odd contrast to his still relatively short height. He couldn’t be more than eight or so now. And with far more mouth on him than restraint.

“Just thinking you’re at least a little bigger than the cannonballs you used to shoot at us.” You mumbled. You also wondered if it was still Giolla who picked out his clothes. The clashing colors were so bright and hard on your eyes. 

“Well we don’t need you here, just so you know!” He snapped back at you regardless before sticking out his tongue.

So mature.

And Baby 5 did roll her eyes, apparently briefly thinking the same. But she was still more worried about the flowers than anything else in this room now as she hurriedly sat them on a sideboard cabinet against the wall. You saw her rather excitedly pull a note from between the leaves when she realized it was there too.

But then there was her immediate disappointment once she’d actually read it. She left the note near the pot. “Boo…it’s just a thank you note from Alabasta!”

“Who’d you think they were from, dummy?” Dellinger fussed, already ignoring you again as he put a hand on one of his hips to look back at her.

“Well, the young master of course! That would have been so sweet!” She looked practically pouty.

“Ew, you’re pathetic! He would never. He’s way cooler than that!” The young boy retorted, now heading back for the door, sassily in his little pink flats actually.

“Romance is cool!” She stomped her foot.

“It isn’t! Go read more of your stupid magazines and keep dreaming, you ditz!”

“Why are you boys all so mean!?”

“Just to you!” And he stuck his tongue out from  between his sharp teeth again before darting into the hall, giggling all the way as a candelabra suddenly smashed in half against the doorframe.

You hadn’t even seen her grab it. And that was no small distance.

“Pretty good throw.” You said quietly into the new silence. Your shoulders still sunken though as you couldn’t find the energy to fully straighten up.

“A good throw would have hit him.” She answered, though still looking annoyed as she picked up the pieces. “I have to go now. Pica wanted me in town to help Gladius. But if you really won’t eat, I have to tell the young master that before I leave.”

“Tell him,” You huffed. “He’s the one that poisoned me like this anyway.”

Yes, the next time he tried to pressure you into taking anything, you were going to tell him where he could shove it.

But she only responded so cheerfully to that. “Oh, if the young master had wished to poison you, you’d already be dead!” Baby 5 smiled so sincerely with these words, while you just stared at her. Followed with a bubbly, “See you later!” 

And with a click of the distant bedroom door you were then alone again.

For a while you just stayed there too, fully ignoring the food tray as you’d told her you would. But also realizing how filthy you felt. Like you’d been sweating in these heavy blankets.

You knew what sometimes worked for you for more normal hangovers. A cold ass shower, even if it just meant sitting on the floor of said shower while the water rained over you.

You did want that now actually as you finally shoved the bedding away to find yourself still without a piece of clothing on. You swung your legs over the mattress edge regardless though and pressed your toes into that plush carpet to finally stand.

A feat by itself that was instantly precarious as your arms left your sides to steady your balance.

Simply walking to the bathroom shouldn’t have felt like tip toeing across a ship’s mooring ropes as you began to walk.

But it did, as you concentrated on just moving one foot after the other. And you were making decent progress across that large bedroom before a new, entirely disgusting sensation hit.

An almost glob like secretion of excess foreign material had slid out from between your legs. Your channel cleansing itself as gravity carried that fluid the rest of the way, wet and warm down your inner thigh. 

And maybe you were already just too worn, too starved, and too dehydrated as you stared down at that tell tale trail.

Semen.

And it was fresh.

Never in your life, not in all the late night binges or in any of the marine bar crawls, had you ever been wasted enough to not remember being fucked by someone.

And it didn’t matter in that moment what the truth really was. It was the fact that you couldn’t possibly know. It was the fact that the pills had stolen your ability to know.

Of course Doflamingo would do that to you if given the chance. Of course he probably had.

But how many others had had access to you in all the time you were unconscious? Anyone could have opened that door, anyone could have climbed over the top of you and…

Your stomach had turned and your knees were then on that beautiful stone tile as you’d reached the bathroom. Falling to them hard enough to leave more bruises before you were leaned over the open toilet, then puking directly into it.

Every bit of anything that’d been left inside of you came out. Until it was nothing but coughing and spit. Your diaphragm then still heaving against your will.

That burning of stomach acid went up into your throat and nose, bringing reflexive tears to your eyes.

You were so much stronger than this.

You knew that. But it didn’t seem to matter here.

Every time you thought things were getting better, they always got so immediately worse just to show you.

Doflamingo had told you only last night that he loved you. 

And Tsuru had warned you that he would never mean it. But did she know it was still the very first time any man had ever said it to you? Did she know how you’d waited your entire life just to hear it?

You were crying again. What you wanted and what you were actually receiving still two entirely different things.

But if you were ever given enough time to fully regather yourself, if the hits would ever stop coming one after another, surely you wouldn’t have been this pathetic. You wouldn’t have been this sensitive.

But even in all of that mental noise, even through your own humiliating tears, you still heard the ringing of your marine snail.

And it took you so long to get back out of the bathroom, first crawling, then somehow walking again. Like a thing only half alive as you’d tried to steady your breathing. You were still numb from the medicine and weak from the continued lack of food. Even in all of that, this person patiently waited for you.

The rings continued over and over until your hand was finally on the receiver.

“…Hell…hello?” You tried to speak.

————————— 

There was no guarantee who at all may answer this number now. And as such, he had been steeled for the worst. The worst of course potentially being the disgusting bird himself.

But when that uneven sounding female voice responded instead, Sir Crocodile actually paused. Because this did not sound like the headstrong marine officer he’d meticulously researched in just these last few days since your face had first met the newspapers. No, not at all.

“Good morning.” He greeted anyway. Knowing about which time it should be in Dressrosa currently. “And who do I now have the pleasure of speaking with?” The warlord questioned, calm but firm.

“Captain (Y/N).” And there was at least an attempt to sound stronger then. You were trying to hide yourself behind that mask of your rank and station. “Who is this?” You asked.

