#like they were all mostly really really good at next gen

[overlyinvestedinlife]

This is your reminder to watch the next Gen ATP finals so you can learn more about young talents you’ve vaguely heard about just in time to watch them all babygoat out at the Aussie Open against top 10 players !!!

Next gen kids currently 3-1 against top ten opponents! Kids and they all the same age as me lol

[comradecowplant]

my beef with Hughie being the most annoying part of The Boys ended, Kimiko & Frenchie reigniting their romance is my new The Boys best enemy 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

[annabelle--cane]

i wasn’t here when tma reached the height of its popularity (i only joined last year) so could you describe the Vibes (how bad the drama was, did it feel like there were too many people, etc.)

only if you want to :]

I've said this before, so this may be a familiar spiel to longer term followers, but 2020 tma fandom was honestly not the worst fandom I've ever been in, it was just by far the biggest thing I have ever been actively into at peak popularity and so the 1% of insane people that are found in every fan space were 1% of a much bigger total population. most people were fine and chill, but there were a vocal minority who Weren't.

major ingredients in the discourse pot:

from my observations, tma had a small but devoted listener base for its first few years, then it got a little bump in mid 2018, then a considerable bump in late 2019, then hit proper virality in early 2020, so there were a lot of people with hipster complexes about being Real Fans who were there first and weren't just part of the masses.

at this point I'm not even sure if this part was true, but the above was compounded by the perception that the earlier og listener base were mostly adults and the new wave of fans were mostly tweens and teens. whether the different waves actually fell along those age lines or not, a lot of people felt like the fandom was split into 80% Cringe Zoomers Who Are Here For Ships And Memes and 20% Millennials and Gen X'ers With Media Literacy Who Are Here For Horror. nice dichotomy, idiot, now what lies outside it, etc and such and such. our blessed fandom etiquette vs their barbarous dni lists.

which isn't to say that suddenly having a huge number of people, including young people, become interested in a single piece of media at a time of global stress where everyone had to be much more online and the content of the media itself was at its darkest and most socially relevant had no downsides. oh no. Oh No.

"my headcanon is not only objectively the best headcanon but it actually invalidates all of yours and if you hc something different then it's an act of bigotry against my Correct Headcanon." / "I have drawn up a list of Good Characters you have to like and aren't allowed to criticize and a list of Bad Characters you have to hate and can't acknowledge exist unless it's to make fun of and completely condemn them." / "I saw her username in the kudos of a jonelias fic" "girl what were YOU doing in the kudos of a jonelias fic" / "this latest episode handled a social issue unforgivably badly, I haven't experienced it myself but the vibes were off, everyone demand accountability and boycott the rest of the show" "hey that one was actually based on jonny's personal experiences" "ah fuck not again. well boys let's remember this for next time. this latest epis--"

honestly most of the discourse was down to like two or three friend groups. there was one group of people who you will probably remember if you were there at the time whom I have sometimes seen referred to as the Clown Gang. Clown Gang were ground zero for a good 90% of fan discourse ("hcing melanie as ace is ableist and lesbophobic" "fan content that focuses on jon's asexuality is biphobic. what's pansexuality I've never heard of it." "desolation tim aus are inherently ableist and racist"), but eventually they had a big falling out with Clown Prime and things calmed down. to be very clear I hold no ill will towards any of these people for four year old bad takes, hence why I'm not using any names, but god was it a time.

and this is only about the tumblr side of things. I was barely active of twitter so idk what it was like there but I was on tiktok for about a year during that time and the vibes were wildly different. iirc people there were less confrontational and there wasn't really a callout culture like on tumblr, but the extremes of the takes were FAR worse.

[princesssmars]

i'd love just about anyone, so why was it you?

a victoria neuman x reader

your talent for singing is finally starting to take you places in the city of lights. so why did it have to introduce you to a woman who might ruin it all?

wc : 10.248

contains : fxf relationship. readers hair and skin aren't described. fluff. angst.nsfw including sex and language. the french. barely proof-read.

a/n : i cant believe there are no fics for this fine ass woman yet but i am nothing but a pioneer idk. in my daydreams this was like mafia au victoria but i literally never write or dream of those so i opted out lmao. go watch gen v. everyone always talks about how good the cover is but nonante-cinq by angele is a beautiful album so i recommend listening to that for french vibes. enjoy <3

it was the most stereotypical and overplayed song ever, but damn did you love la vie en rose.

