#like sometimes when you are stuck with someone

[froggiewrites]

hi I had another idea for a request! dealer’s choice on the character(s) (but if you’re stuck for an idea maybe law?), but maybe the reader gets hurt in a fight and their (slightly in denial about being in love) future love interest nurses them back to health? can be fluff or smut or whatever you want I’m not picky I just love seeing your words

thank you I still love your work please keep it up

This request is from @toadmakes, on anon since it's her sideblog! I thought this idea was so sweet, so I just made a really fluffy, self indulgent little piece. Also, I let Law be cool last time I wrote about him so of course I had to make him a flustered little nerd in this one. I hope you enjoy it!!

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Law x Reader

SFW

Summary: You get hurt protecting Law, and he's not pleased. Warnings: Fluff, Lots of Banter, Very Little Hurt/Lots of Comfort Word Count: 1.3k

You don’t remember throwing yourself in front of Law, or being carried back to the Tang. You don’t remember the screams of your friends, or the shaking hands that so carefully bandaged you back up. But that’s alright, because they were all too eager to tell you how stupid you had been once you came to.

“–disgustingly irresponsible! Not to mention unnecessary! What good reason could there possibly have been to do that?” Law is the most furious you’ve ever heard him, and you fear it may be because he’s the most scared you’ve ever heard him. You don’t know how close of a call it was, but you know you hurt all over, and his eyes are shining with something someone who didn’t know better might confuse with tears.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” You try not to say it like an excuse or a plea. It’s simply fact.

His eyes shoot away from yours. You swear you see a hint of red on his cheeks, but just as quickly as you notice it, it’s gone. He clicks his tongue with displeasure before continuing. “I wasn’t going to get hurt. I could have very easily moved out of the way. You–” he sighs. “Don’t do anything like that again.”

“Well I don’t think I’ll be doing it anytime soon.” You try to give him a wry grin, but it turns more into a grimace as you shift, pain shooting through you. You’re covered head to toe in bandages, every part of you sore and bruised. You’re surprised you’re upright and conscious right now, honestly. “Can I get some painkillers?”

“You’re on enough to take down a horse.”

“But it still hurts.” You pout, and he grits his teeth and looks away from you again.

“Yeah. Almost dying tends to do that.” Even with the gruffness in his voice and face, his hands are gentle as they begin to fuss with your bandages, checking over every inch of you to ensure you’ve been properly taken care of. You could swear he hesitates slightly at checking the bandages around your thighs and chest, but he perserveres, ever the professional. You wince a few times when his hands brush a particularly tender spot, yelping when he makes slight contact with your ribs. He fiddles with the IV in your arm, and you feel a flood of relaxation and relief hit you. Looks like he found a reason to give you more painkillers after all. “You’re going to be out of commission for a long while, y’know.”

“How long?”

“At least six weeks, but probably longer.”

“What?”

“That’s nothing compared to what it could be. You have a couple broken ribs, not to mention all of the cuts and bruises. You’re lucky your organs weren’t crushed.”

“Can’t you like…shambles it away?”

“No.” His voice is flat. You look at him with wide, pleading eyes, and he scoffs at you. “Well, more like I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“If I just fix it you’ll run off and do it again, and next time you might not be so lucky.”

“Oh…so you’re just worried about me?” You giggle, filled with warmth at the idea. And maybe the pain meds. “You could just say so.”

“That’s not–” he lets out a soft choked sound when he realizes there’s no way to deny it without insisting he doesn’t care about you. As grumpy as he can be sometimes, he would never say something so unkind. Not to you. “Shut up.”

“Hey Captain?” You feel your tongue loosening with things you would never say, but you’re too out of it to stop yourself.

“Yes?”

“Do you like me?”

There’s definitely a flush to his cheeks now. “What?”

“I think you like me. A lot.”

“I–No!”

“You don’t like me?” Your voice cracks a little, tears coming far too quickly. Whatever he gave you is powerful stuff.

“That’s not–I–agh!” He roughly runs his fingers through his hair, desperately avoiding eye contact with you. “I like you. As a crewmate.”

You puff your cheeks out a bit with displeasure. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.” 

“I’ll believe you if you look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“You’re looking at the headboard over my shoulder, Captain.”

His eyes flick to yours, and he turns an even more brilliant shade of scarlet. “I li–” His shoulders tense and he suddenly shoots up and turns away from you. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about this. You’re high off your ass. I bet you won’t even remember this when you wake up tomorrow.” You can see the tips of his ears burning as he gathers his things and prepares to leave.

“You’re gonna abandon me?”

“I have work to do!”

“I’m a patient, I am work!”

His voice is rising with frustration. “You’re already set up, what else is there to do?”

“I don’t know, Captain, I’m not the doctor here!” You try to raise your arm to reach out to him, only to let out a soft whine when you can barely move it.

“Please stop trying to use your broken bones.” He comes closer to gently hold your arm down, concern clear.

“It doesn’t feel broken.”

“It will soon.”

“You’re gonna let me hurt? On purpose? You’re so mean to me, Captain.”

He sighs. His thumb starts rubbing small circles onto your hand, though he doesn’t seem conscious of the action. “If I fix you up, do you promise not to do anything like that again?”

“No.”

The affectionate movements stop. “What?”

“I can’t promise that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m strong, I can take a little pain.”

“But I don’t want you to.” You know you sound petulant and childish, but you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t want you to hurt at all, I don’t care if you can handle it. You shouldn’t have to.”

“So you should?”

“Yes.”

“That’s stupid.”

You huff. “You’re stupid.”

He can’t help but break into a rare laugh, a chuckle that rumbles through him and makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s lost himself until he looks up to see you staring at him, eyes wide and cheeks red, mouth slightly agape. “What?”

“I really like you, Captain.”

He grows horribly flustered, but for once he doesn’t pull away from you. He keeps looking you in the eye, even as every part of him screams to run and avoid his embarrassment. “You do?” His tone is heart-wrenchingly hopeful.

“I do. So, so much. You’re the most beautiful and wonderful person in the world.” You can feel your smile grow dopey and lovesick. “I’d take a million hits for you. A billion, even.”

“What if it’d make me happier if you didn’t take any hits at all?”

“Then I would say you shouldn’t have let me join your crew. Getting hit is part of the job. But that’s okay. You’re worth it.” You lean forward, begging him for a single touch, since you currently can’t lift your arms. You can feel your eyes drooping, but you fight to keep them open long enough to receive what you want.

He sighs, but you can see the affectionate smile creeping onto his face. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, resting a hand against your cheek so tenderly you could weep. “Get some rest. I’ll fix you up in the morning.”

You hum as he uses his palm to gently push you back down, his other hand on your shoulders to recline you slightly. You’re fading fast, finally losing your fight with sleep, but before you go, you swear you feel the ghost of his lips against your forehead.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

[almostfoxglove]

THE PRETTIEST

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes' #MONSTERSMASH2024 challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader CREATURE: GHOST + MAX PHILLIPS WORD COUNT: 4.3k CW: Smut (piv), voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism (he's invisible and reader doesn't know he's watching), Max is a bit of a creep okay he's doing his best here, protective!max, jealous!max, enough manager speak that I got tech startup flashbacks.

SUMMARY: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Of all the hell holes where one might waste eternity, Max is pretty sure his vacant duplex is the worst of them. Six rooms, two floors spined by a spiral staircase—all boring and hollow and dusty. Disgusting. How difficult would it have been to let him haunt the office? He could’ve leered over all those pathetic little office drones, driven them crazy forever. Fucked with their desk chairs, their hard drives, mixed up all their coffee mugs. Not that Max has mastered the art of affecting the material world yet, but he will.

Petty? Sure. But you can’t blame a guy for feeling a little owed after all management’s little reorganization. His relocation to the goddamn fucking afterlife—and to this prison of an apartment where there’s no one to subjugate or fuck, no less. 

What a waste of his potential. His talents.

Who knows how long he spends stuck alone in this place until someone shows up, but eventually people do. The real estate agent—Doreen and her little beehive hairdo, her eyebrows always penciled on too thin—and, over what Max estimates to be about three weeks, a parade of nobodies she tours around, preaching godless, truthless sermons of the duplex’s good bones and the good life they could have in these dreary fucking rooms. He’d be proud of her sales pitch if he weren’t so goddamn pissed.

He tries, he really does. Yells often, I’m right here, Dor-een, honey, right fucking here! And waves his arms in front of her face, but he can scream as loud as he likes; nobody hears a thing. 

For the first time in his many lives, people walk straight through him. 

There might be, possibly, some karma in that. 

Max doesn’t care for it.

It’s misery until the day Doreen brings him you.

Come on, Max whines, slouching lazily on your couch. Curled up with your bedsheets cloaked over your head, you rot on the cushions beside him, four hours deep in a Desperate Housewives marathon, oblivious to his company: your usual Sunday routine.

As usual you don’t hear him, don’t see him either. Sitting right beside you, making no dents in the pillows, his glossy dress shoes kicked up on the coffee table. Still he finds himself complaining, one hand gesticulating wildly at the screen, You’re killing me, baby. It’s obviously the fucking neighbor! Guy’s got a box of death under his pool!

Meanwhile you just sit there, enthralled as Eva Longoria struts about in her tiny skirts and tiny shoes. Max tells himself the only reason he stays in the room when you watch this garbage is for her and all the other pretty housewives or to leer at what bits of you peek out from your duvet each time you reach for your tea on the coffee table—a wrist, your elbow, and when you knock over the popcorn bowl and slip the sheets from your head, the lovely hollow of your perfect neck. Truth is, if you were to quiz him, he’d be able to cite the plot of the whole season beat for beat.

Not that he’s enjoying this, this—this garbage. Never.

No fucking way. He’s just perceptive. Has an excellent memory.

Plus this is the one way he gets to be close to you. Such a pretty little thing, taunting him without ever knowing it. That sweet mouth, those clever eyes. Showering with the bathroom door sometimes cracked like you know he’s here and dying to peek through the veil of your jasmine-laced steam. Chewing the ends of your pencils while you sketch out some masterpiece on looseleaf that you never get around to painting.

Sitting on your couch, at your dining table, at the foot of your bed while you brush out your hair after a long day—it’s the closest Max gets to feeling like being stuck here might not be hell, just purgatory: always a breath away from the thing he’d like to touch, but at least he’s not simmering in battery acid or being flogged. He’s had his share of blood-bag roommates—brief fascinations that drained so quickly—but you? You’ve lived in Max’s apartment for three months and he’s no less drunk on you than he was the day Doreen toured you around. Can’t quite put his finger on why. Maybe it’s the longing, the forest fire that sears through his ice-box chest every time your eyes skim his face by accident, never lingering. 

What can he say? Max is a man, after all. Under all the blood and monster.

And you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever seen.

When the show cuts to commercial you mute the TV, immune to the serpent-tongued promises of liars like him. Lured by nothing, by nobody. Already slinking from your bedsheet cave, all bare legs and cute little ankles striding out of the room, leaving him with the ghost of you, the smell of your perfume kissed into the duvet.

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to sell himself to you. He’d charm you all the way to your perfect knees.

In a way, you and Max are the perfect couple. You’re free to do as you wish, and he’s free to watch you every second that you spend at home, miserable the moment you leave for work in those tight fucking pencil skirts. No better than a dog, he spends his vagrant hours of isolation alternating between puppy-eyed pouting and anxious pacing, tortured until your evening return. 

How did he ever live here alone? Alive or otherwise. He can’t remember now. There are too many rooms, too few sounds, too few breaths, too few footsteps. He misses you. Your bedhead and pajamas, your blanket nest in front of the TV, the cute way you answer the phone. 

Today, you don’t come home till eight fifteen—and Max has spent thirteen hours losing what’s left of his mind.

Baby, he sighs, rushing for the front room at the first turn of the lock, a grin stretched to dimples in his cheeks. Seems even if you can’t hear him, Max can’t help talking to you, perhaps childlike in his belief that someday you will. Where the hell have you—

His sentence hacks itself in half, drops to silence, because you’re blushing when you come in, eyes shyly downcast, one hand shaking the rain loose from your hair, tendrils clinging to your cheeks. “Here,” you say, and for a beat Max thinks you’re speaking to him. His mouth drops, stunned. 

Is this it? Can you finally see him?

“Come in, come in,” you say.

Then a man steps in behind you, shuts the door behind his hulking form, and if there were any blood to speak of in his veins, Max is certain it’d boil at the sight of him. Tall and empty-headed, dopey as a dog, stomping his blocky, muddy shoes all over your hallway. Yours and Max’s. Getting goddamn filth on your hall carpet. Given just a few material cells, Max’d have this guy dead before he makes it to the living room, wouldn’t even bother drinking him. This breed of dumbass isn’t worth the mess.

But he’s useless. Less than a gnat. Sentenced to watch you trail this motherfucker who wouldn’t know Tom Ford from his Brioni into your kitchen, jackets shedding and small talk traded—boring, boring, boring, but you laugh when the guy makes a shitty joke about the weather. 

This guy, this nobody, gets to make you laugh while Max never even gets a chance to try.