But he could hear the involuntary waver which was still there. That slight thickness like there was congestion that couldn’t be so quickly cleared. At least not in enough time for you to answer the phone.

This was a woman who’d just been caught in the act of crying.

Sir Crocodile’s fingers tapped reflexively on his desk all the way in Alabasta, a frown deepening across his face.

Doflamingo never wasted a moment did he? 

Everything that man ever touched ended up shattering as weak as glass before all was said and done. Even diamond wouldn’t have stood a chance from being eventually worn down.

“Well, Ms. Marine…it’s interesting to finally put a voice to those pictures, and to the stories. You’ve got quite a list of achievements already in such a young career. I did have a look at your government record of course.”

A brat from the North Blue, the same sea as Doflamingo. First recruited by none other than that old crone who the freak still fancied so entirely. That decades long relationship between Doflamingo and Vice Admiral Tsuru being one which Crocodile didn’t want or need a full history on. 

Because it’d always been obvious. Doflamingo either wanted someone to mother him or someone to fuck him, sometimes interchangeably. The monster didn’t seem to know the difference anymore.

So of course you were from Tsuru’s stable. And never mind the additional baggage of that making you and the bird something more akin to siblings.

Since even if Doflamingo’s relationship with your superior was viewed in the least sexual framing possible, if Doflamingo really saw Tsuru as only a mother figure, that would still make you essentially his younger sister when that woman had raised you as well.

An incestuous fucker is what he really was. Because either way you were somewhat of a proxy for that old woman in Crocodile’s mind. But there was no limit for Doflamingo. And the demon probably got off on every single layer of that debauchery as well.

These ideas only turned Crocodile’s stomach even further. Just like everything about that man always had.

Yet he exhaled, cigar smoke flowing as he knew there was also a time limit here. He had no doubt that they’d be listening in to your calls and would be intervening shortly.

“Well, you aren’t very talkative are you?” He spoke again in absence of anything quick from you. “But there’s no point in dancing around for the sake of further formalities though. It sounds as if you’re having a fully miserable time already. And I do pity you. Truly. But first of all, did you receive the flowers I sent?” 

And there was a hesitation on that other end then. As if you didn’t know whether to demand his identity right away or to let him continue on in the hopes of him soon revealing his true intent. “The purple flowers?” You asked.

“Yes.” He answered smoothly. So at least the courier had gotten all the way to the castle. Doflamingo must be busy. The bird would have known those flowers on sight to intercept them.

They were Crocodile’s favorite.

“Adenium obesum is their real name. Yet more colloquially known as desert rose here in Alabasta. Though those in particular are a purple variant cultivated only by human hands. Far more potent and quite rare.”

Obviously you didn’t care about the flowers. And perhaps a little bit of backbone was trying to reform now. “Uh huh…yeah. Who are-“

But he cut you off easily. “They’re highly poisonous as well. Not the exterior of course. The poison is in the sap. Coat a weapon with it, and you’ll find it quite useful. The chemical in it disrupts the rhythm of the target’s heart. Even in the smallest quantities.”

A preferred coating for his hook actually.

The resulting silence hung for a moment before he set his cigar down, still holding it carefully between his fingers. He was genuinely curious in your next move.

And this entire time he knew you had been listening to that hint of superiority in his voice, that edge that came from a lifetime of illicit takeovers and equal violence. You already knew he was no ambassador, no gutless politician simply calling on behalf of the Nefertari family.

That sailor’s tongue came out so suddenly though. Even if he could hear the pain still behind it. “I don’t have time for more fucking games, whoever you are. If you want to threaten me, then do it. Otherwise, fuck off. This is a marine line you’re blocking.”

And it was surprisingly amusing to him. He wondered what you really looked like as you finally bore a little of those fangs at him. The snails could only convey so much by way of expression. “My…is this the real you then? Aren’t you charming? I can only imagine the high brow conversations the two of you must have.”

He knew Doflamingo loved a good tongue lashing, in the right circumstances at least. That night from Scylla had been different though. Crocodile could practically hear that demon’s blood boiling over when they’d argued over the phone.

And was it really because of you? Did that delusional creature think you were something finally worth protecting?

When all Doflamingo was going to do was destroy you anyway. The futility in so much effort was laughable.

But again, it was back to business as Crocodile actually smirked, catching you with his words before you could hang up on him. 

“I don’t mean to be insulting, my dear. It’s just disheartening how much you misunderstand. Of course the poison isn’t a threat. It’s my gift to you. Use it now before they can break down the door. An honorable death at your own discretion. Before that monster can do it for you. Don’t give him the privilege.”

And whether by full intent or not, Crocodile’s voice did begin to change. He was letting you know that he knew. He knew exactly what this was and what you were enduring, because he had seen it all before you.

“It will get worse. He always gets worse. If it was only blood and bruises, I have no doubt that you’d last a good while. You’re combat trained. But it’s the mind, Ms. Marine. When that breaks, there’s no mend for that. No bandage or splint. You’ll wish for an exit as quick as this then. As painless as this. Simply break a branch and drink the sap. Or rub it into any wound I’m sure he’s already given you. No more, no less. Then you’ve won and he’s lost. You’ll suffer his particular brand of hell no longer.”

———————————

Baby 5 had let him know you were back to being a stubborn bitch and refusing to eat any breakfast. Though she hadn’t called you that. She was still naive enough to be hoping for a new friend really.

A potential relationship he’d expected and encouraged from the very first night of course. Because if you pitied her, she’d be another tool in his arsenal against you.

Currently though he was just irritated with you. You were going to be fully sick if you didn’t eat. What was left of those pills in your bloodstream should be hitting you with nausea, vertigo, and further weakness about now. 

You’d be dehydrated and light headed. He’d be pulling you off of the floor when he reentered your room most likely.

Though maybe this was a lesson you needed to learn. If he said to get up, if he said to eat, whatever he said for you to do, you were meant to do it.