just the concept of the song was romantic to you. to live every day like it would be magnificent, like you could know a day would be your last and look back at it and not regret a single thing. it meant looking at the world with a positivity that these days was mostly faked or artificial.

after the life you've lived, the things you've seen firsthand, you need that positive light in your life more than anything else. especially right now, as your manager is hounding you over the phone about your next gig.

now you loved your manager, nancy, you really did. she took you in and was honest when no one else would be, stood by you when no one else wanted to give you a real chance. but sometimes it felt like she didn't really believe in you. obviously, she believed you had talent, or else she would have 'left you in the dust for the rats to pick apart,' in her own words. it was almost like she couldn't fathom that what you had was real, like you didn't truly deserve all the things that were coming to you.

but as long as you were paying her, she didn't bother to speak up on it.

you were listening to her drone on and on into the speaker from your phone, holding the object up to your ear with one hand as you hold a menu to order something from the cafe waitress who's waiting beside you.

"ill have an uhhhh... le marie antoinette, and a coffee with sugar and cream please," you hand the menu to the waitress after she writes down your order, heading back into the cafe with a smile. this cafe was one of your favorites, nestled below an apartment building in one of the inner city arrondissements so you could sit outside beneath an umbrella and admire the city before you. "nancy, i don't see why i can't just...politely turn it down? it sounds like it's a glorified pin-up girl gig, le bellevilloise is offering for me to sing there exclusively for three months-"

"no, that's what im trying to tell you if you'd let me finish." you can hear nancy's telltale sigh through the phone. she had a short temper when she was stressed, something you sadly had in common, and you could hear her clicking a pen through the receiver. "this is an international gala slash fundraiser, attended by the one percent of the one percent. billionaires, senators, diplomats, everything. the event organizer asked for you specifically, so turning it down is a bad look. aka, you're doing it. go out and get a pretty dress. ill send you more details later."

the phone shut off and you let out a huff of air, crossing your right leg over your left beneath the table. once you have your meal and bite into your pastry you can't help but close your eyes at how good it tastes; the combination of the crunch of the macarons, the near-overwhelming sweetness of the cream, and the savory juice that leaks from the raspberries never gets old.

you don't know how you feel about this whole gala thing. sure its a great way to make connections and earn a fat stack of cash that will probably last you few weeks, but you've learned before that the people that you most admire, celebrities, politicians, even superheroes, can't be trusted. and being in a room full of them to perform wasn't at the top of your christmas wish list.

but like everyone else in the world, you were finding money hard to pass up on. just by the lowball nancy told you, you'd be able to comfortably pay the next month's rent and fix up your electric scooter, maybe even enough to save up for that beautiful flat you saw online with the grand windows and nice floor plan.

it'd only be a few hours of singing and kissing up to a bunch of snobs and you'd be done. easy peasy.

finding a dress wasn't to hard. your modeling connections from before you started to focus on singing gave you access to a few, good quality clearance pieces for your picking. you figure that the people you were performing for would prefer something classy and elegant, so you picked out a sleeveless black dress with black opera gloves, accessorized by a diamond necklace and earrings. one of your stylist friends, alex, who you asked to help do up your hair told you 'you're definitely gonna shag a rich man looking like this, just ask them if they have any friends for me!' and after a quick 'please don't wish that upon me' and a spritz of perfume you were ready.

the hours before you got on stage were nothing short of both nerve-racking but exhilarating. you rode in a standard taxi, your slight jitters noticed by the slightly balding man in the front. he eyes you pretty oddly when you got in the car before using you if you were a model, telling you that his daughter would like an autograph if you were. you felt slightly flustered when you had to tell him you weren't, but gave him some tips to tell his daughter if she wanted to pursue it. after around twenty minutes of driving through the city the car stops and you're escorted by a crew member into a grand building, those types you pass by and dream of getting the chance just to step into.

after that its a rush of meeting the event planner who gives you another run down of the evening and then meeting with the band members, a nice group of jazz players who you had heard about on the news for their blends of old and new methods of performing music. they played you a piece on their instruments in their dressing room, and it felt like hanging out with old friends listening to tunes as one twirled you around and the others laughed and the air felt warm and fuzzy.