On second thought, maybe this is hell after all.

“S’a nice place,” the dumbass says, laying his knockoff blazer over the back of a barstool. Cheap stitching. Terrible, too-thin lapels.

You look about the room as if standing in it for the first time and for a moment your eyes pass right over Max, whose long-dead heart winces. Yelps. If you could see him, there’s no way you’d entertain this guy. This nameless little worker bee. Max would make you laugh properly, how you laugh when something funny happens on TV or when you get a letter in the mail from your brother. Sudden and twinkling, often ending in a snort. Adorable.

Shrugging, you turn into your fridge and say, “Yeah, I like it,” and exhume two slim cans of vodka seltzer to set on the kitchen island.

Thank you, Max says, his arms crossed over his chest.

The dumbass’ brows flicker up as he regards your offering. Idiot. What was he expecting from a girl like you, a PBR? These are delicious. Elegant. Calorie wise. Max understands. Max would drink that with a smile and a thank you. 

Or maybe he’d skip right to drinking you.

Sensing his hesitation, you crack your can and take a sip. “They’re not as bad as they look,” you say, a nervous chuckle bittering your lips as you watch your date open his can and bring it to his nose to sniff. “Sorry. I don’t have anything else.”

You can do so much better, baby, Max sighs. You’ve got better right here.

Against his will, the hours pass. The evening goes on. You and the dumbass only drink half a can each—him with a half-snarled lip and you with a self-conscious twinge—but somehow by nightfall he’s got you scooching your barstool closer to him, allowing his slimy hand to rest on your thigh. 

Max bristles. Seethes. Don’t do it, he pleads to you, unheard. He’s not gonna fuck you right, just look at him. Send this idiot home and watch TV with me. Do anything but this guy, baby, anything but him.

You bend in slow motion and it’s agonizing, the tilt of your head as you press your lips to his. The wet slurp of his mouth taking the second you meet. A terrible kiss, though you’re polite enough not to flinch. Breaking from the prod of his pink-slug tongue to offer your neck, his mouth immediately moving, and fuck baby, it’s like you’re trying to kill him all over again. Drive a stake straight through Max’s blackened heart by giving up what he longs to claim.

In an instant, anger births itself from the hollow of his chest. His hand shoots out in useless violence, swinging as if to strike a seltzer can from the countertop and knowing it won’t do a lick of good as ire devours him, igneous and fervid, searing hot as life in his icy hands.

The can jumps from the counter and clunks to the floor, its contents gluggluglug-ing across the tiles.

“The fuck?” Max hears the dumbass gasp as he leaps from his barstool, eyes bugged wide and child-like and weak. You freeze, lips pink and swollen, staring down at the emptying can. 

It’s a shame neither of you can see the way Max smiles. 

Now that’s what I’m talking about, he crows. Finally a little substance around here! 

This is good. No, it’s better than good. This is the rush after a promotion, after the deal that closes out the quarter over target. The look on every sad sack’s face knowing they lost and he won.

This is the bite that finally breaks skin.

Maddening, burgeoning, addictive.

He’s real again. A goddamn Beetlejuice for you, baby. He’s gonna scare this fucknut out of here and have you to himself. First was the can, next is you, and he’s gonna kiss you so much better than that. In celebration, Max kicks one foot to send the can soaring across the kitchen floor and watches his shoe pass right through it, aluminum undisturbed on the floor. No, he mutters, kicking again. No, fucking—come on, you worthless piece of shit—

Your nervous laugh is too far away to comfort him. Distant too is your voice saying, “My room’s this way,” and the shuffling of your footsteps as Max loses his shit on the seltzer can that now refuses to budge no matter the swell of his outrage. By the time he snaps from his incensed trance, your barstools are empty. He blinks, breathless with muscle memory—his lungs wheezing because they remember wheezing, not out of need.

Baby? he calls out.

But you reply. A murmur too lusty to be a giggle—Max’s body coils up at the sound, taut and needy, and carries him toward the sound. He forgets, briefly, who you’re with. Believes he’ll find you in your bedroom alone beneath the covers, hands fluttering as you bring yourself to the edge of release. How beautiful you’d be, gasping in pleasure. He might close his eyes and pretend it’s him drawing out your every breathy, needy sound.

You’ve left the bedroom door cracked, and though in death he’s no longer bound by silly things like permission, Max has since you moved in found himself in the habit of respecting closed doors. Walls are chalk outlines over which he’s free to step, but he doesn’t, not if you’ve closed the gate. He’s not a monster. Or not a total monster—whatever, semantics. Point is that he only spies on your showers if you’ve cracked the door. Indulges in the soft moments of you sleeping only when you’ve left him that sliver of room.

Like the room you’ve left him now: slender and tempting, this stripe of your bedroom wall. A Degas print in a copper frame, the wooden post at the foot of your bed. 

Your sweet voice cooing here, like this, and the creak of your mattress.

Something black and silty sinks in Max’s stomach when he steps inside. Not the rage from moments ago. Something darker, heavier. Jealousy. Half-sheeted by your duvet, the dumbass you’ve brought home rocks above you, his shirt gone, his beefcake arm blocking the view of your chest, and though you’re making all the right sounds it’s obvious this isn’t any good.

He’s not fucking you right.

Your hands clawing at his back are too stiff. Your yeses a beat too slow. As the idiot pants—thrusts choppy and graceless—Max watches your hand tap his shoulder blade as you breathe, “Flip over.”

“What?” bumbles the guy, his hips stalling. “Oh shit—fuck yeah. Okay.”

Another grunt, then he rolls off and Max gets a glimpse of you—your red bra lacy and see through, your nipples so pretty underneath. It just isn’t right, the awkwardness of this colossal douchebag as he settles on his back and you ruck back the covers to straddle him, not at all breathless, hardly even flushed, your hair all messy at the back from disappointing friction.

“Shit,” the guy gasps as you sink down on him, clamping those boorish hands onto your waist.

You don’t even whine, not even as you start to rock, though his breathing gallops beneath you. Guy looks two seconds from nutting while you look years away from anything even loosely resembling an orgasm—your rhythm changing often as you try and fail to find a pace that suits you. “Christ—oh my god, ” the guy groans.

Max sucks his front teeth, tongue soiled with venom.

“Touch me,” you sigh, bouncing now. The curtain of your hair shivering down your back. 

This guy fucks like he’s never touched a woman before. At your request his knuckles only pale, fingers pinching you tighter. That’s not what she means, Max growls. Touch her fucking clit, you pin-dicked imbecile. Can’t fucking please a woman, should be fucking ashamed—

His pointless ranting is cut short by a sudden moan as the guy lifts you off him in time to come all over his stomach, chest rapid in its heaving, upper lip snarled in pleasure he doesn’t have the goddamn decency to return to you. For a long moment you hover above him, waiting, but his head just slumps back against the pillow, satisfied. 

Done.

He’s actually done. Motherfucker.

When you crawl off him to sit back against your headboard—arms crossing over your stomach self-consciously—Max sees red. Sees fire. Sees the roiling magma at the center of the earth where someone oughta make this fucker take a nice hot bath. 

He’d do this right. He’d fuck you properly, have you coming apart at the seams, go down on you until you beg for his cock and edge himself for as long as it takes to have you screaming his name. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel him here, right now? Can’t you feel how bad he wants you? Can’t you imagine how much better he’d be? How good he’d make you feel?

Letting out an airy chuckle, the brute wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow and pushes himself to his feet. Redresses with a goddamn smirk on his face—not one of cruelty, but it might as well be. He thinks this is a job well done. Time to go home. 

A peck to your lips, then he’s rattling on about calling you, seeing you again, maybe Thursday? Friday? While you just sit there, blinking up at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you say, dazed and not quite thinking. “I’ll call you.”

Yeah, she’s not calling you, Max snarls, following the guy out of the room. Watching as the jackass plucks his jacket from the back of your barstool, steps over the mess of seltzer without a thought to clean it up for you, and waltzes right out the door. Not a care in the goddamn world. 

Though he hears you get up shortly after to use the bathroom, you don’t emerge from your bedroom and Max doesn’t disturb you. He spends that time in the kitchen, grabbing and grabbing and grabbing at the dish towel hung over the handle on the oven door, trying to pull it off. 

For at least an hour, his hand glides through the towel as if it’s water, not a flutter or sway in the fabric. Not even a brush, a compromise. It just hangs there, indignant. Mocking him. Deaddeaddeaddeaddead. Maybe it’s the Senior Sales Manager in him, the apex predator at the top of the food chain—but Max can do this all night. He’s not backing down, not letting a stupid fucking towel get the better of him. That lazy curtain of terrycloth will disintegrate before he waves the white flag. 

Beyond the picture frame windows that stare out into the barren, colorless street, the sun has shied to navy blue, letting out the round-mouthed moon, and you have not emerged from your bedroom for hours. He wants to check on you, ask if you’re okay. Frankly, baby, he’s getting a little worried. On the next sweep of his hand, the towel gives up the ghost; Max pulls it from the oven handle, marveling at the toothy fabric. He’s holding it, really holding it, all on his own. 

Thank fuck he’s not haunting the office. If any of those bull-brained fucks saw him now, as he kneels on your kitchen floor, he’d have to die all over again. Somehow. The technicals aren’t important—what’s important is that no one’s here to see him on his fucking knees, mopping up the spilled drink. Something like joy burbles in his chest when he reaches for the can and seizes it, placing it safely on your counter. The floor dry and shining again, clean. 

Max folds the towel carefully and returns it to the rack. 

As if on cue, the bedroom door croaks down the hall and you emerge. A huge t-shirt slumps from your frame; you’ve tied your hair up, put your glasses back on. Dressed down for the last dregs of night, rubbing the back of your hand in one eye, tired. 

You look so, so tired.

I’d rub your shoulders, baby, Max sighs quietly and though you won’t hear him, it still—after three whole months—doesn’t feel any less right to hope.

He steps out of your way as you round the corner into the kitchen with a yawn, hands clasped behind his back, cheek dimpled and eyes alight. Just like he wanted, just like he hoped, your eyes fall immediately to the floor where the can is missing, the spill wiped. Lashes flickering—the towel dark at the hem on its handle, the empty can on the counter. Your brows pinch low over your nose, curious. 

Pretty good for a dead guy, Max grins.

How sweet, that lifting flinch at your mouth’s sharp, pink corner. The soft hm you make in reply. It’s not much, but this strange, fluttery feeling in the dark cavity one might wrongly call his heart? It doesn’t feel half bad. 

Not bad at all.

He’s getting better at it. Not great, but the projections look good. Give him a little time, he’ll have this whole place dancing. Put on a big show, announce himself properly. 

In the meantime he practices when you’re not looking. Small stuff—he opens cupboards. Shuts them. Hits start on the dryer when you forget to press it yourself. Some days he wastes reaching for things and coming up empty, but now again his luck sparkles. Things move. Bend to his will. Isn’t long until he can hold it for a while—gathering the matter to run the vacuum around, or reorganize your pantry. A tidy house makes a tidy mind, baby. No good living in a dump. You’re so busy, always cracking around like a ping pong ball, and hell, it’s not like Max can leave this place, get a little air in his idle lungs.

He likes being useful to you. Likes that tiny smirk on your lips when you find something fixed or organized for you, even though you likely chalk it up to having forgotten that you did it yourself. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need the credit. Isn’t that strange? How often he smiles at you? How perfect he finds the taste of your name.

Winter has arrived like a secret—whispered about for weeks and then suddenly let loose on the world. You come home from work in the evenings with icing sugar hair. Usually unbothered, far as Max can tell, but today you stagger in flushed from the cold and dark in the eyes.

Shit, baby, Max says when he sees you. Bad day?

Sniffling, you drop your coat right there in the hall, let it puddle over your shoes, and stalk off on a mission, barreling into the kitchen. The fridge door rips open, casting blue-white light over your face, and you must feel a hell of a lot worse than you feel because you don’t even blink at the contents inside. All the shelves wiped clean, the bottles arranged with the labels facing out, those wilted, bad greens deposited in the compost. You just reach in for the half-drunk bottle of Riesling that to Max smelled mostly like juice and swipe off the lid.

You chug on your way to the couch, leaving the fridge door open behind you.

Max closes it when you’ve gone, the TV already switched on in the living room, the lilting strings of the Desperate Housewives theme song swimming through the air. When he turns the corner he finds you wrapped in the throw blanket he now knows the texture of—supple and velvet, weighted and warm—with the wine bottle nestled in your lap. 

A silver tear hangs on your cheek. 

Really bad day, whatever it was. 

He wants to ask. Wants to pull you into his arms and pet back your hair. Wants to lick that sadness from your skin. 

Maybe this isn’t the show he’s imagined. Not much of a reveal—but you look so small right now, alone on your couch. Wine splashing in its bottle as you bring it to your lips, not bothering to wipe that tear away. If Max had a heart that beat, it’d stutter as he watches you. Helpless isn’t something he cares to feel.

No time like the present. Max sighs, scrubs a hand down his face as he ticks his jaw to one side, and nods. Alright, baby, he relents. Hang on.