He would go check on you after this call and deal out any correction in attitude as needed.

For the moment Doflamingo had been haggling with a newer client. Another king desperate for an additional arms shipment which would turn the tide in their island’s civil war. 

And the warlord knew when a customer was about to fold.

“I mean really, what’s the price of peace, your highness?” He’d been smirking so coldly. It was like music sometimes, hearing their resolve wither bit by bit on the other end of that snail. “Pay what I’m asking in full and I’ll cut two more days off the delivery time. Think what this war is costing you already. Every day, every hour as you lose more soldiers and more tax paying citizens. What happens when you don’t even have enough of them left to collect those heavenly tributes to Mariejois any longer?”

“Your current rate is still more than we can absorb. If the total principal could be lowered just a bit more, Joker, I believe we could find a way to make this lump payment.”

“But my ships can deliver more product to you as soon as early next week. In just that many days the tide could be turning permanently for you. Don’t you think that level of service is worth something?”

Almost. They were almost there. So Doflamingo wasn’t going to budge now. He knew when to keep the pressure on.

But with this final deal so tantalizingly close, that was the very same moment in which his office door had swung open. Surprising him as Pica’s broad frame came hurriedly through it. Though turning sideways to fit as he did.

Something was wrong.

He wouldn’t be interrupting if not. Pica was supposed to have gone into the city today with some of the others. 

But Doflamingo still didn’t want to put this call on hold. It’d taken weeks to get this customer’s back so fully to the wall. Including the effort of providing nearly free weapons to the war’s rebel leaders all the while. 

The rebels already would have been crushed if not. So Doflamingo had secretly backed them first, just long enough to create the opposing demand and get to the much deeper pockets of their king they were still trying to overthrow.

And those machinations were all about to bear fruit here.

Reluctantly, Doflamingo raised a hand at Pica. An instruction to remain silent even as the warlord’s own mind began filling with all matter of hypothetical problems his executive may be here to tell him.

He kept haggling with this other king all the while. But Doflamingo could see the urgency building in Pica’s eyes.

Yes, something was very wrong.

And his smirk was disappearing as he now felt forced to push for this sale’s closing faster than he knew he should.

“In all this back and forth, you’re just beginning to repeat yourself. I need that final agreement.” Doflamingo tried, unable to look away from Pica now. “Either I have our ships start loading tonight to head for your port or we cancel this shipment entirely. Nothing will be ready in time otherwise. Do we have a deal?”

“I…I believe I’ll need to consult the treasury again and get back to you in a few days if your price indeed remains firm. This amount would leave us too barren for all other needs.” 

Fuck. And that was the exact kind of delay that Doflamingo didn’t want. With Pica standing there trying to mouth something to him silently as well, distracting him simultaneously.

“I’ll take off five percent. That’s it. Consider it a one time discount.” Doflamingo was trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. Too harsh a hand would just scare this coward away.

“Eight percent.” That king still countered.

And godamn, how annoying. But even then, the account was still too good to walk away from. Doflamingo’s hand pulled into a fist anyway as the blood vessel in his forehead became visible.

He still could not understand what Pica was trying to say either.

“Fine. An eight percent discount if you pay immediately. Next shipment leaves tomorrow morning if the wire payment comes tonight.”

“Done. You’ll have your money before midnight, Joker.” And now the other sounded so confident all of the sudden, as if he’d actually bested the Heavenly Demon.

And that bit of new smugness made Doflamingo want nothing more than to put a burst of bullet string right between that king’s eyes.

“I better. And I have other calls to make.” Was all he said instead of putting the vermin back in his place. There wasn’t time.

“Yes, Joker. Thank-“

And Doflamingo hung up the snail hard, slamming the receiver before they could even finish that false cordiality. 

“Goddamnit what, Pica!?” He barked in the outburst he’d been containing all the while, already standing. Whatever this was had just cost him significantly. Even small percentages were heavy hits when talking about contracts worth more than the yearly GDP of some smaller islands.

And Pica did look properly flustered. But that high pitched voice did not falter.

“Doffy! Trebol and the marine got into a fight! Trebol’s hurt! She locked herself in her bathroom and says she’ll only speak to you. With the rule of blood…we didn’t want to press further…we-”

“They did what?” Doflamingo hissed, not staying to hear anything else when he’d already darted around Pica and back through his office door as instinct took hold. 

His strings could pull him down the corridors far faster than anyone could have ever run. A terrible sneer contorting his face as he went right over the heads of any soul unfortunate to be in his way on his journey through the palace.

He was nearly sliding into your room moments after. The door had already been open as he’d landed, black shoes meeting the carpet while he’d had to use his strings to stop again.

“Doffy!” Diamante said in relief. 

And Doflamingo could immediately see the hints of disaster. Parts of furniture were broken, small items strewn in every direction. Mucus was all over, and a fresh trail of blood was leading to a crouched Trebol on the ground.

Trebol’s voice sounded worse than even usual as his head immediately lifted at the sound of his master’s name.

“Do..Doffy!” He almost gurgled.

And Doflamingo stared. Blood was stained down Trebol’s face, down his chest too as his executive’s eyes were wide at him. The black glasses were missing. 

“Sh..she broke m…my no..nose…”

His fucking nose. Yes, it was crooked. That was where all the blood had come from. Blood and mucus as Doflamingo felt his fists clenching to the point of being painful now.

His own blood pressure was continuing to climb, his heart pounding. So angry that it was now making his skull feel like it was splitting.

Just the purest form of rage consuming him as he would ask them only one word for now.

“Why?” Doflamingo growled, jaw muscles tightening as his fingers began to rise.

He did see that bathroom door closed. The one you were supposedly hiding behind as he began to attach his strings to it.

He was going to rip it from its goddamn frame.

“She must be colluding with Crocodile!” Diamante spat. “Trebol heard them on the phone and entered first to stop whatever it was they were plotting against you! He tried only to restrain her to wait for you, and this is what she did to him!”

Crocodile!? That name exploded through his mind.