later its time for your set, where you'll sing as the guests come in and take occasional breaks to save your breath and let whoever is hosting this talk. so you get up on your mini stage, make sure you look alright and you're in tune with the band, and then you do what you do best.

you've never felt better than how you do while you sing. every time you do so you tell a story, tales of success and tragedy and love and heartache. while you sing your favorite thing to do is to admire the crowd. when you were younger it gave you horrible stage fright, but as you grew up and saw just how much people loved your voice it made you confident, if not the tiniest bit narcissistic.

as you look out at the guests of tonight you see what's expected. important and powerful men donned in suits, their wives standing on their arms in glamourous gowns, you swear that you even see some fairly famous celebs in the mix, and they were all listening intently to you and your voice.

and that's when you saw her. near the back of the room with a glass of red wine in her hand, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, and darker eyes trained on you. in this profession you get used to people staring at you for hours on end, but something about this woman unnerves you slightly.

a short while later your set is over and after a round of applause the organizer tells you to enjoy yourselves, and that you're free to indulge in whatever food is left. after a brief touch-up in the dressing room and making sure you look presentable, you head out to get yourself something to eat. you keep getting stopped by people telling you how beautiful your performance was, how they'd love to get in contact with your agent to book you for future events, and your regular dose of creepy old guys hitting on you. but besides that things were going pretty well.

some servers were waking around with trays of champagne, but you figured since everything was complimentary you would treat yourself to something stronger. you head to the bar and order yourself a strong cocktail, and as soon as you finish your order a figure sits on the stool next to yours.

"get me a scotch on the rocks, thanks."

you glance at them from the corner of your eye and feel your heart beat faster when you see

it's the woman from before. from this close distance, you can admire her entirely, and god is she gorgeous. she looks so put together, not a hair out of place, and wearing a perfectly tailored suit that makes you guess she's some kind of wealthy businesswoman.

after not so secretly checking her out, she turns her body towards you and looks at you with a smile.

"im sure you already know, but you have an enchanting voice."

you look down bashfully, thinking the same about her. she speaks like she's so sure of what she's saying like there's no room for debate or argument.

"thank you. no matter if i know or not, it doesn't take much to make me a little nervous every time i perform."

the bartender brings over both of your drinks and she tilts hers to you.

"trust me, theres no need. you're nothing but a natural, one of the best singers i've ever heard."

"ah, now you're exaggerating. is there a reason you're complimenting me like you're being paid to do so?"

she shakes her head, setting down her glass of liquor with a clink. "not anything nefarious, if that's what you're thinking. just glad i get to talk to a beautifully talented woman."

jeez, she was laying it on thick. normally this was coming from some fifty-year-old man with greasy skin and weird teeth, but it felt nice coming from her. she was obviously gorgeous, leaving her body language open in case you wanted to decline and she would walk away in a moment's notice.

"im glad i get to talk to you too, miss?"

"victoria. its a pleasure to talk to you, miss y/n."

for around an hour or two the both of you sat at that bar, blocking out the fake laughs of investors and boisterous noises of people who got a little too friendly with the free champagne. she was so attentive to you. asking about what got you into singing and what brought you to paris by your non-native accent. you normally kept the finer details of your past a close-guarded secret, but you figured there couldn't come any harm from telling this attractive stranger a few things about yourself before never seeing her again.

"you're telling me at only sixteen years old, you flew to paris by yourself and made a living for yourself? you've got balls on you, sister."

"yeah yeah, but im nothing special. i just got tired of all the bullshit in the u.s., y'know? the greed, the cynicism, the-"

"superhero bullshit?"

you giggled while she smirked, observing your smile and how it made your eyes squinch.

"well i wouldn't put it like that but...superheros? really? its just, they make it so american, in a really really annoying way. i just couldn't deal with that being a reality. and where better than paris? it seems like voughts all but forgotten about it recently, thank god.”

"i understand. and i know we just met, but it does suit you. 'beautiful runaway finds passion, life, and love in the city of lights'. best cliche there is."

"and what a damn good cliche it is to be. although i haven't been that lucky on the love front."

her eyebrow raises and her nail traces around the rim of her glass.

"im sorry but i simply cant believe that. someone like you would have people lining up for a chance to talk to you, let alone date you."

you dryly chuckle before taking another long swig of your glass of champagne, dancing just on the edge of being intoxicated. you understood why everyone else was drinking this, it was sweet but strong.