On his way to the bathroom he cracks all the knuckles on his left hand, rolls his neck, swings his shoulders. Stretches himself long and limber like he’s about to run—but this is it. Curtain’s coming up. Time to find out if one glimpse of him sends you sprinting for the hills. Though he casts no reflection, Max stands before the mirror hanging over the sink and straightens his tie, corrects his lapels. Old habits, but it never hurts to look good.

Hand waggling, then, over the tissue box on the counter. He slaps himself hard, sending a delicious ripple of pain across his cheek. Come on, he begs. Don’t play hard to get.

The box lifts.

Here he comes: tissue box in hand, stalking tall and proud down your hallway with his chin up, shoulders back. Gets the momentum rolling, doesn’t hesitate, just waltzes in.

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes round and brows rising. To you it must look like the tissues float through the air to your side. Max steps back with butterflies jittering in his bones. 

Don’t be scared, he pleads. It’s just me.

With your head cocked to one side you consider this, though you’ve not heard his voice. Probably for the best. Came out a little softer than he meant it to, a little needy, and that’s just not becoming of a man like him. He has a reputation to uphold, even now. 

After a long, bludgeoning pause you click your tongue, swiping one white tissue from the box to turn over in your hand. Deliberating. Then your face cracks, possessed by a slithering smirk. Your gaze flickering so close to him it’s almost as if you’ve looked him in the eye. 

Deep in his chest, Max feels a strange throb—his stirring heart—as you say out loud, 

“I knew someone was there.”

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[k-atsukibakugou]

it's all in your head, i'm inside your head and you're never gonna get me out

pairing: hitoshi shinso x f!reader w/c: 2.1k warning/s: DUBCON/NONCON, brainwashing, female!reader, prohero!mindjack, just a lot of staring lmao, please lmk if i missed anything notes: based on this thirst inspo/acknowledgements: MY LOVER @definitelynotsaint FOR ALL UR HELP I WOULD BE NOTHING WITHOUT YOU MARRY ME PLEASE <3 + earworm by cottontail

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

"you seriously think you could beat him?!"

"you act like he's huge, kami, i have more chance with brainwashing than electrification. if i stay quiet, what's he going to do?"

"have you ever fought the guy?"

the argument had been going on for about… twenty minutes now, most of your other friends already filtering out of your place, but you'd trapped the blond, and subsequently shinso with your argument over the hypothetical: would you rather fight kaminari or shinso?

this was by far the most passionate you'd been so far, answering earlier versions of the question effortlessly: would you rather wear kirishima or mina's costume to a wedding (mina's), have an uncontrollable quirk with raw power or a perfected, slightly below average quirk (master of one). the moment sero proposed the final question, your eyes landed on his, your eyes glowing with smugness when they met his bored amethyst iris's, a spark of interest when you parted your lips to argue your point.

shinso remained reserved throughout your argument with the blond, studying a chip in the deep purple paint on his thumb idly, breathing slowly, evenly, apathetically despite his ears burning any time you'd say his name (his heart rate spiking every time, even with each word out of your mouth being a teasing jab of his lack of sheer power in comparison to you).

"why don't you test it sometime?" his voice is gravelly, nearly cracking after sitting in silence for so long, quietly nursing the last few mouthfuls of his drink while he peered at you; the animated way you spoke, the sparkle in your eyes every time you'd tease him, the curve of your neck when you'd toss your head back at something someone said. swallowing the final drops of the amber liquor, your attention is drawn back to him, proud smirk and all.

"what? you don't think i could fight you?"

shinso quirks an eyebrow at you, an uncontrollable, self-assured grin lazily gracing his lips, "i don't think you could keep quiet."

your mouth drops open to defend yourself, your glare growing more and more fiery as you spin to face him. he could prove it right now, brainwash you the moment the first syllable leaves your mouth, command you to remain completely still while he binds you, leave you wrapped neatly in the binding cloth to wake up in, leave you stuck while he revels in his victory. he could do it right now, annul your challenge before it could become anything, before your ego could swell even bigger.

"is that a challenge, mind jack?"

no, it's no fun to melt your wings before they're built, not until you're halfway in the air, dangling precariously over the raging sea, completely ignorant to the dangers below, complete trust in your makeshift wings.

offering you his hand, he ignores the apprehension in kaminari's golden eyes, "you wanna make it official?"

patience is a virtue, something hitoshi has to remind himself of frequently; patience, hitoshi echoing in his mind when you patrol by his side, promising to protect him from any villains, pulling him behind you if even a mouse came across your path. patience, hitoshi when you mock kaminari for fearing the muscular mans brainwashing, asking if he feared the boogeyman, too. PATIENCE, HITOSHI, it's like a mantra when you smirk up at him, your unspoken promise of beating him hanging in the air between you before you'd even part your lips to greet him.

a virtue, a true miracle he was blessed with such patience.

so, he waits, biding his time until the perfect moment, the absolute perfect time. it was spring now, weeks after your proposal, the scent of pear blossoms beginning to float through the sky. along with the sweet scent in the air, humidity made it grow thicker and thicker, as his patience grew thinner and thinner with every step closer to you.

"hitoshi!" you answer cheerfully, like you normally do, a bright smile on your curved lips, unfaltering even as your friend stares at you with burning eyes, costume awry and his dark hair mussed, pushed back from his forehead, "you look like shit."

the tension inside his body was ready to snap, a rubber band stretched far beyond what he could handle; hearing one too many jabs from you, (today, a text of your merch, a little plush of yourself that you offered, free of charge, to protect him on patrols when his brainwashing fails).

"you should see the other guy."

"oh, i'm sure you really showed him."

"you going to invite me in or just insult me?"

"aren't you going to make me? or not ready to accept the truth? i know it's hard."

he snorts, relaxing against the door frame, deciding today was the perfect day to claim his victory. to pop your ballooned ego.

"let me in," his voice is smooth, your eyes drawn to his lips at his low timbre, lips parting slightly. you feign stepping aside, dropping your head into an overly dramatic bow, only meeting his eyes again after a long moment, the smug sparkle still shining brightly in your pupils.

"huh, sorry, i don't think it worked," you stand straight once more, fixating on your limbs as if searching for a reason why his quirk hadn't worked, stretching each finger as if just to confirm your autonomy, to confirm his lack of reach, even into the weakest parts of yourself.

your wax wings spread wide, curling over shoulder blades, strapped around biceps, wrists and fingers, nothing but clear blue skies ahead of you, bright eyes zeroing in on the searing sun. you've forgotten all about the deep sea below, no concern for the waves crashing over the jagged rocks at the cliffs edge, of the current dragging helpless creatures further into the depths. what did you have to worry about the peril below when you could take to the sky? you wings will carry you far from the danger lurking in the murkiness.

"let me in."

like a baby bird, struggling to leave its nest for the first time, your wings fail you, cracking, burning, melting, sending you careening carelessly into the frigid depths below.

unlike your act, you can't feign when his voice, his quirk seeps beneath your skin, settling in your veins, in each wrinkle and valley of your brain, invading your nerves. your eyes go blank, inky pupils dilating minutely. no more burning hubris reflecting back at him, there's only the endless darkness he can watch himself in, the heat in his own eyes. the hunger. you obey (of course you do), your hand falling limply from the door frame as you finally step aside, welcoming him inside.

"aw, where'd all that talk go?" he grins, tilting his head condescendingly, arrogance oozing from him in waves as you stare at him, defenceless in his clutches, his hold the only thing keeping you from slipping into the depths, further from the sky you greedily sought. you're silent (of course you are, hitoshi hasn't commanded you to speak), a ditsy, dumb, blank look on your face as he steps over the threshold onto the genkan.

"close the door." you do, your arm falling back to your side as soon as the latch clicked.

"kneel." you do, heavy limbs bending and bowing until you were seated at his feet.

"take my boots off." you do, you make quick work of the hefty boots, shimmying them down his calves and over his ankles, his half-lidded stare trained on you, admiring your casual shorts riding higher and higher on your plush thigh when you leaned forward to place his boots at the edge of the step up into your home, the pair sat neatly, side by side.

"you're so good, so obedient," his voice is low, his tone would have you addicted, itching to hear his faux praise again and again if you could remember it. leering down at you, hitoshi is certain you'd snarl at him if you could, bear your fangs, bite and threaten him. rather, you're pacified staring up at him, doe-eyed like this he can imagine how you'd keen instead, how you'd lean into his touch when he pats your head, how your eyes would blur when he calls you pretty, dizzy and dumb nuzzling into his hand.

it was cute, laughable, he has to admit, studying your vacant stare with deep amethyst eyes, the way you really thought you could overpower his quirk, that you could win against him.

"such a good girl, aren't you? yeah?" shinso's thick gloves tangle your hair in tiny knots at the top of your head every time he pets you like a well-loved house dog, "how about you get me a drink, too?"

god, he wants to record you, to rub your nose in how well you behaved for him, blindly following every instruction and he didn't need to spend a single yen on training clickers or treats. shinso mulls over the decision for a second, just long enough for your chest to rise once more, your eyelids to drop in a blink; the expression on your lips when he would show you how pathetic you look is nothing in comparison to you rebuilding your wax wings every time you break out of his brainwashing, not remembering a thing; your attitude and teasing returning again and again, week after week when he knows exactly how pretty you look when your mind was a blank slate for him to carve any thought into.

by the time he's mulled over the decision, you've led him further into your home, back towards your the kitchen where the bet was born, where you began building the wings that would betray you.

opening the cupboard that housed the glasses, the tips of your fingers just bump the vessel with a light tink when his pink lips part to command you once more, "stop."

you pause, waiting oh so pretty for your next instruction.

"i could tell you to do anything right now, you know that?"

you stand like a marble statue, only blinking when your eyes burn.

"i could tell you to bark like a dog, and you would," you're silent, eyes staring forward even as he disrupts the air around you, tracing a gloved finger over the bare skin of the back of your thigh, just to watch the goosebumps unconsciously form in his wake, just to do it without your burning glare. "tell you to sit pretty, to shake, to roll over. would you like that, baby?"

shinso runs his bare pointer finger up your spine, tracing the nape of your neck until he buries his hand in your hair, tugging your head back and forth to nod along with him, "i knew it, you're just a pathetic, obedient little thing."

again, he manoeuvres your head to nod (he knows he can command it, but sometimes he likes getting his hands dirty).

"bend over," hitoshi tugs his gloves off, placing the pair carefully beside you on the counter, admiring the arch of your back as your tits squash against the stony counter. you were a fucking sight, something he'd never forget until the day he died; the image of you bent, dumb, drooling burnt into his retinas.

obsidian eyes follow every rise and fall of your chest, roaming over the expanse of your body, every sliver of bare skin catching his attention, taking his time to admire while you can't argue with his perversions. wide hands are drawn to your ass like a moth to the flame, the curve of your plush skin hardly covered by the fabric, even more so when he kneads the fat of your ass, squeezing and spreading anywhere he can reach.

"should i take these off? hm?" he toys with the waistband of your shorts, as if waiting for you to reach around and shove him away from you, to call him every name under the sun, to threaten his life if he even moves an inch closer, lays one more finger on your skin.

you don't.

"yeah, i bet you'd like that." shinso chuckles to himself, hooking his fingers under the elastic and tugging them easily down your hips, leaving them to pool around your ankles, left only in your shirt and the cutest cotton panties, marred by an ever-growing dark patch at the centre of your cunt.

"filthy little thing," his smile widens, a predatory stare locking onto the wet patch, tracing the shape of your pussy over your panties just to watch it widen, "you're so fucking perverted, huh? bet you've been waiting for me to try something like this."

his cock is aching in the tight constriction of his suit, he's acutely aware of how uncomfortable it would be to go home with cum staining his boxers, but he can't find it in himself to care, not when that would mean taking his eyes off of your clothed, drooling cunt.

"you wanna know something?" he hears the gentle buzz of a streetlamp igniting outside your window, hears your gentle breaths, you don't answer.

"i can't brainwash you into getting wet, baby, this is all you."

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[squinch-depraved]

I was watching a chuckle sammy episode today and there was a part where Schlatt said he would hire a hot secretary just to keep him company. I'd love a story about that if you're willing.

The episode is the zodiac one the part I'm referring to is exactly 1 hour in.

this is reallllly yummy i hope i did it justice for you

it was supposed to be just a joke. just a bit for the podcast, a few sentences about hiring an attractive secretary and nothing more. but they stuck in schlatt's mind and hung heavy over him for the rest of that night. he really was lonely. and ted had a point, hiring someone to just be around (and look pretty) was looking like a better and better idea every second. so he finished off his bottle of benedictine, not that there was much left, and tossed it to the side, stretching out further on the couch while he pulled out his phone and set to work searching for an assistant.

it wasn't long before ted heard about his search, and the two men bantered in a call for a few minutes about it before the older of the two stopped his jokes to suggest, "no, but for real though, i have a friend who just moved back to new york, you might remember her, she was on the set for this past chuckle week helping in the background. y/n?"

schlatt's pupils dilated and he took in a breath. "yeah, i remember her," he replied coolly. "thought she was in school though?" he played with something on his desk.

ted lit up. "yeah, she's studying, but i'm sure she'd be willing to work something out with you." his voice was laced with knowing. he had seen the way schlatt sized you up the first time he laid eyes on you, the way he could never meet your gaze and how he always looked to you first when he made a joke. "i'll send you her info, you should reach out, man. she'll be happy to hear from you."

that last line was the only reason schlatt did it. he cursed himself for letting ted convince him now that you were here in front of him. you had been invited to a coffee shop to discuss the job details, and when you finally showed up, he looked incredibly uncomfortable sitting at a small table. but you sat down in front of him, smiling up at him and pushing your glasses up on your nose.