Doflamingo’s own eyes widened behind his sunglasses, like he’d been kicked straight in the chest himself. Even as he felt as if his anger was absolutely going to choke him by this point.

As if he couldn’t breathe any longer while his strings tightened further against that bathroom door.

“Bring…me. The. Recording.”

That was the last full words he could manage to them before he yanked his arm back.

The bathroom door exploded outward, wooden pieces pulled and sliced, raining down like paper and pulp as Doflamingo strode forward into that new opening.

His lips were pulled fully back, his hand up like a claw, ready to destroy anything you could possibly throw at him.

You fucking bitch.

He’d brought you here. He’d trusted you.

And you were Crocodile’s!? Was it all a setup!? 

The shower was running. He could see the trail of mucus leading to that opaque sliding glass door. 

Your body had carried it in here. And his fist pulled back, armament coating then covering all the way past his forearm before he shattered that thick glass in one hit.

It broke over you, shards sparkling into your hair, falling down your naked body as he saw your shoulders tense even further.

You were huddled in the farthest corner of the shower, on the ground with your back to him. You were trembling again.

Like he’d seen too many times now.

Too many times to care any longer.

And Doflamingo had stepped into that continuous spray of water, fully clothed as his fingers tightened into your hair, glass and all as he yanked you away from the wall.

He lifted you by that hair momentarily, just before he threw you back down. Hard enough against the pedestal sink on the other side of the bathroom that he heard the gasp as the air was knocked from your lungs.

He saw one of your hands go to your ribs. You were on the floor looking up at him. There was still that residue of mucus on your thighs. And on your breasts despite the water. You were unable to speak when you couldn’t catch your breath.

And as his foot came down to pin you there on your back against the tile, only then was he finally able to see the purple something clutched in your other hand.

You’d had it the entire time. And you now protected it in your grip as if it were some kind of talisman.

Your last hope against him.

And he knew exactly what it was. Something he’d seen multiple times before. The scent of those flowers the reptile so adored still burned into his memories. Purple flowers on a dark mahogany desk, their vase rattling as Doflamingo had spread his legs wide back then and let a man fuck him raw. A man he’d wanted to own so badly. One with a terrible facial scar and slicked back black hair. 

The man that had decided they were no longer compatible. That they never had been. 

The man that hated him.

Doflamingo also now saw the open cuts on your same hand as you clutched Crocodile’s favorite flower. Your skin you’d split from beating Trebol’s face in when you likely didn’t even have the remaining energy for proper armament.

The end of the stem had already been rinsed clean in the shower. But if you crushed all the rest now within your hand, the remaining sap would gush out to enter your wounds. 

That was exactly what the look in your eyes told him now, that you knew this as you clutched that flower.

On your back on the bathroom floor where he’d pinned you, his parasite ability unable to find easy purchase on your spine that was now tight against that tile.

All you’d have to do was tighten your fist. It’d happen before he could do another thing. There was no antidote for this one.

“(Y/N).” And he said it as that new fear cut straight through his rage. His teeth still bared, but his palms now beginning to sweat. The tension in his body was faltering.

“Don’t.” His mouth tried.

Because he wouldn’t be able to handle it. He couldn’t even fathom it.

Not like this. Not this soon.

“Doffy…” His own name was so soft from your lips in return. As if you could feel that shift. The sudden hole in his defense and that pull within his chest again while he stared down at the mess of you. You and that matching pain within your own eyes.

“Let go of it.” He still ordered you. “You can’t do this…”

You can’t do it to me. Was what that fear really meant.

———————————

He’d come in here ready to punish you by any means necessary. For a moment you had felt that. His full rage at any hint of betrayal, his need to hurt you for your daring to ever harm his family.

But he was reacting only to what he saw. Not what really was or had been. You’d already told the mystery caller to fuck off. It didn’t matter who they later said it was.

You didn’t care.

You had already endured so much in your short life, survived too much to ever just kill yourself here and now simply because some stranger told you to. Someone that evidently hated Doflamingo and couldn’t give two shits about what really became of you.

They’d done this on purpose, hadn’t they? They’d known something like this would come of it.

But you’d still been on that call, trying to figure out any of that then when Trebol had first burst into the bedroom.

You really didn’t think Trebol had heard everything either. But you were arguing with the man on the phone as suddenly the Donquixote executive was calling you a traitorous whore and mucus was flying at your naked body.

So of course you’d lost your damn mind then. Because he’d touched you again. It’d been everywhere. And even as worn down as you’d felt, when that mucus was then squeezing around your chest and running in between your legs, you’d still found some kind of emergency supply of haki as you’d finally snapped.

You’d fought that bastard like a wild animal, your injured leg be damned. You’d felt his nose crack and you’d gotten a hold of at least one of those flowers from that stupid plant as you’d escaped.

You’d screeched at them that you would fucking kill yourself and they’d have to answer to Doflamingo for it. Diamante had come in and Pica too in all those dramatics before you’d locked yourself in the bathroom. You’d said you’d only speak to their master and they could royally go fuck themselves.

But you’d still known what Doflamingo would do, even as you’d crawled into the shower. Even as you’d still been trying to get Trebol’s residue off of your body when you could no longer stand.

And when the bathroom door had exploded outward only minutes later, you could hear how taut the strings were in the air. You could hear how hard Doflamingo was already breathing as the shower glass had shattered next and he’d yanked you out and upward by your hair.

He’d thrown you so violently, it’d still knocked the wind out of you. You couldn’t speak before you were on your back with a long black shoe crushing down onto your sternum.

But then he saw that flower.

And you got to witness his realization of what it meant even through all that rage. He’d hesitated. Even for just a single moment as you’d realized that was your only chance to survive this.

He’d commanded you to let the flower go.

And you had swallowed, knowing that you had already tried fighting him. In Mariejois, in Sabaody, and even within intimate moments when he became too rough.

Even if you had been at full strength in this moment again, that path of tit for tat would only reach the same end every time.

You would hit him, and he’d hit you back twice as hard. The two of you could brawl until the entire castle came down around you. It would accomplish nothing.

It would prove nothing.

That was why you knew you had to take a different path this time. You had to at least try.

“Doflamingo…” You said his name again. You knew he was still listening. Because he hadn’t moved.

He was afraid to move.

“Let me up…please…and I will. I’ll let it go.” You promised through the pain.

You could barely breath with his foot still on your chest. He was suffocating you slowly, and you knew what you had to do.

But it still seemed like forever. Forever with your life in the balance as his intent wavered back and forth.

And then something happened.

His foot was off of your chest. And air flooded your lungs as he crouched down to grab you by the arm instead.

Maybe it just wasn’t yet your time. Maybe the anger was too much for him to even think clearly. Whatever the reason, it was a godsend for you at last as he was now within your reach.

And you wouldn’t waste the chance.

Doflamingo’s focus had still been on your hand. His strings waiting to remove that flower the very moment he could. But his movement to crouch down was simultaneous to the moment you sat up and you made your lips hit his. Even before he could parasite string you as your spine had cleared the ground.

That effort had used the remainder of your speed. And that opening was only there because a kiss was the very last thing he’d expect to be given in a fight like this.

At least Trebol’s remnants weren’t on your face. You could only taste Doflamingo then as you put everything you had into this final play.

You knew you had to mean it. It couldn’t be just any kiss, it had to come from your goddamn soul.

That was all you could think of with your eyes closed. How you would kiss a man if you were actually in love. How you would show them what love felt like when given away by you like this.

You had to prove that you were not a traitor. That you never could be.

You heard the sound in his throat that had started as true surprise. Even as you opened your hand to let that flower fall unbroken from it.

You’d never kissed him like this before. You’d never kissed anyone like this before. You knew that you hadn’t. Because you’d never been this desperate, never this afraid or exposed. 

And his confusion was palpable. Both of you then sitting on the bathroom floor amongst the shattered glass as you did finally pull away again.

Just enough to lay your head against his open shirt instead as you felt him breathing unevenly through it.

———————————

And Doflamingo had sat there stunned, even as his strings did remove that desert rose as soon as you had released it. He’d pulled the flower away immediately and cocooned it safely in string. He’d have the whole plant burned and crushed to ashes when this was done.

But he didn’t know what to do with you now. He didn’t know what was the truth and what was the lie. 

His arm had gone around your back reflexively. His fingers over a spine he could still either break or hold closer to further protect you.

“Doffy…we have the recording ready.” Pica’s voice came from the bedroom.

And Doflamingo was grateful. He’d almost forgotten already that there was more evidence. He wouldn’t have to make a decision like this fully on feelings alone.

“Get up.” He told you, not able to look at you now though even as he removed his feather coat from his shoulders and offered it to you.

It’d drag the ground a ridiculous amount with your contrasting heights. But a filthy coat was the least of his problems now. 

He knew you wouldn’t come back out unless your body was covered. But had his men seen all of you already? He didn’t know the exact timeline things had occurred.

“Sit on the bed. We’re going to settle this here and now.” He growled, his grip back on your now feather covered wrist as he mostly dragged you from the bathroom. You with his coat fully wrapped around yourself before he released you onto the mattress.

You made a sound at the continued rough handling, but you said nothing else.

Your eyes were back on his executives. And theirs were on him as the snail Pica had brought into the bedroom now began to play.

Doflamingo moved back away from you and stood to listen. Intentionally equidistant from Trebol and yourself in that moment, waiting on that more objective testimony. 

The new torment that was suddenly your voice and Sir Crocodile’s, as that conversation filled the room from the very beginning.

From the moment you’d first answered and their equipment began recording from downstairs.

———————————

You had to hear it all over. And it came across so painfully clear on that recording that you had been crying when you’d first answered the snail. 

Doflamingo’s head turned towards you right away at that, but you refused to look at him.

You got to hear the stranger talking over you on the phone next. More condescending and patronizing than even you had realized when it’d been happening in real time.

And then came the part where he’d told you to kill yourself. As if he was suddenly your only real friend, as if only he could understand the intensity of your suffering. He’d told you to end your own life before Doflamingo could do it for you. He promised you that was the only way this would ever end.

But you would bet all the beri in this castle that just after that was where Trebol had started to listen in. Because when the stranger began becoming frustrated with you, when you weren’t accepting this supposedly merciful escape he was offering you, he’d told you to poison Doflamingo instead. If you thought you were really so tough. Poison an evil man and do the whole world the favor then. 

Be the marine hero you were supposed to be.

Surely that is all Trebol had heard to come at you in the fury he had.

He may have already been making his way to your room, missing your emotional reaction which burst out from even that insinuation of assassination.

They’d said he was actually Sir Crocodile now. But even if you’d known that, your words wouldn’t have changed. 

You’d raged at that cruel voice, you’d called him a gutless, spineless, piece of utter shit. 

Yes, you were a marine. And you’d goddamn act like one. You might cut an enemy off at the knees if you had to. You might even hate them if they truly deserved it. But you’d do it to their face.

Not a knife to their back, or a poison in their favorite drink.

You would never do that.

And you told him as much. It wasn’t what he expected either. His true colors had just started to show. His temper flaring at your audacity, and what he called your self-righteous hypocrisy…but then even on the call Trebol’s voice could suddenly be heard as he’d forced his way in to interrupt you both.

Screaming at you for plotting against his master, for intending to kill Doflamingo as he’d come after you.

And your voice was breaking as you’d yelled at him in return. It barely even sounded like you at all. You knew that must have been when he’d gotten a real hold on you.

“Don’t you fucking touch me! Not ever again!”

And there were the sounds of more things crashing throughout the room, Trebol’s grunts and gasps as he struggled with you.

And then nothing as the line went dead.

You looked at no one as the recording stopped. 

You were silent.

They all were.