"hi schlatt!" you greeted him, reaching out to shake his hand. he gripped you a bit too hard and grimaced when you made a small noise, shaking your hand out when he let go. "thank you so much for the opportunity, i was really worried i wouldn't be able to find a good job for a while with my school going on and everything."

he nodded hastily and pushed a pastry he ordered for you towards you on the table. you smiled and yanked it towards you, beginning to eat as he spoke. "basically, i just need you to get any random tasks i need done, done. just, paperwork, if there ever is any, usually it's all digital, uhh, anything that slips through the cracks. i just need someone to be there and make sure my shit is taken care of."

you raised a brow. "sounds like you need more than an assistant," you responded with a smirk. his face reddened and he looked away, trying to shove down the thoughts of why you were really here. you were making a joke, but it wasn't funny to him. not when you didn't know you were right.

"shit, i'm sorry schlatt, i didn't mean to insult you-"

"'s fine. not insulted. i need you in the office whenever i'm there, sometimes i get work done at my apartment, so here's a key to both. feel free to get your own shit done whenever you're working unless i need you doing something. pay's fifty an hour. can you start today?" he slaps two keys down onto the table as well as two addresses written down on a half-crumpled napkin. you stare up at him in shock before snatching the keys and paper.

"fifty bucks an hour???" you whisper-screamed at him before the startled look on his face pulled you back into reality. "what about this job is worth paying me that much? i'm accepting it, no takesies backsies, but why so much, schlatt?" you tilted your head at him as you asked.

he scrambled for an answer to your question that wasn't "i want to spoil you until you can't think of anything else in the world you want," but when he opened his mouth to talk, nothing came out. you sighed and answered his previous question instead.

"yeah, i can start today. let's go ahead and get to work, boss," you said, standing up and collecting all your school stuff you brought in with you. "take me somewhere i can dump my stuff!"

weeks passed, you fell into rhythm with his fucked up schedule easily, quickly learning when to fetch him more caffeine and when to take away his alcohol. you kept him organized, boosting his productivity and helping him with almost anything he needed. you learned a few days in the fifty an hour was for no good reason other than maybe ted had told him you were struggling to pay for school (he hadn't) because most of your job was sitting at another desk, sometimes in the same room, sometimes separated by walls, parallel playing with schlatt as he filmed or streamed or edited or did whatever he needed to do while you worked on schoolwork or a fun hobby you were into. you were being paid to do minimal office work, study and relax, and best of all, care for your hot boss. he loved when you called him that, boss, it always made his cock twitch and his brain flood with thoughts of you under him.

the worst part of the job was how attracted you were to him. it made doting on him inevitable when your whole source of income was reliant on you making sure he was "taken care of." he noticed you acting more lovingly for the first time when you brought a water bottle to his desk while he was editing and massaged the back of his shoulders before mumbling, "you need to take a break and stretch soon," and leaving the room. he was stunned, skin burning under his sweater where you touched him. secretaries don't do that. he quickly opened up his messages with ted and began typing.

"dude. i fucked up. shouldn't have hired y/n. help." every sentence was a different message. moment later, ted eased the pounding of schlatt's heart a bit by replying.

"what happened??"

schlatt typed quickly. "she massaged my shoulders idk man i can't think around her"

"oh dear heavens, the damn harlot massaged you?"

schlatt didn't dignify that with a response. a few moment later, ted typed again.

"she's really into you dude, you should go for it. i promise she's not the type to sue you if it doesn't work out"

his main fear erased, he closed the chat and got off the computer, heading to find you in his apartment kitchen, going over the schedule for the days to come. music played from a speaker on the counter, and you paused it when you saw him come out.

"sorry, was it too loud?" you asked, looking up at him.

"nah," he shook his head. "you've been workin' for me for a few months now, y/n," he began.

you started shaking your head, backing up into his fridge. "schlatt, please, no, i need this job," you started to babble.

"shhh, nonono, not that at all, doll," he assured you, gliding across the floor to caress your cheek. the pet name made your stomach turn as you let him cup your face. "was gonna say somethin' else."

"what is it, then, boss?" you batted your lashes at him. he inhaled sharply and kissed you, absorbing the high pitched moan you let out. when he pulled away, you flicked your eyes down from his to his mouth and back up to meet his gaze before pulling him back in.

he tasted like whiskey, and he growled against your neck when you slid your hands under his shirt. "hired you just to keep me company but i can't keep my hands off you, doll." the nickname made you nervous for the second time that night.

"then don't keep 'em off me," you panted, puling your shirt off over your head and adjusting your skewed glasses. he drinks you in, inhaling the scent of your perfume (that you recently had to buy another of because he stole your first bottle to smell while he pumped his thick cock in his hand whenever you were gone). after a moment, he peeled your leggings off and picked you up, setting you down on the counter before he kneeled between your legs and looked up at you for permission to begin tasting you. you nodded, running your fingers through his brown curls while he started to lick and kiss at your cunt. much to his enjoyment, you didn't hold back your noises, letting your moans and cries bounce off the echoey walls of his apartment.

he slid a finger in you as he sang praises about how good you tasted for him, working his way up to two, and eventually three. you were crooning about how amazing he felt, knotting your fingers deeper into his hair and pulling it when you felt your high getting close, which made him moan directly onto your clit. you clenched your thighs around his head and ground down onto his face as he drew an orgasm from you.

once his face was thoroughly soaked with your juices, he pulled away and came up to kiss you for a bit before pulling you off the counter and spinning you around.

"i promise i'll fuck you properly, in a bed, next time, i just gotta have you now, toots." he bent you over the counter and slid his pants down, stroking his length a few times before slowly pushing into you. you both moaned, adjusting to each other, and he started thrusting, gripping your hips fiercely as you shrieked and adjusted your glasses again, to no avail because you were being shaken and throttled like a toy.

"god, you're so good!!" you screeched, moaning further when he smacked your ass in response.

"fuck, you look so cute, bent over on my counter like that, lettin' me use you like the good little assistant you are," he snarled. you let out a guttural whine at how hot he sounded. "you're so good at assisting me, baby."

your knees began to buckle and he grabbed you tighter to help hold you up.

"almost there, toots, c'mon. doin' so good."

you cried out one more time and his pace quickened, growing unsteady as he got closer to finishing. he thrust forcefully a few more times before pulling out to come all over your back and ass.

quiet settled over the kitchen as you both panted, and you heard him quietly snap a picture of you with his seed all over you before he grabbed a paper towel and began to clean you up.

"sorry," he mumbled.

you shook you head and turned around to kiss him. "can i stay the night?" you asked him.

he nodded, relieved, and slipped his pants back on.

"can i get paid for it?" you looked at him with a sly expression, glasses smudged.

he laughed. "absolutely."

[astroa3h]

Lilith Through the Signs ✨

Let’s talk about Lilith, because she’s that dark, seductive part of your chart that you’re probably a little afraid to look at, but trust me—you need to. In astrology, Lilith shows us the hidden, raw parts of our psyche, the things we suppress or even deny. She’s our wild side, our deepest desires, and sometimes, our untapped rage. Wherever Lilith is in your chart, she brings out this primal energy that cannot be tamed. And let me tell you, she doesn't play nice. You’re going to feel it. If you don’t confront her, she’ll push until you have no choice. 

If Lilith is in Aries, then honey, you’re all about raw, impulsive energy. Lilith in Aries doesn’t ask permission. You fight for independence at any cost, and sometimes, that can mean bulldozing through life without thinking about the consequences. People might call you selfish, but really, you’re just unapologetically you. You struggle with authority and anyone telling you what to do. In relationships, this placement is about the constant power struggle. You want freedom, but you also crave someone who can handle your intensity. Here’s the thing: you have to learn how to channel that fire without burning everything down. Maybe take up martial arts or something that lets you express your aggression in a healthy way.

With Lilith in Taurus, you are drawn to the pleasures of life, the sensual side of things. It’s about indulging—whether that’s in food, sex, or luxury. But here’s the shadow side: you can become possessive, even obsessive, about holding onto what you have. You want security so badly that you might cling to things (and people) that are no longer good for you. This placement craves comfort, but you can get stuck in your comfort zone, unwilling to let go even when it’s time. In your love life, you’ll likely attract relationships that push you to confront your fear of losing what you hold dear. Learn to trust that true security comes from within. You don’t need to hoard it; it’s already yours.

Lilith in Gemini? Oh boy, you are a master of words, and you know exactly how to twist them to get what you want. But watch out, because this placement can make you feel like you’re always wearing a mask. You can say all the right things, but inside, there’s a part of you that feels unseen and unheard. You’ll attract people who are intrigued by your mind, but they might not get the real you. In relationships, it’s all about mental connection, but sometimes you use communication as a weapon. You can be manipulative when you want to be, and if you’re not careful, you’ll push people away with your mind games. The key here? Be honest. Be vulnerable. You’re smart enough to know when someone isn’t on your level, but that doesn’t mean you have to hide behind cleverness.

With Lilith in Cancer, you’re dealing with deep emotional wounds. There’s a part of you that craves nurturing but also resents it at the same time. You might have grown up feeling like you had to be the caretaker, even when you weren’t ready. And now? You have a hard time letting anyone take care of you. You build emotional walls, but inside, you’re yearning for someone to break them down. In relationships, you might sabotage things when they start to feel too safe, because deep down, you’re scared of being abandoned. Your healing comes when you stop looking for that motherly figure in other people and start giving yourself the care you need. You have to learn that vulnerability is not a weakness.

If Lilith is in Leo, girl, you’re the queen—and you know it. You want to be admired, adored, worshipped, but you also fear that you’re never enough. This is a placement where ego and insecurity collide. You want the spotlight, but you’re terrified of what people will see when they look too close. Relationships become about power. You want someone who puts you on a pedestal, but the second they don’t, you’re out. The challenge here is learning that your worth doesn’t depend on external validation. When you own your power without needing applause from the crowd, you’ll find that the right people are drawn to your light.

Lilith in Virgo brings a complicated relationship with control. You strive for perfection in everything, but the more you try to control, the more things slip through your fingers. You might have a tendency to obsess over the details—whether it’s your appearance, your work, or your relationships. But this perfectionism is exhausting. You attract situations where you’re forced to confront the idea that control is an illusion. The real work is in letting go. In love, you might feel like no one is ever good enough for you, or worse, that you’re never good enough. But the truth is, you don’t have to fix anyone, least of all yourself. Your healing comes from accepting the messiness of life.

Lilith in Libra? Oh, this is a tricky one because you want harmony and balance, but deep down, you might feel like you’re constantly at war with yourself. You attract people who reflect your shadow side, and it’s easy to lose yourself in relationships. You want to please others so badly that you forget your own needs, and then you resent them for it. This placement has to learn how to set boundaries and stop giving away power just to keep the peace. In love, you might find yourself drawn to partners who are controlling or manipulative, and it’s because you’re not owning your own power. Stand up for yourself. Relationships are meant to be equal, not a battleground.

If your Lilith is in Scorpio, honey, you’ve got intensity for days. This is one of the most powerful Lilith placements, but it also comes with deep emotional wounds around trust and betrayal. You crave deep, soul-shattering connections, but you’re also terrified of being vulnerable. In love, you attract relationships that push you to confront your darkest fears—jealousy, obsession, control. The challenge for you is to let go of the need to dominate. You’re not going to lose your power by being vulnerable. In fact, true power comes from letting others see the real you, scars and all. The key here is to trust that you won’t be destroyed by love. It’s transformative, not destructive.

Lilith in Sagittarius is about freedom—wild, uncontained freedom. You’re always looking for the next adventure, the next thrill, and you can’t stand to be tied down. But here’s the thing: running from commitment isn’t going to fill that void inside. You attract situations where you feel like your wings are being clipped, but it’s because you’re not allowing yourself to fully engage. You might avoid deep connections because you’re afraid they’ll hold you back. In relationships, you crave freedom, but you also want someone who understands your need for independence. Your journey is about finding a way to commit without feeling caged. Trust that you can have both stability and freedom.

If Lilith is in Capricorn, you’re all about power and control. You crave success, but deep down, you fear failure more than anything. You’ll push yourself to the brink just to prove you’re worthy, but this placement often comes with a deep sense of insecurity. You might feel like no matter how much you achieve, it’s never enough. In relationships, you attract people who challenge your need for control, and it forces you to confront the fact that true success isn’t about power—it’s about vulnerability. Learn to let go of the idea that you have to be the one in control all the time. It’s okay to let someone else take the lead. You’ll find that it makes you stronger, not weaker.

With Lilith in Aquarius, you’re the rebel. You don’t like being told what to do, and you’re always pushing against the grain. But this can also make you feel like an outsider, like you don’t belong. You attract relationships where you feel like you have to sacrifice your individuality, but deep down, you know that’s not the answer. Your challenge is to find a way to be in a relationship without losing yourself. Don’t be afraid to stand out. The world needs your unique vision. In love, you might push people away because you’re afraid of being controlled, but real freedom comes from allowing yourself to be fully seen.

Finally, Lilith in Pisces is a placement of deep emotional sensitivity. You feel everything, and sometimes, that can be overwhelming. You might have a tendency to escape through fantasy or avoidance because reality feels too harsh. But this placement also gives you incredible intuition. You attract relationships where you feel like you’re drowning in emotions, and it can be hard to find your footing. The key here is to set boundaries—emotional boundaries. You don’t have to take on other people’s pain as your own. Your healing comes when you learn to stay grounded in reality while still honoring your deeply spiritual side. Embrace your empathy, but don’t let it consume you.

Blessings,

Ash ✨

Get your own reading at astroash.net

[starfxkrreloaded]

⋆｡°✩ being sarahs best friend who moved from the cut, and during a sleepover one day she's just poking through your stuff untl she finds this litle rinky dink camera that she knows you carry around sometimes so she's going through it while you're in the shower. and it's nothing crazy at first--the two of you together, different parties, overall fun moments.

but you scrolls back a little further, about a year or so, and all of a sudden you're somewhere unfamiliar. it's dingier, woodier, more simplistic. it's gotta be back on the cut, and you're not the one holding the camera. someone else is, it's some guy with the lens trained on the way another guy--blonde this time--is gripping your things. you're standing, barely, slurring and leaning on the blonde one for support as he gropes at you in your bikini and tiny shorts.

told you dude, s'like we got our own porn star over here' he punctuates his action with a light bounce to your breast, pulling the damp triangle to the side so the cameraman can zoom in.

cmon jj don't say that, we gotta have some dignity about this'

all 3 of you sounded drunk, and you and jj were clearly far gone--kissing hard and deep as he pinched you nipple and shoved a hand down your shorts at the same time.

the unseen voice grabs your face, turning to his direction and sarah can see a little glimpse of him when he leans in to kiss you; curly brown hair, soft lips. its enough to make you groan, and blonde greedy because you're tugged out of the way so the two can kiss. sarah feels her whole body flush hot, she's used to seeing girls for a guy, but this is something new entirely.

you always do that, john b wanted to kiss me.

there's a bit of a shuffle, and sarah can't see anything, not until he sets the camera down, and she sees you on the bed, the blonde boy behind you holding your leg up as he pushes inside your ass. even in the crappy quality sarah can see you're wet--puffy lips glistening in the low light and she swears she can see a trickle of arousal drip down your thigh.

"oh my god..."

john b hurry up, i can't wait anymore i need both.

alright sweetheart relax, tell our boy to slow it down back there.

jj slows his thrusts just enough for john b to push into your cunt, and sarah almost gasps at how thick he is, he look's like he's gonna tear you in two. but all 3 of you let out some sort exclamation, and sarah's clit throbs at the sight, but the shower's turned off now and she knows there's only so much time left.

fuckfuckfuck oh my god. you're stuck between them, forced to take the dual pounding in a cacophony of moans and grunts as you start to squirm, god i'm gonna cum.

just as your voice reaches a pitch you come out the bathroom, skin still steaming as you finish rubbing your lotion in and sarah only had a split second to sit on the camera. hoping the minuscule chaos helped cover the sound as she shut it off

"the fuck's wrong with you?" you giggle as you walk past her to your dresser, dropping the towel leaving sarah to stare, watching you bend down to pull your panties on.

she glances in the mirror, and sees how flushed she looks, "oh just, opened the hidden replies on twitter. wasn't expecting that."

you snort, throwing on an oversized shirt that says Hayward's Seafood, and turning around, "don't know why it's always some crazy shit. come lady down i wanna watch a movie."

sarah does what you say, her body finally calming from the scene she witnessed but now all she can focus on is the warm vanilla scent of your skin and a picture she never paid too much attention to above your headboard.

"so, who are those two guys you're with here?"

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

Love Sea Excerpt: Tongrak and Mahasamut's First Time (Ch 5: The Price I Paid)

"Haha," Mahasamut couldn't help but chuckle.

He felt crazy watching someone work, especially since that person wasn't even acknowledging him.

I gave him such a wonderful service, and he didn't even like it. That hurts.

Mahasamut thought, and laughed out loud.

"Quiet, I'm working."

But then, the man who'd been silent for so long spoke calmly without even turning to look at him. The sound of the keyboard continued, causing Mahasamut to pause mid-laugh, even as his lips curled into a wide smile.

He's quite charming in his working mode.

The still, solemn demeanor and focus that seemed to belong to a completely different person only piqued his interest further, making him want to see more of Tongrak's emotions. But he figured he should probably keep quiet if he didn't want to be kicked out of the room.

The thought made his sharp eyes fixate on the fair neck reddening from sunburn, the fair skin smeared with sand from the beach. But the man himself didn't seem to care. Perhaps only he couldn't help but think about how he wanted to bite into that man's neck, and the taste that he'd savored earlier confirmed just how sweet that fair skin was.

Looking any longer might not be a good idea.

It looked like his VIP guest was alright. He was in a hurry to get back to work and leave his little buddy to wither away. Mahasamut shrugged and looked down at his own body, which was initially soaked with seawater but now almost dry, except for the sand covering him. He decided to get up and head to the bathroom.

Just a quick rinse. The room's owner probably wouldn't mind.

---

---

Mahasamut had barely disappeared into the bathroom when the sound of water hitting the tiled floor echoed out. However, what brought the man in front of the screen back to reality wasn't the sound of water, but the last sentence he typed to finish the chapter he'd left.

He'd solved the problem of how to describe the love in this story.

"Phew," and with that, Tongrak let out a sigh of relief.

While the famous writer Tongrak had many romantic works, few knew that he struggled with writing love scenes, and his solution to the problem was... having sex.

Sometimes, it couldn't be solved with just a warm embrace.

But most of the time, that wasn't very effective. Connor was one of the people whose embrace felt warm to Tongrak, but the problem was that he already had a boyfriend. When stuck or when he couldn't grasp the concept of warmth or love, he'd just go to his best friend, snuggle into his embrace, and some ideas would start to flow. But now, that was no longer an option.

And yes, one of the reasons he agreed to go to this island was because... he was tired of the men in the city.

It was so dull that he thought of changing the scenery for his work.

And then he met...

Tongrak turned to glance at the slightly ajar bathroom door.

After completely ignoring the other person in the room, Tongrak saved his work and shut down his laptop. From slow steps, his pace quickened. He pushed the bathroom door open with force and saw a robust, naked figure standing under the rain shower. Thick, wet hair clung to his cheeks, and one hand braced against the wall while the other cradled... his substantially sized shaft.

As those sharp, intense eyes met him, the cascading water made the man look even more dominant, magnifying his dangerous allure.

The man's expression shifted from fierce to his usual teasing smirk.

Mahasamut didn't even care that Tongrak was now inspecting his impressive lower half.

Tongrak secretly thought the guy must be well-endowed, but he hadn't expected it to be this impressive.Whether it was the size or the shape, the veins that stood out from arousal, it was all something he wanted to look at.

"If you keep staring like that, I'm going to start charging," came the teasing voice, drawing honey-colored eyes back to meet his gaze.

Mahasamut wasn't shy about showing off his body.

The guy was so confident that it was almost sickening.

"Usually, when the money's in, you can consider it done. I already gave you a service, and yet here you are, watching my body for free. I'm running at a loss here..."

Thud!

Tongrak didn't wait for the man to finish speaking. His lead body pushed the broad chest until it hit the wall, also bringing himself under the shower. The slender frame pressed close to the broad chest, allowing the sensitive part beneath his pants to press against the hot flesh, feeling the heat between them, and then...

Tongrak swiftly captured Mahasamut's neck and kissed him fiercely.

A tongue licked teasingly over the irritating lips. Tongrak bit down on the lower lip hard enough to almost taste blood. After that, the pretty one pulled back to look into his eyes.

"How much?"

"..."

Mahasamut remained silent. The only sound was that of water droplets hitting the tiled floor.

"How much for letting me see your body just now?"

"..."

"And how much to sleep with you?"

"..."

"How much would it cost for you to take me?"

"..."

Tongrak then asked the final question.

"So, what's your price if I want to buy you?"

Their gazes locked, neither willing to back down.

Strangely, this time, Tongrak didn't have a hint of his usual complaining demeanor. There was only a serious look in his eyes, like a businessman negotiating a deal.

Yet, this seriousness was... sexy.

The once arrogant man was now eagerly seeking an answer to how much it'd cost to be 'taken'.

"... I'm not cheap, you know." Mahasamut finally replied after a long stare, and that turned the serious businessman into a man of passion.

"Money won't be a problem."

At Tongrak's words, it wasn't just one of them who moved first, but both of them closed the distance as if they'd been waiting for this moment all along.

Lips crushed and ground against each other.

Bodies moved close, leaving no space between them.

Hands intertwined, caressed, and stroked each other without restraint.

It was Mahasamut's turn to flip Tongrak's body, pressing him against the wall while his hot mouth continued to suck hungrily and nip. His tongue invaded deeply, tormenting the other without pause for breath, sweeping and pursuing, attacking and pressing until clear liquid seeped and smeared at the corners of their mouths. The sound of their sweet exchange echoed loudly.

The big man pulled away briefly to strip Tongrak's shirt while Tongrak himself quickly discarded his pants with a swift flick.

"Ah, ha... oh, that's good... so good..."

With just a large hand scooping up the pale leg to bring their lower bodies into close contact, Tongrak moaned in satisfaction. He enjoyed the sensation of his sensitive parts rubbing against the larger, hotter area, the scorching heat nearly burning his flesh at the lower abdomen. He liked it so much that he wanted to pull that large part into his mouth.

But today, Mahasamut had other ideas.

"Hold this for me."

Mahasamut grasped Tongrak's hand, pulling it to hold the heated flesh that throbbed between them. Tongrak complied easily, but a single hand wasn't enough to contain them both. Both hands worked together to gather their moist parts, pressing his palm against the visibly larger and longer part of Mahasamut. His hips moved with desire, hot breaths touching the broad chest.

Wide eyes shimmered with emotion, and skin flushed from pale to a spreading red that reached the ears. Now, a hot tongue traced and nipped at his fair skin.

"Ah! You really like to bite, huh? Were you a dog in a past life or something?"

It was then that the larger man used his free hand to grasp the slender neck, tilting the flushing face upward, allowing him to bury his face into the crook of a fair neck. He licked at the marks left by previous bites, eliciting a hoarse moan from Tongrak, who couldn't help but ask, even as he was nearly delirious with... excitement.

He liked it when Mahasamut did this to him, bit him like this, nipped him like this.

It wasn't so violent that it hurt, but it was enough to make his body scream with pleasure.

Mahasamut's gaze flickered for a moment, and Tongrak was certain he saw a smirk at the corner of his mouth. Then...

"Woof."

The big man let out a sound that should have been endearing, but it made Tongrak cry out as a tingling sensation spread through him.

The giant dog, burying its face against the slender chest with just the right amount of muscle, licked the tender nipple that stood erect with a flick of his tongue as if savoring a delicious sweet.

Mahasamut alternated between biting and smoothing with licks, repeating the motion until the area felt numb and swollen, the nipples turning a bright red. The voice grew higher with every moan, hips moving, calling for their flesh to rub together.

Now, it was impossible to tell whose slick fluid filled the palm of Tongrak's hand.

"Mahasamut, suck, suck more, ugh, ah, that's good."

Since he'd already given in, why hide his desires any longer?

When Tongrak played with himself, he enjoyed teasing his nipples hard while slipping a fingertip into his behind, stimulating both above and below. Although it was exceedingly rare for him to be without a partner, what he truly relished was the way Mahasamut would incessantly suck and pull at his nipples as if insatiable.

It was a delicious torment, almost maddeningly good.

Meanwhile, a large hand caressed his back, kneading the soft flesh until fingertips sank into the smooth skin, a touch that made the more prominent man want to squeeze even harder.

"Ah..."

If it were just about thoughts, it wouldn't be Mahasamut. As soon as those sharp eyes saw the person in his embrace pushing his body against him, the adorable body trying to grind him like an animal in heat, the beautiful face flushed red, breathing heavily, sweat glistening across the forehead, he too moved the hand that wasn't busy to turn off the water and back to firmly clench the round buttocks.

It was enough to make Tongrak moan with a trembling voice.

"Play with my insides... do it..."

Just the touch of a fingertip teasing the tender passage he'd been playing with earlier caused it to clench, and the person in his embrace begged with a quivering voice, eyes moist as they looked up at him until...