All you’d goddamn done was answer your own fucking phone when it had rang. Every cruel thing the man had said to you you’d rebuffed. You didn’t even know him. And then Trebol had been all over you anyway.

Diamante and Pica had heard his resulting calls for help over their mini snails and joined in. Diamante had stayed with Trebol while Pica had run to go get Doflamingo.

All the while you’d been crawling into the shower with that flower in your hand. An exit you didn’t want to ever take as you tried to remove Trebol from your body.

But you still would have used that poison on yourself if you’d had to. If Doflamingo had been too consumed to do anything but beat you to death. You knew he’d believe the three of them over one of you.

It could have been the end.

It still might be. 

Depending whether or not he now believed what he’d just heard. Or if he’d think it all still some grand scheme. And you an actress just playing a role to ensnare him. The kind of nightmare pirates might put one another through.

But you weren’t a pirate.

And your head lifted slightly as you saw new movement.

Their master was now back in front of you. Fingers under your chin as he lifted it further. So that your wary eyes were then looking up into those crimson lenses.

And his jaw was still tense, his smile non existent.

“We’ve done you a brutal disservice.” Those strange words came so solemnly from his mouth.

And then he let you go again. His head turned to look at his executives. He was standing at his full height.

You’d never seen those three look this nervous before. Not at their own master.

But his stillness was terrifying. You realized that as he didn’t even seem to be breathing while he considered them.

“From now on, no one touches her. She’s my responsibility alone. She answers to me alone.”

And they all bowed their heads immediately, they were on their fucking knees in front of him at that tone.

“Yes, Doffy.”

It was complete and utter submission. The only thing they must have known could sate him then.

And he still waited. Making them stay on their knees like that. 

It was a punishment, a warning in its own very clear way before he did finally inhale again.

And you saw when they visibly relaxed too as he did. Doflamingo had made his point and his hand just rose to begin generating strings again from his fingertips.

The same trick from Scylla as you saw a duplicate of him now taking shape from the floor up.

“I’m taking her back to my room.” He announced to them, still sounding cold but not as completely tense as before. “I’ll make the rest of my calls today through the string man in my office. Go to him if you need me. And get someone to come clean up this fucking mess.”

And as the real Doflamingo stopped talking, the clone started. Voice identical and somehow emitting from it.

“Go get your nose fixed too, Trebol.” It said, frowning. 

You saw that look of real relief form on Trebol’s bloody face then. As if his master was being so kind to him now. 

And maybe he was by Doflamingo standards. He was washing his hands of this. They were all free to go. The clone only told Diamante to take that plant and destroy it as well.

“You’re coming with me.” The real man said back above you though as you glanced up. He was picking you up again, right off of the bed and back into his arms, pink feathers and all with his coat still around you like a robe.

All while his clone moved independently, hands in its fake pockets then, leaving the room via the main door back to the palace hallways with the executives.

But you were being carried to that same hidden passage again which connected your two rooms. By the time he spoke to you again, he didn’t sound emotionless anymore. He sounded tired.

The others were gone. They couldn’t hear him.

“I’m sorry.” He said it so abruptly, you almost didn’t register it. Followed with, “And don’t ever get fucking used to me saying that.”

You stared up at him in astonishment as he moved you through that dark passageway.

Back to his chambers, back to his full protection.

And you felt his hands tighten on you slightly, once the passage was sealed and you were both alone within the king’s suite again. 

The curtains were all drawn shut, leaving it cooler and darker in here because of that. It felt like his den.

Like a sanctuary.

You were still in Doflamingo’s arms as his face pressed down against your neck and he leaned his back against the wall. He breathed you in. Hesitating as if he didn’t want to let you go, like he was delaying it in any way he could.

But eventually he’d lifted his head again to look down at you. 

“Move my glasses out of the way,” he told you then. Both of his arms already occupied in holding you to him.

A request that was easier said than done when you had to fish your hand out of the feathers that were still wrapped around you like an oversized blanket.

But you did eventually manage it. Gently reaching up to touch those somewhat famous frames. And when he didn’t resist, you lifted them all the way up to set them on top of his  head.

He stared at you for a long moment after, his good eye sharply focused, searching within your own eyes really.

Looking for something before he spoke again.

“You’re lucky I know him well enough to tell when he was being genuine. That really was your first introduction to one another…and he misjudged you completely.”

“I don’t roll over easily.” You said flatly.

“I know.” Was all he answered at first though.

And he leaned in to steal your lips briefly then, covering them with his own. But it was different. It was soft.

It felt like that very intentional kiss you’d given him earlier, or at least his best imitation of it.

And when he was done, he still left his face close as well, warm against yours. His next words were quieter, only for the privacy of this moment. 

“In that year you were with Kuzan…I tried to go after Crocodile. I tried with everything I had. I know people still talk about it. But they have no idea. It was…like a fucking war. But I wanted it. I wanted it so badly.”

And it was that stranger smile of his that followed. The one that looked painful. The one that nearly looked wounded. “But he cut me off all at once one day. He told me I was worthless…and he’s insisted on trying to remind me of that ever since.”

And the actual regret in Doflamingo’s tone was surprisingly real, as was the anger that rose to cover it. 

“But their losses become our victories. Don’t they?” He sneered. 

And you felt his fingertips, starting to hurt you again even through the coat. His grip becoming that severe. 

“None of them understand what they’ve created in bringing you and I fully together now.” He murmured against your skin. His lips still drawn back enough for you to feel his teeth. “We’ll outlast whatever their envy tries to throw at us next. As long as you stay loyal to me…then you have my protection. You have my love until the very end, woman.”

And it was another ultimatum without question. To the end…an end he could either cause tomorrow or twenty years from now.

Because it was up to him. No one else. Everything was still about him.

“I understand.” You said without argument though. Because he wasn’t asking anyway. He was telling you how this was going to be. 

He was promising this to you.

You would still resist. You both knew it. You would test the boundaries again and again, flapping your own wings against this shrinking cage soon enough.

But he still liked that too didn’t he? Because a little bird who said nothing, did nothing, and would only lay listless at the bottom of its enclosure at all times wouldn’t be worth having.

So you could thrash and fight, even bite him occasionally if he handled you too roughly. 

But you could never truly leave. You could never sing your song for another. You had to be his.

Only his.

———————————

    T⨂  BE 

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

[panlight]

also continuing off the Informed Traits discussion, just how much of Caslisle's compassion/kindness is informed? Bella and Edward both make it seem like he's this saintly figure and pillar of goodness, but then there's moments where he does things that make you wonder if the view on him is just really rose-tinted.

Again, going back on BD where he invites his friends to witness and doesn't seem to care that they're hunting humans just outside forks/la push and let's them stay even after already knowing what their presence triggers the tribe to phase, the book also reveals that he took Jacob's blood sample to study without his consent?? Like a lab experiment???? (I learned this through a post showcasing that part in the book) Also in a podcast I listen to that discusses the plot of MS, he apparently fakes being Billy's distant relative (impersonating an indigenous person uhhmmm 😬) and, well,,,, lets just say I can see why some people think that entire phone call just gave colonizer vibes. AND!!! didn't he drug a woman to steal their car and kinda doesn't react much when they caused a massive car pileup??

On the one hand i dont mind if it's meant to show us that even Carlisle's sense of morality is flawed, but between Bella's "the Cullens are good to the core" and every time Edward talks about him in MS, it's feels more to me like another unreliable narrator trope.

This one is harder for me because, see, I want the compassion to be real because I think the concept of a vampire blessed/cursed with Super Compassion is legit fascinating! As I've said about 23470234 times, my favorite aspect of vampire stories is how they become a vampire, how you cope, the choices you make, what you accept and what you deny about your new reality. The idea that for this one guy, becoming a vampire made him even more compassionate is just the kind of twist on it that I've never seen anywhere else and I think it's really interesting, actually. A dud of a superpower, sure; the innate push-pull of vampire instincts vs super compassion compels me, though.

But obviously I can see where it comes from that it could be an unreliable narrator thing or outright lie. Or at least a show vs tell problem where we're told he's compassionate but actions suggests otherwise.

I think it falls apart in two major ways:

The protagonist-centered morality. Everything in the story is about facilitating the E/B romance. Carlisle's alleged compassion can only help that, he can't hinder it. They HAVE to move back to Forks so the story can happen, he can't say "huh maybe it's NOT compassionate to move back to a place where people know what we are and are terrified of us." He can't refuse to drug the soccer mom because they have to save Bella! He can't object to having witnesses gather in Forks and force more teenage boys to phase and put humans at risk of being eaten because we have to save Renesmee! He can compassionately offer Bree surrender, but neither he nor Esme can do any more than that to try and save her, because that would complicate Bella's upcoming wedding. The Bella-centricity of it all sits like a supermassive black hole in the middle of the story, disrupting the orbits and bending the light of the other characters.

Carlisle can't be any more compassionate than his author, and that limits him. We had a fandom discussion about this a few years ago, but basically because SM doesn't see the problems with how the Quileute characters are treated in the story, none of the characters can, either. I remember calling it the moral version of how Alice is supposed to be a fashionista, but because SM doesn't really know anything about high fashion, there's a lot of 'tell' about her being this fashion icon but the actual show of clothes in the story doesn't live up to it. Or Carlisle himself -- he's supposed to be this genius doctor who has studied medicine and science for centuries, but SM isn't a doctor or a scientist, so some of the stuff she makes him say doesn't live up to the idea she planted. SM totally missed the settler-colonial stuff, the dehumanizing language, etc etc, so none of the characters, not even Compassionate Carlisle or Power-of-Heart Esme can.

tl;dr I like to think the compassion is real but hindered by the narrative insisting on prioritizing the love story AND Carlisle being unable to be more compassionate than his author. But that's because I WANT it to be real because I think the concept is really interesting, even if the execution is lacking. I don't need or want him to be Perfect or a Saint, and I'm sure existing as a VAMPIRE of all things would naturally come into conflict with compassion all the time (examples in the book is him not wanting to kill James and it leading to the extended hunt instead; offering surrender to Bree but knowing if he goes against the Volturi they could kill the whole family; telling Sam in BD that this isn't his fight and 'don't get your family slaughtered for pride,' even as Sam insists they have to be there for Jacob and Jacob has to be there for Nessie [blargh].) and that struggle and how he deals with it when he's in a situation with no Compassionate choice is available would be great. Even that car chase in Midnight Sun could maybe work if the story gave Carlisle any room to protest until Alice insists it's the Only Way!!!! or whatever, and some follow up where like oh huh weird some random charity swooped in to pay all the medical bills of everyone involved in the pile-up and bought them all new cars. If Edward, Jasper, etc can't turn off their gifts, Carlisle shouldn't be able to either, even when being forced into uncompassionate actions. But SM doesn't care. She only cares about Carlisle, let alone his compassion, inasmuch as she needed a kindly father figure to set up the vegetarian vampire thing and for Bella to have a convenient doctor.

[alexschlitz]

I really like your art style. I was wondering if you had tips on how to draw consistent bodies and faces? Or any art tips to share? If not, no worries.

hi this is so sweet!! thank you for asking!! the best advice i can give is to practice unfortunately, which i know is everybody's least favorite thing to hear. life drawing is really useful for learning body proportions and how different parts move, and also for learning to draw bodies in perspective. there are tons of websites to do actual croquis-style quick life drawings from photos of different models. i do recommend doing them in person though, if possible! watching the actual model move into different poses gives me a great idea of motion and keeps my drawings from feeling stiff. i also highly recommend michel lauricella's morpho books for helping to learn anatomy for drawing. i will say 9 times out of 10 my drawings start as the most basic breakdown of the pose i want to use, like a literal stick figure with joints, and then i flesh out in layers of detail from there

faces are a little different but my personal method has always been studying tons of reference images until you have a method for mapping and placing features and a basic shape language for each-- eyes nose mouth etc. the more detailed your studies are at the beginning, the more you will be able to break any face down into proportions, and the more you will learn to simplify those features while still having your drawings look like whoever you want them to look like!

as for consistency, truly drawing the same thing repeatedly is the only way to achieve this. i'm an animator and a comic artist, which means all i do is draw things over and over again, so i have a lot of practice -- but it is a skill that is learned, not innate. the more you train your eye and hand the easier it becomes!!

i hope that helps or whatever, i'm no expert by any means but i'm always happy to share what advice i have! xoxo

[jyeshindra]

ALL ABOUT GEMINI RISING

Ah, we've made it to the witty chatterboxes of the zodiac, our lovely Gemini Risings! Let's go over the traits and energies of this dynamic, Mercury-ruled placement.