"Uhh..." their lips met with precise heat.

A fervent kiss that escalated the passion to its peak while the adorable person before him pleaded even more.

"Uhh..."

Mahasamut felt the trembling moan in the other's mouth as soon as his fingertip teased the sweet passage. The suction that seemed to invite him in nearly drove him wild, unable to resist until...

His middle finger slid in as the person in his embrace widened his eyes, writhing, gasping for air close to his lips.

Now, Mahasamut wasn't just growling but roaring.

Who gave your body permission to be this sexy, Mr. Writer?!

Now the soft walls were clenching around his long finger, the searing heat gripping tightly, sucking eagerly just like the person in his embrace, as the long finger curled inward, seeking the spot that made the more petit person in his arms twitch.

"Ah, ahh, uhh, ugh..."

As soon as his lips were free, Tongrak let out a trembling moan, his eyes tightly shut, indulging in the sensation of the probing touch moving in and out of his passage.

Seeing that Tongrak could handle it, a second finger soon followed.

"You are really something," Mahasamut growled.

"Why, am I... sexy... or something...?"

The sexy one squinted his eyes open and licked his own lips fervently, his gaze narrowing, but only for a moment, as the two long fingers stirring inside him that initially stuck close together were now... parting.

"Ah, ah, don't, don't- Mahasamut-ah, ah!"

Damn it!

There were a few times when Mahasamut lost his patience, especially with the pretty man before him, biting his lips and moaning unintelligibly, was clenching around his fingers, forcing him to pull his hand out of that soft channel in one swift motion. He flipped the smooth body to face the wall, his strong knees pushing the slender legs to spread wide.

"Put it in!"

Meanwhile, the small body cried out passionately for the loss of the hot part, disliking the sudden emptiness.

He liked how Mahasamut spread his fingers, liked the thrilling discomfort, liked the tightness that almost split him open, liked the long fingers reaching spots he couldn't reach himself. It was enough to make him beg for the other person to tease his sensitive passage once more.

"!"

But at the sound of his plea, Mahasamut would forcefully push three fingers in all at once. It was fierce, raw, merciless to the point of taking Tongrak's breath away. His legs trembled, his hands braced against the wall, his breaths coming in short gasps, unable to contain the rising desire that edged him to the brink.

"Ah, ahh!"

The long fingers almost completely withdrew, then... slammed back in.

Each time, they hammered insistently at that sensitive spot, bringing him close to the edge, his tender part stubbornly releasing drops of fluid.

Mahasamut couldn't take it anymore either.

He wanted to thrust himself into that sweet, inviting hole so badly.

"Condom."

"Hah... in the bag."

No need for further questions. They understood each other well, and then...

Mahasamut yanked Tongrak's arm, pulling him back into the bedroom, pushing the smooth body to fall onto the bed while he himself walked over to the open suitcase.

"The front one," Tongrak called out with a trembling voice.

The tall figure took only a few seconds to find the box of condoms that had... every size imaginable.

Mahasamut quickly grabbed one that fit him, but as soon as he turned back...

He felt the urge to spank a petite body.

Who'd have thought that Mr. Perfect, someone like Tongrak, would be on all fours on the bed, legs spread wide, hands bracing against the soft mattress, exposing every inch of his bare body, even the twitching tightness that was eagerly awaiting?

"Hurry, Mahasamut, hurry," the slender figure urged with a quivering, breathy voice, legs spreading even wider.

Smack!

"Did you just spank... Ahhh!"

Tongrak was about to curse in shock when suddenly, a large hand slapped his soft buttocks. But before he could finish his sentence, the sting from the slap was nothing compared to the intense heat that was pushing in, making him feel unbearably full, almost bursting at his very core.

"Wait!! Wait! You're too big, you... ugh!"

The deep penetration brought tears to the brink of his eyes. His fair hands reached for the strong thighs in an attempt to restrain, but it only spurred the larger man to thrust deeper, causing Tongrak to clutch the sheets, his face digging into the soft mattress, his breaths echoing throughout the room.

It was so tight.

"Can you take it?"

"I don't know, Mahasamut. I don't know, ah!"

At this point, he knew nothing, his mind was completely blank.

But when Mahasamut moved...

"!"

A scream tore from Tongrak's throat at full volume.

The initial pain from the size was immense, but it also meant there wasn't an inch left untouched, not a space left unfilled. Every craving, every tingling sensation shot straight through his chest with each hot thrust... deep... into the deepest part.

"Ah, ugh, huuuh!"

Now, within the luxurious room, there were only the moans and low growls of two men, mingling with the raw sound of flesh against flesh in a strong rhythm. The temperature in the room soared, rendering the air conditioning useless, but why would Mahasamut care when the sight before him was far more captivating?

The stark white expanse of a handsome man's back stretched out before him, beads of sweat seeping out until the hair at the nape of his neck was damp against the smooth skin. Large hands pressed into that back, urging the other to let himself fall flat against the bed, with only the beautiful arch of his hips raised high, allowing him to indulge his desires.

It was so enticing that Mahasamut leaned down to lick the sweat at that smooth neck, something he had longed to do.

"Ugh!"

"Huh, ugh!"

As the hips met each thrust with full force, the soft buttocks pressed tightly against his abdomen. He could feel the intense twitching of the person beneath him, who jerked violently. Fair hands reached out to grasp his thighs and clung tightly, hips tilting higher, while his one large hand braced against the headboard, the other reaching to cradle the lovely, soaked part that signaled that Tongrak... had already climaxed.

"Hah, hah."

The person in his embrace gasped, his body trembling as if consciousness was slipping away in the aftermath of reaching heaven.

Then, a flushed face turned to look at him through tears, eyes still adrift in the blissful moment. This prompted him not to tease Tongrak with a 'You finish so easily, don't you?' Instead, he kissed him to soothe and comfort him.

It seemed Tongrak himself hadn't expected to finish so easily.

"Ah, ugh."

Warm lips pressed against a gentle, comforting kiss, contrasting with the lower body's movements that quickened, urging him on to match the rhythm of the beauty who'd reached the climax before him. And that taught the southern man something new.

With a face contorted in pleasure, a throat filled with moans, and a body twitching below, this person enjoyed him plunging deep even after cumming.

Damn!

The larger man growled low in his throat, eyes blazing with passion. This was almost maddening, but the discovery only made him more curious.

How to kiss and touch to make this person melt in his embrace?

That was the thought of the one thrusting his body hard, hands now shifting to lock around Tongrak's shoulders, pulling him close, listening to the sweet moans whispered close to his cheek, and that...

Mahasamut felt the tension, his hands clenched tight, his body taught with strain, and then... he released.

Mahasamut shut his eyes, pulling himself back from the blissful sensation he'd just experienced. When he opened them again, he intended to press a kiss onto those beautifully colored lips.

"If you're done, then take it out."

But before he could act on his desire, Tongrak raised a hand to cover his mouth, panting slightly but... with a cold tone in his voice.

"I need to get back to work. If you're done, then take that thing out already."

The gesture made Mahasamut want to smack the older man once or twice.

Geez... Just moments ago, he was begging for me, and now that it's over, I'm being kicked to the curb.

Part of him wanted to tease a little, but maybe because he'd already gotten more than he expected today, the tall figure clenched his teeth and slowly pulled himself away, looking at the trembling face that was still affected by the fiction that had occurred.

"As you command."

What else could he say when his employer had given the order?

"Do I have to leave right now?"

"Yes, why would you stick around after you're finished? You can go."

"Kicking me out right after we're done, huh?" The big man chuckled.

Tongrak didn't seem to care. As soon as he collapsed onto the bed, he pulled the blanket over himself and commanded, "Take the condom and throw it outside, then lock the door."

"No goodbye hug?"

"Get out."

When teased, Tongrak looked up with a stern voice, making the other laugh softly. He dressed in his sandy clothes from the bathroom and returned with the evidence of their encounter. His sharp eyes glanced at the man lying in the middle of the bed, but before leaving...

"Do you want me to clean up? I have long fingers, you know."

That's when Tongrak threw a pillow at him, still not lifting his head from the thick blanket.

"I told you to get out!"

"Okay, okay, see you tomorrow."

Mahasamut willingly left the room, making sure to lock the door behind him.

When he heard the door close and the lock click, the person on the bed lifted his head again, revealing a flushed face, moist eyes, and messy hair that could only be described as sexy. And the handsome man cursed to himself...

"Damn it Rak, how could you let him do something like that?!"

As his senses returned, he remembered everything he'd said, and more importantly...

"That was damn good."

The sex this time around was exceptional, easily ranking in the top three experiences of his life. It was so good that he'd almost choked to death trying to suppress the desire for another round. Thinking back on what had happened, he brought his hands up to cover his face.

I think I'm in trouble.

---

---

Content Note:

Tongrak demands Mahasamut take the used condom and throw it away in an outside bin. This is a reference to the events of Love Sand.

Khom is confronted by a homophobic former classmate named Jun. Jun had already run afowl of Connor and Khom, but he makes inquiries among the locals who work at the resort and learns that Connor's trash has been full of used condoms, and Khom had been staying with him most nights.

After Connor leaves the island, Jun attacks Khom in front of a crowded market. He loudly outs Khom as gay, a secret Khom religiously kept from everyone, including his family. Jun then beats Khom half to death, with the crowd only standing there watching, some making faces at Khom.

Mahasamut finds Khom in the hospital and helps him flee to a college dorm Khom has on the mainland. He also tracks down Jun and beats him severely, then forces him to crawl to Khom's parents and beg forgiveness.

Tongrak is very aware of what Khom has gone through, and in the Love Sea show as well as novel, you see many gestures by Tongrak to obscure or hide his sexual relationship with Mahasamut, such as when he tells Mahasamut to throw the used condom away in a public trash can. He knows using the in-room trashbin was what led to Khom's attack.

[melled42]

Does Nari ever initiate flirting? Or does he just suck hard at it?

he is but its not his fault. the whole family is bad at it, they've all been gods for so long, they just expect people to want them, they have NO RIZZ... except Kallamar. Kallamar was big into the social dance that is courting, the only thing that really changed is he has time to spend with them on their level instead of their god.

Narinder doesn't understand keeping his damn thoughts to himself and no idea whats normal in a friendship these days, much a relationship so he's stuck being between being emotionally constipated by anger and saying/doing the most intimate thing you can think of without know it.

Leshy just assumes someone he likes enough to be around is now their partner and will not at all change the way he acts on any level, just be confused when he's "confessed too" since they're already basically married

Heket is so used to having people brought to her and turning them down, she has no idea how to actually flirt even when she can communicate and freezes up

And shamura, in their right mind, would just change the subject or talk past any kind of flirting because they don't want. When not in their right mind, they just act confessed. Sometimes they act confessed even when they're not because its easier.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

i'd love to see more from the poly reader x poolverine verse im obsessed w them

"I didn't realize your... roommates were home today," Your sister said helping the youngest into his coat.

"It's what happens when you don't call," you caution. "They live here. You want free babysitting, you accept the terms. Sometimes it's kazoos. Sometimes it's roommates." For now, you'd accept her calling them roommates. It was partly true. And it was less rude than what your mother had said. She called them your caretakers.

Sarah narrowed her eyes at you and you shrugged, "They're fed and in one piece. And Zach has part of his social studies paper done. You're welcome."

She watched for a second as her boys willingly accepted hugs and kisses as you ignored her, beseeching them to learn something at school and make good choices and she sighed, "Thanks."

"Call next time," you tell her giving her a meaningful look. You didn't live alone anymore. And if she didn't want her kids exposed to certain things then she needed to give you enough lead time to hide those things... Today she got lucky.

________________

"Shhh," Wade said, holding up a hand, "You hear that?"

"Hear what?" Logan said opening a beer.

"Silence," Wade sighed, sinking on to the couch next to you, handing you a glass of wine. "Holy shit."

"And that's why I like being the cool Aunt," You tell him yawning. "I show up late. I bring presents. I leave before the crying starts. And then I enjoy my nice quiet house."

Logan snorted and reached over to rub your neck as he took your other side and picked up the remote, "Nice little racket, bub."

You take a sip from your glass and stretch, snuggling into Logan's side and putting your feet in Wade's lap, "Not too shabby, boys."

"For roommates," Wade teased, smacking the bottoms of your feet affectionately. "Didn't know roommates fuck like we fuck."

"Sorry-"

Logan grunted and wrapped his arm around you, "Pause was doin' some heavy lifting there."

"Mom... doesn't approve. What dad knows depends on the day. And I think my grandparents would just drop fucking dead. So. There's that." You lean over and lift a sleepy Mary into your lap and stroke her back before resting your head against Logn again. They are who they are and you are who you are. You don't fit in with the cookie cutter perfect family they have and you haven't from the second you took your first breath. But you fit here with a variant and a mercenary and their ugly little rat dog.

"We could ruin Christmas," Wade offered, "Just go make out in front of-"

"Or," you hum, "we can leave well enough alone so I can still hang out with the kids and let them have someone around that's somehow less fucked up even if I'm objectively a mess."

The boys traded a look and Logan kissed the top of your head. They'd work out the specifics later but for now, as long as your sister kept her comments to herself they'd behave- mostly. As long as it meant you got to see the kids. Because it was clear it made you happy, and because; truth be told, it hadn't been too bad today.

Wade cradled one of your feet in his hand and grinned, "I got a question."

"Might have and answer," you tell him, hissing when his thumb hit a tender spot on your instep.

"Why do all the rugrats call you, Shush?"

"My parent's housekeeper calls me Sugar," you answer. "Everyone sort of adopted it and Zach couldn't say it- so it devolved into Shush and stuck."

"Stop it, that's precious," Wade cooed, "I thought they called you that because they were always telling you to shut-"

"Not all of us went to school thinking our first name was Damn it," you snort.

Logan smirked and let go of you long enough to light his cigar. "What'd she call your sister?" he asked.

"Honey. Or Princess if she was being annoying... it's just that neither ever really stuck."

[fictionalsimp09]

skirt – @dorlenemicroficprompts – 485 words – CW: Underage drinking

Marlene is not who she pretends to be. She’s not confident. She doesn’t like being loud, but has a fear that people will forget about her if she’s too meek. She doesn’t love herself as much as she claims she does, especially when it comes to her sexuality. 

Dorcas Meadowes was the first person to see through her act entirely. Her friends could sometimes tell, but not always. Which is why she said she hated her to anyone who would listen. Dorcas is so uptight. So annoying. So stuck up. 

And the only person who knew she was lying was the one person she wanted to pretend didn’t exist at all. As if she could ever pretend she doesn’t exist. Dorcas haunts Marlene’s mind, constantly there, reminding her that she can’t escape this for long. She can’t ignore the fire she feels when her hand accidentally brushes against hers when she gives her books that Marlene dropped in the corridor. She can’t ignore how her heart skips a beat when Dorcas laughs. She can’t ignore that she is the most beautiful person she has ever seen. 

Every time Dorcas catches her eye across the Great Hall or on the Quidditch pitch, she wants to drown her feelings at the bottom of the bottle. Because it’s one thing being gay, and it’s another thing having a crush on another woman. 

That is exactly what she does, at a Gryffindor victory party. They beat Slytherin, just about. It would have been an easy win if Marlene didn’t refuse to hit Bludgers at Dorcas, who scored goal after goal until Sirius finally saw what was up. 

She’s almost downed an entire bottle of fire whiskey when the portrait door swings open, and the universe must really hate her. Dorcas saunters into the common room, with a captivating grin plastered on her face, wearing the shortest skirt Marlene has ever seen. She can’t pull her eyes away from those legs, the way the dark purple suits her. She doesn’t know how long she has been staring, and is only pulled out of her trance when someone says her name. 

“Oi! Mckinnon,” Dorcas snaps her fingers in front of her face, and she blinks up at her. “Good game.” 

She clears her throat. “Good game.” 

There’s a beat of silence between them then Dorcas smirks. “You like my outfit?” she asks, and twirls around. 

Marlene really hates her. She swallows, her mouth suddenly dry, and mutters, “Yeah. You look good.” 

“Good?” she raises an eyebrow. 

“Fucking stunning,” Marlene says without thinking. Before she has a chance to regret that, Dorcas smiles something soft that tugs at her heartstrings. 

She feels her cheeks heat up as Dorcas takes a step towards her. “Want to go somewhere quieter?” 

Marlene hesitates before extending her hand. “I would like nothing more.” And leads her to her dorm. She’s had enough of denying her happiness. 

[nanamincreampie]

College Nerd Nanami

Nanami Kento x Black plus size reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni, mildly spicy at the end, Nanami is a puppy in love and his first time getting laid,reader being such a tease

(part 2)

College Nerd Nanami who's late to his first class, slips into the microbiology lecture hall unnoticed,except for the fact that he wasn’t. He hated being that guy, flustered and rushing, especially on the first day back

College nerd Nanami who scans the room for a seat and, in his haste, sits next to you,someone he’s never seen before, someone who immediately catches his attention with your curves wrapped in a tight tank top, glowing under the harsh fluorescent lightsw ith such beautiful curls

College nerd Nanami who freezes as soon as he realizes who he’s sitting next to, his thoughts scattering as he tries to figure out how he ended up next to the most stunning person he’s ever seen in three years of college

College nerd Nanami who mutters under his breath about being late, only to hear your soft, teasing voice beside him: “Happens to the best of us,” sending his nerves into overdrive when you flash him a small, confident smile

College nerd Nanami who stammers through introducing himself, utterly flustered when you tell him your name, making his heart race with how effortlessly cool and laid-back you seem compared to everyone else

College nerd Nanami who can’t stop sneaking glances at you throughout the lecture, watching how you flip between your microbiology notes and your romance novel, fascinated by how you don’t fit the mold of any other student he’s ever met

College nerd Nanami who practically freezes when the professor announces lab pairings and calls his name alongside yours, internally panicking but also feeling a thrill he can’t explain when you smirk at him and say, “Looks like we’re stuck together, partner.”

College nerd Nanami who thought working with you would be a challenge but quickly realizes you’re not just laid-back,you’re smart, making connections between microbiology and the romance novels you love reading, which he finds oddly impressive

College nerd Nanami who starts to struggle concentrating on the experiments because every time you lean forward, your shirt dips dangerously low, and his gaze flickers to your cleavage before he can stop himself

College nerd Nanami who tries to play it cool but keeps adjusting his glasses nervously, not knowing where to look as you teasingly mention how serious he is about lab work while giving him a look that makes his stomach twist

College nerd Nanami who blushes when you lean in close, whispering about how he should “try messing up sometime” just to see what happens, your breath warm against his skin, making him more distracted than ever

College nerd Nanami who tries to regain control of his composure, but every time you shift or brush against him, it becomes a losing battle, especially with how tight your shirt clings to your curves, and how your tights hug your plump thighs, leaving him more distracted than ever

College nerd Nanami who’s losing focus on microbiology and becoming more obsessed with you from your movements to your teasing smirks and  your scent lingering in the air every time you get close to him

College nerd Nanami who’s so deep in his thoughts about you that when you invite him to your dorm for a study session the night before the final, his heart skips a beat, and he knows this is about to cross into dangerous territory.

College nerd Nanami who shows up at your dorm that evening, trying to remind himself it’s just a study session, but the sight of you in a loose sweater and tight shorts hugging your curves perfectly makes him realize this is anything but normal.

College nerd Nanami who tries to stay focused on the material, but the way your bare shoulder brushes against him and your cleavage peeks out from your top makes it impossible to think about anything but how close you are.

College nerd Nanami who’s losing his mind when you shift even closer, your knee pressing lightly against his, teasing him with how casually you’re touching him while pretending to stress over microbiology.

College nerd Nanami who almost forgets how to breathe when you lean in and kiss him, softly at first, before it deepens, your body pressing against his as his hands instinctively move to your waist, completely forgetting about studying.

College nerd Nanami who melts into the kiss, his mind spinning as your hands tangle in his hair, your curves pressing against him in ways that make him lose control, completely immersed in the moment.

College nerd Nanami who knows this is way more than just a “study break” as you straddle him, the tension between you two finally breaking, and all the feelings he’s been holding back for weeks come rushing to the surface.

College nerd Nanami who can’t focus on anything else but you as your lips meet again, your body molding against his, every touch igniting something in him that makes him never want this moment to end.

[inkstainedheartbeats]

Slight explanation: an AITA style a/b/o steddie. Unsure if the Upside Down shit still happened or if some other shit happened to The Party.

//—//—//—//—//

AITA for telling my bio parents that they aren’t my daughter’s grandparents?

I (26 M-A), am the proud parent of two children G (8 M) and L (6 months F). For some backstory G is the product of a one night stand when I was 17/18. When my parents J (56 M-B) and M (48 F-B) found out they disowned me and kicked me out of the house. We live in a small town that is stuck in Reagan Era bullshit. They’re ‘pillars’ of the community and had an ‘image’ to protect. I was almost immediately swept up by two parents (not a couple) of two of the kids I babysat. I’ve been babysitting their kids since I was 16 and I’ve protected them some serious shit. They’ve been there for me.

Each made up a room for me, bought baby stuff, talked me off of several ledges. They were there when I went into labor early. They were there when G developed issues due to being premature. And they were there when I found and almost lost the love of my life E (27 M-B). They were at my wedding. My parents in all but blood.

I tried frequently to get my bio parents to talk to me, to be in G’s life several times and like all my life I was rebuffed. Their secretaries refused to let me talk to them. Letters were sent back unopened. I am blocked on all social media. They wanted nothing to do with me, G or E.

Which brings me to a week ago. I’m not terribly active on social media and I’m not a big fan of sharing my kids on there. (Thanks to some of the girls I babysat I watched too much true crime and call me paranoid but no thank you.) A week ago, however, we went to a work function for Ma (essentially adopted mother not bio mom). While there we were photographed and put on the events FB page. They mentioned how happy they were that G was thriving and that L was here.

Someone must have shown my parents the photo as I got an early morning call- who cares about time zones when your disowned son finally has a child within wedlock am I right? Where my father proceeded to beret me for not informing them of L’s birth. Not once in the rant did he mention G or how much he missed me. I was tired and hurt and frustrated but I let him get it all out. I snapped, though, when my mother called me cruel for not letting her know her grandchild. That it was petty and mean to violate their rights as grandparents.

I told them that they had no rights. That they would never have any rights, especially since even now they refuse to acknowledge G, that they were *not* L’s grandparents. I said a whole lot more but I can’t remember exactly what just that I was crying by the time I hung up on them.

I’ve received phone calls from ‘family’ friends telling me I was an asshole for saying what I did to them. Ma and Pop are being harassed at their work. E’s getting threats at his. E, Ma and Pop and everyone else that love me are saying that I was in the right but… they, my bio parents, weren’t always terrible. They loved me once. And I know sometimes you can be a better grandparent than a parent.

So AITA?

[cheerleaderman]

Rolene Orielle

The heir to their family who has complicated relationships with their family expect their cousin due to finding out the truth behind their birth/upbringing.

Twst Rapunzel

Basic info

Age: 16

They/them

Height: 169 cm

Birthday: June 21

Voice claim:Jp- Akira Asai - Call of the night. Eng - Haruri Fujioka-ouran highschool host club

Hometown: Sunrise Kingdom

Year: 1st

Dorm: Wonderling (My Alice dorm)

Dominant hand: right

Nickname: sunny, lene, sunfish (Floyd)

Favorite food: different kinds of soups, anything with nuts , waffles, smoothies, gummy Candy

Like/hobbies: painting, boating, picnics , sunflowers, ducks, rock climbing, archery, chameleons, dancing, lanterns

Dislike: being stuck in one place, uncomfortable shoes

Family: Flori Orielle(they call each other siblings)Lorelei Orielle (aunt ) Elian (uncle -deceased) Edeline Orielle (mother ) Oliver Orielle (father ) Elise Orielle (grandmother-deceased) Ludwig (grandfather)

Best subject: Art

Talent: doing hair, painting, climbing, tying nots

Unique Magic - Make the Clock reverse

Can reverse back any inanimate object back to its previous state up to 24 hours. They need to specify the time in the spell if not it will reverse to a random state within 24 hours

(More under cut)

More info

Rolene is someone who is loyal to the people the care about

Sometimes they use their magic to make their painting come to life

Is kinda naive in a sense due to living most of their life in isolation sometimes not understanding social ques

Others put pressure on them since they the heir to their family

Has a bit of an identity crisis learning of how they were born and the different positions that they and Flori are in. They question why their aunt still loved and cared for them despite her life work was taken from her to save their life even though she told them she never blamed them for anything

Their hair is slowly turning more brown over the years and with cut their hair when they’re 18

Usually sneaks out not getting caught only really Flori is able to catch them

Doesn’t have that close of a relationship with their parents due to the whole situation but is warming up to them current , they also still have love for their aunt

Very skilled on creating things but mainly focuse on painting

Has a pet chameleon at home named Pastel

Does know some healing magic and all ways have a mini first aid kit on hand

Please stop climbing the building how did you even get up there

Loves going and exploring the many forests in their home country

disgusting by their grandfather

Learned archery from their Aunt

Backstory

One of the lost royal children and the heir to the grand duchess when their aunt ran away with them and their cousin Flori. Living in a cottage in complete isolation from the world for 14 years believing that she was their mother and Flori was their twin.

The two learn many skills but Rolene was mainly interested in the arts with many paintings on the walls of the cottage. Even with all these activities Rolene grew curious about the world growing restless. At first Mother said no telling the two about the dangers of the world. Flori was able to convince her to take them into the forest making Rolene very excited whenever they go out.

At 14 when Mother went out for errands Rolene and Flori snuck out to get some flowers from a field they found last time. When they returned they found the site of their home being searched by guards. The two ran away hoping to find their mother but after searching for hours they fell asleep by a lake later to be found by the grand duke their father.

Adjusting to the new environment was difficult especially with all these new expectations. You must not do this or that was hard for Rolene’s more care free self. They will start to see the difference in treatment between them and Flori by the staff making them refuse lessons and staff staying by their sibling side. Even when learning that Flori wasn’t actually their twin it didn’t change anything.