As a reminder, our ascendant is a very personal point in the chart. It is what we see when we gaze out into the horizon. What shall we claim? How do we see the world? And how does the rest of the world see us? In ways, I do believe our ascendant is more revealing than the sun sign. It tells the story of our soul's...why we are here and what we are meant to learn.

We begin with the chart ruler, Mercury. How does Mercury behave in the mutable, airy sign of Gemini? Especially when geared towards one's direction in life?

Mercury is a special planet, having no gender and being one of the fastest moving planets in astrology. In mythology Mercury is associated with tricksters, messengers, writers, and magicians. Mercury is here and there, playing both sides and aligning with motivations not entirely rooted in blacks and whites. Mercury is one to see the grays and to ask "why?". To seek out information and to feed their mind.

You are much like Mercury, Gemini Rising. What you wish to pursue is knowledge itself! You have curious souls that seek to know and explore everything. Information is valuable to you and you know how to get it and what questions to ask. Your mind is hungry and always searching for stimulation.

You are also a connector. Gemini, like the other air signs (and Virgo), are represented by humans, not animals. This speaks to your purpose Gemini which is to connect. You have an ability to understand the intricacies of a situation, of a people, of a culture, and make the necessary connections. If Aries pioneered the land and Taurus settled it, Gemini finds the trade routes and explores other parts of the land and the surrounding peoples.

These risings are often seen as scattered, talkative, and witty. They are blessed with the gift of gab and often charm those that they talk to with their youthful disposition and excitable mannerisms. Mercury makes these sensitive to stimuli and you can often spot a Gemini Rising by their plethora of expressions! You may seem all over the place to some, Gemini, but your mind is constantly assembling and processing and searching. It makes sense!

Appearance-wise, Mercury gives one a child-like or elfin appearance. I've seen these ascendants have bright eyes, a dazzling smile, and maybe even a high-pitched voice. They may also be wiry, with large foreheads and beautiful hands. Perhaps your face is adorned with glasses to give you your mercurial edge?

I believe it is you, Gemini who becomes the mirror for others. You are impressionable, taking on the characteristics of everyone you meet; their speech, their mannerisms, their thoughts even. You take what you need and leave the rest. You are changeable and always open to a conversation or to a new idea. It's this quality that makes you the perfect vessel for your soul's true desire; to reach large audiences and spread your information with the world!

I think with the Virgo 4th house, Gemini often had to teach themselves a lot. Information played a huge role in the household, either in proving oneself as knowledgeable or avoiding criticism from others. Perhaps the Gemini had siblings to care for, or parents who weren't really around. Or maybe there were overbearing guardians who left a sense of helplessness in the Gemini, so they compensate with information.

There may have been no room in your home environment for emotions, Gemini, and so you over-think everything. Your attention to detail is innate, and you can study any topic thoroughly and deeply (Scorpio 6th House), but you are, in ways, avoidant of your own emotional experience. In fact, all your water houses are in Earth, Gemini! This is also likely a sign that your ability to persist and stay strong, to persevere and commit, is a bit unconscious to you. There is some wound of authority here with that Capricorn 8th house, and perhaps your power lies in discipline. In applying yourself time and time again to master whatever it is that you wish to give to the world. 

There are beautiful things to be shared from your mind Gemini with this Pisces 10th House. You want to be seen in your multi-faceted-ness with all of your creative and awesome gifts. You want to be acknowledged and appreciated, not used or taken advantage of. Others may see you in a Piscean way when you take the stage, Gemini. You may have many different things going on at once, or you become someone who can reach a lot of different people. You may change careers a lot! Some famous Gemini Risings include Gordon Ramsey (restaurants feat. world cuisine is very Piscean), Drew Barrymore (isn't she the sweetest?), and Mindy Kaling (so many different projects!)

Lastly, the Taurus 12th house speaks to an inner beauty and artistry within you Gemini. Truly you come from the Earth, with a purity in you that seeks to understand everything in this earthly plane. No stone shall be left unturned! You have left behind a more solid approach to something more airy and exciting. There is so much for you to learn Gemini! But do not forget to rest! Do not forget you come from the Earth and you shall return to the Earth. Take care of your body, eat good food, cover yourself in oils and balms, and appreciate the body you have been given. Your mind is beautiful, but so is the rest of you, Gemini! Adorn it.

Your 7th House is ruled by Sagittarius, indicating you need partnerships that allow you to step outside of your comfort zone and explore your physical reality. You may stay glued to your screens or to your books or to your own mind when you truly do yearn to see and experience and live. Sagittarius will teach you this Gemini, that there is much to be learned and wisdom to be gained from LIVING. You want someone who can teach you about the world and brings you depth and perspective.

You will learn so much through your experiences Gemini and you must acknowledge the darkness within your own heart. That Capricorn 8th house may urge you to close it forever. Fear and paranoia may surround you in matters of merging, despite your desire to connect everything. Dive fearlessly into your own abyss, for this is the power of Capricorn! The strength to persevere and overcome!

That's all for the Gemini Risings for this week. Next week we'll dig into the Cancer Ascendant and discover more about these lovely Moon-ruled folk.