After a while their mother sat Rolene and Flori down to tell them about what happened around their birth and why Flori’s mother ran away with them. When pregnant the duchess started to fall ill and everyone was looking for a way to heal her and save Rolene. When many medics couldn’t find anything that’s when their grandfather took Flori’s mother life work that still hadn’t been perfected and gave it to her lucky it succeed and she started to get better and Rolene was born healthy. This led to Flori’s mother getting obsessed with the health of Rolene constantly checking up on them it wasn’t as bad since Flori’s father was there to calm her but after his death everything took a turn for the worse. Their grandfather has been pressing for a marriage even after the death of her fiancé leading to her breaking point and disappeared with both children as she was watching both at the time.

divider

[echosong971]

local puppet discovers what sleep is for the first time after a sudden bout of the eepy

[gingermintpepper]

As usual I read your tags always and so you said Apollo did not ask for resurrection of Asclepius and Hyacinthus so i just wanted to share this. About Asclepius death I read it on theoi.com, that earlier authors don't make him resurrect as a god but that's a later development mentioned only by Roman authors like Cicero, Hyginus and Ovid. But still Apollo has a role in Ovid's version

Ovid, Fasti 6. 735 ff (trans.Boyle) (Roman poetry C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) : Clymenus [Haides] and Clotho resent the threads of life respun and death's royal rights diminished. Jove [Zeus] feared the precedent and aimed his thunderbolt at the man who employed excessive art. Phoebus [Apollon], you whined. He is a god; smile at your father, who, for your sake, undoes his prohibitions [i.e. when he obtains immortality for Asklepios].

So here it is actually because of Apollo the decision was taken to resurrect him as god. And with Hyacinthus, I don't think I've read about Artemis playing the primary role. I know in Sparta there was a picture of Artemis, Athena and Aphrodite carrying Hyacinthus and his sister to heaven.

This is not on theoi.com but I saw on Tumblr it's from Dionysiaca by Nonnus

Second, my lord Oiagros wove a winding lay, as the father of Orpheus who has the Muse his boon companion. Only a couple of verses he sang, a ditty of Phoibos, clearspoken in few words after some Amyclaian style: Apollo brought to life again his longhaired Hyacinthos: Staphylos will be made to live for aye by Dionysos.

So since he is singing inspired by amyclean stories it probably means in that place it was believed Apollo was the one to bring back his lover to life.

Apollo as god of order was very important so i think it shows how special these people (and admetus too) were to him that he decided to go against the order for them 🥺

ANON!! Shakes you like a bottle of ramune!! BELOVED ANON!!!!! I'm littering your face with kisses, I'm anointing you with olive oil and honey - you absolutely made my night with this because, not only did I get the pure serotonin shot of having someone interact with my tags (yippee, wahoo!!) I also got to have that wonderful feeling of "oh wow, have I misunderstood something that was integral to my understanding of this myth/figure this whole time or is this a case of interpretational differences?" which is imo vital for my aims and interests as someone who enjoys mythological content and literature.

I'll preface my response with this: Hyacinthus is by far the hardest of these to get accounts for because his revival itself, as you very astutely point out, is generally accounted for in painting/ritual format which muddies the waters on who interceded for what. I wasn't actually familiar with that passage from the Argonautica - and certainly didn't remember it so thank you very much for bringing it to my attention!

That said, what I've come to understand, both about Hyacinthus and about Asclepius is that in the accounts of their deaths, Apollo's position is startlingly clear.

For Hyacinthus, it is established time and again that Apollo would have sacrificed everything for him - his status, his power, his very own immortality and divinity. Ovid writes that Apollo would have installed him as a god if only he had the time:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses. Book X. trans. Johnston)

Many other writers too speak of how Apollo abandoned his lyre and his seat at Delphi to spend his days with Hyacinthus, but they also all agree that when it came to his death - he was powerless. Ovid gives that graphic account of Apollo's desperation as he tries all his healing arts to save him to no avail:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book X. Apollo me boy, methinks him dead. trans Johnston)

Bion, in one of his fragments, writes that Apollo was "dumb" upon seeing Hyacinthus' agony:

(Bion, The Bucolic Poets. Fragment XI. trans Edmonds)

Even Nonnus in the Dionysiaca speaks constantly of Apollo's helplessness in the face of Hyacinthus' fate where he writes that the god still shivers if a westward wind blows upon an iris:

and when Zephyros breathed through the flowery garden, Apollo turned a quick eye upon his young darling, his yearning never satisfied; if he saw the plant beaten by the breezes, he remembered the quoit, and trembled for fear the wind, so jealous once about the boy, might hate him even in a leaf...

(Nonnus, Dionysiaca, Book 3. trans Rouse)

And the point here is just that - Apollo, at least as far as I've read, cannot avert someone's death. He simply can't. Once they're already dead - once Fate has cut their string - all Apollo's power is gone and he can do nothing no matter how much he wants to. And this is, as far as I know, supported with the accounts of Asclepius as well!

Since you specifically brought up Ovid's account, I'll also stick only to Ovid's account but in Metamorphoses when we get Ovid's version of Coronis' demise, he writes that Apollo intensely and immediately regrets slaughtering Coronis. He regrets it so intensely that he, like he does with Hyacinthus, does his best to resuscitate her:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo's regret)

And like Hyacinthus, when it becomes clear that what has happened cannot be undone, Apollo wails:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo wept.)

Unlike his mother, Asclepius in her womb had not yet died and so, with the last of Apollo's strength, he does manage, at least, to save him.

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo puts the 'tearing out' in Asclepius.)

But it goes further than even that because Ocyrhoe, Chiron's daughter, a prophetess who unduly gained the ability to directly proclaim the secrets of the Fates, upon seeing the baby Asclepius, immediately prophesies his glory, his inevitable death and then his fated ascension:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses, Book Two. Ocyrhoe's prophecy. trans Johnston)

Before she too succumbs to her hubris and is transformed by the Fates into a horse so she can no longer speak secrets that aren't hers to share.

These things ultimately are important because it establishes two very important things: 1) Apollo can't do anything in the face of the ultimate Fate of mortals, which is, of course, death and 2) even when Apollo is Actively Devastated, regretful, yearning, mournful, guilty or some unholy combination of all of the above, when someone is dead, he accepts that they are gone. Even if he is devastated by it, even if he'll cry all the rest of his days about it - if they're dead? Apollo lets them go. In Fasti, when Zeus brings Asclepius back, he does not say Apollo asked him to - Zeus, or well, in this case Jove, brings Asclepius back because he wants Apollo to stop being mad at him.

(Ovid, Fasti VI. Apollo please come home your father misses you. trans. A.S Kline)

Even Boyle's translation which you used above in your findings hints that Zeus made Asclepius a god because he wanted Apollo to stop grieving. (i.e 'smile at your father', 'for your sake [he] undoes his prohibitions')

And like, Apollo was deeply upset by Asclepius' death - apart from killing the Cyclops in anger, in book 4 of the Argonautica, Apollonius writes that the Celts believe the stream of Eridanus to be the tears Apollo shed over the death of Asclepius when he left for Hyperborea after being chastised by Zeus for killing his Cyclops:

But the Celts have attached this story to them, that these are the tears of Leto's son, Apollo, that are borne along by the eddies, the countless tears that he shed aforetime when he came to the sacred race of the Hyperboreans and left shining heaven at the chiding of his father, being in wrath concerning his son whom divine Coronis bare in bright Lacereia at the mouth of Amyrus.

It all paints a very clear picture to me. Apollo did not ask for either of them to be brought back. Though bringing them back certainly pleased and delighted him, they are actions of other gods who are moved by Apollo's grief and mourning and seek to mollify him. Him not asking doesn't mean he didn't want them back which I think is a very important distinction by the by, but it simply means that Apollo knows the natural order of things and, even if it hurts, he isn't going to press his luck about it.

Which, of course, brings us to Admetus. And I'm really not going to overcomplicate this, Admetus is different because, very vitally, Admetus is not dead. Apollo can't do a thing once Fate has been carried out and Death has claimed a mortal but you know what he absolutely can do? Bargain like hell with the Fates before that point of inevitability. And that's what he does, ultimately for Admetus and Alcestis. He sought to prolong Admetus' life, not revive him from death or absolve him from death altogether and even after getting the Fates drunk, he's still only able to organise a sacrifice - a life for a life - something completely contingent on whether some other mortal would be willing to die in Admetus' place and not at all controllable by Apollo's own power.

All of these things, I think come back to that point you made - that Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore these people are very special to him if it means he's willing to go against that order but, I also wish to challenge that opinion if you'd let me. Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore, I would argue, that it is even more important that it is shown that he does not break the divine order, especially for the people that mean the most to him. The original context of my comments which started this conversation were on this lovely, lovely post by @hyacinthusmemorial which contemplated upon Asclepius from the perspective of an Emergency Medical personnel and included, in their tags, the very poignant lines "there's something about Apollo letting go when Asclepius couldn't that eats my heart away" and "you do what you can, you do your best, but you don't ever reach too far" and I think that's perfectly embodied with the Apollo-Asclepius dichotomy. Apollo grieves. He wails, he cries, he does his best each and every time to save that which is precious to him but he does not curse their nature, he does not resent that they are human and ultimately, he accepts that that which is mortal must inevitably die. There is nothing that so saliently proves that those who uphold rules are also their most staunch followers - if Apollo wants to delight in his place as Fate's mouthpiece, he cannot undo Fate. And, if even the god of healing and order himself cannot undo death, what right does Asclepius, mortal as he is, talented as he is, have to disrespect it?

The beauty of these stories isn't that Apollo loved them enough to bring them back. The beauty is that Apollo loved them enough to let them go.

[dykedvonte]

why do you hate Joshua Graham or Honest Hearts so much?

This DLC and character represents a bigger issue with fandom spaces I have but particularly fallout fandom in general.

Fallout tends to tackle a lot of topics controversial and not. The first two games it’s heavy cause they are the most satirical and direct with how anti-war, nationalism and etc… they are. 3 loses this as it’s very clear once you play or learn about all the games that Todd and a bunch of guys at Bethesda just liked the 50s post apocalyptic aesthetic and refuse to actually critique the ideals of the time period like the earlier titles.

New Vegas is the game that really gets back into it a degree it almost seems like it’s taking too much on. There are things done exceedingly well while other things are done horribly wrong . I’ve made posts about it before and plan to make a big series of posts (it’s a lot of writing) but my biggest gripe is with Honest Hearts and all the gross and white savior esque depictions it has of indigenous peoples. The entirety if FNV does not do the injustices faced by indigenous people correctly on any count. My two biggest complaints are with the Khans and the tribes in Zion but I’ll talk about the former on a different post.

Both characters of Daniel and Joshua are the most accurate depiction of white saviors I’ve seen and I hate how the DLC tries to justify and defend them. The DLC treats Joshua like this man who has repented for his past actions when he is just retracing his steps after his cruelty bit him in the ass. He was one of the worst parts of the Legion and it is all but explicitly stated that if you don’t force him to be non-violent he will turn the tribes of Zion into the legion 2.0. The Dead Horses and the Sorrows are horribly infantilized by both Daniel and Joshua who both use them for self serving purposes guised by religious duty. The White Legs are the horrible stereotype of violent and savage indigenous and I personally think a lot of their interlinking with Ulysses, his hair and Ulysses character in general are distasteful and very telling of how BIPOC or POC where involved.

But outside of the game it’s the weird obsession people have with these characters ideologies and trying to make them seem more interesting/philosophical than they are. Tumblr is an echo chamber and many fans of Fallout are not the people on this site. Many people are not educated in the issues these characters convey and how poorly they do or used these characters as a poor introduction for their takes. Contrary to what a lot of people believe in, fallout has a prediomeny white cis male fanbase. More importantly a large portion of the fanbase is white.

You can joke how FNV made you trans or see the numbers on post/fics or diverse headcanons but these are kiddy numbers compared to the millions that consume the franchise and aren’t in those more aware spaces or don’t engage in the spaces the same way someone like me does/has to. Their views shape a lot more than people realize and it’s exhausting to be in a space where people don’t correct the more subtle yet toxic aspects of it but also adopt them into some weird quirky view point on the characters or issues. Some people don’t realize and some people don’t care.

My main issue is just the idolizing of these sort of thing in this fandom space and people try to acts like a game like fallout whose tagline is “War never changes” and has never had a game not revolve around political or militaristic factions issues isn’t that deep or doesn’t relate to real issues. I think it’s mainly caused by how over powered you can become and how you can strong arm your way past these learning moments as majority of people who play this game do play it as a power fantasy where they can do so as they please (which of course, go ahead it’s fun) but never take in parallels or lessons in the story as if it was just another first person shooter.

Also like another personal gripe is Cazadores spawn like hell whenever I’m there and I have not found a mod that works to mod them out so I have to play Indigenous Racism the DLC while getting jumped by giant wasps WHILE helping Mormons. Like I cannot catch a break.