"people have tried, of course. but sadly most of my escapades end in tragedy. very melodramatically. but enough about me, I'm guessing this isn't gonna go my way and you have someone waiting for you at home?"

"im offended you still think so low of me. but no, there was someone but it didn't work out. now its just me and my daughter."

god, she was a milf. if there was a god you prayed he would let you get lucky tonight.

"well, im sorry to hear it didnt work out."

"are you really?"

she looks at you with a smirk on her face.

"no, im not."

that was all she needed to ask you to come back with her to her hotel.

and not just any hotel, she was rich enough to be spending two weeks in the damn ritz. asking again what she did for a living didn't get you very far, the only hint you got being that it helped her change the world. ominous but whatever. it had to be legitimate if she was invited to that gala.

the cautious and common sense side of you is snuffed out for the night the moment she set her hand over the covered skin of your thigh in the car, the feeling of her hand on your lower back leading you through the pristine lobby of the hotel, that same hand helping you take off your dress and take you apart slowly over the rest of the night.

when you wake up the sun is peeking through the curtains, the softness of the sheets your laying on calling you back to sleep before you get up and look around.

you only got a few seconds to admire the room last night before victoria was on you, and now in the light of day you could truly take everything in. you find a note left by the woman, letting you know she had to leave temporarily for an important job thing and that she'd be back my lunch, inviting you to call up room service and enjoy the room intil then.

you were expecting for her to tell you to pack your shit up and go, so despite the oddness this was a nice surprise. besides, there was no way you were gonna pass up on ordering a five-star breakfast you didnt have to pay for.

after indulging in a meal brought by room service and finding ways to pass the time, you text your manager after she happily lets you know that your night was a success and that your payment should be cleared shortly. while you're in the middle of wondering if you should answer her query about the host wondering where you wandered off to last night, the sound of a door opening makes your head jerk towards the small entry area, victoria coming in through the doorway dressed in a tan suit and carrying a large black briefcase on her arm.

"ah, youre still here!,” she sets her bag on a glass table near the door and strides into the room, eyes connected with yours the whole time. you weren’t feeling nervous before, but under her gaze you wonder if maybe you should have taken that free meal along with some tiny soaps from the bathroom and headed back home.

“yeah, figured i’d stick around for whatever. besides, i had to stay and blame you for my manager thinking i got kidnapped.”

“i’ll make sure to apologize and send her an edible arrangement. besides, i hope to take up more of your time in the future.”

your eyes bulge so hard you’re sure you look like a moron. you cover it up by getting up to get yourself another cup of coffe from the tray the food came in on.

“well i should’ve guessed this was more than a one night stand when you allowed me to order up breakfast. but now i have to admit i’m slightly scared you’re actually plotting to traffick me.”

"trust me, that wouldn't be good for business. id just like to see you some more, if that would be alright with you.

was that an actual question? after the night you had and the way she’s been treating you, you didn’t see much of a choice except to say yes.

she tells you that a few hours later she has a flight back to america, but that she wouldn't mind spending the day with you if you're free. you agree to get a little bite to eat and it turns into a whirlwind day of showing her around the city you call your home. she has to wear giant sunglasses the whole time and have a mysterious security detail not too far behind, but you wouldn't change anything about it.

at the end of it all, she bids you goodbye in front of your taxi, admiring the cute outfit she bought for you so you wouldn't have to go home in your dress from the night prior, promising that she'll keep in touch with you once she gets settled in back a new york, jokingly telling you she'll send you a postcard. as you sit in the back of the taxi, your heart inflates a little as you take in the events of the last day. you never liked to mix business with pleasure in this way, partly because most of those business people were gross perverts and also that it could damage your career beyond repair, but with victoria you can't help but think that it was worth it.

eventually, a few days pass by, and the only calls you've gotten are from friends congratulating on what they heard was another great performance. and as nice as all the praise and the new gigs you started to get felt, the longer you heard no word back from victoria, it started to eat away at you inside.

back at your favorite cafe you sit with two of your oldest friends, jamie and chloe, as they ramble about the details of their changing lives and jobs. you don't know when you zoned out but eventually, chloe's manicured finger lightly pokes at your cheek, giggling when you make a playful motion to bite it.

"where'd you go just now? take me with you before jamie keeps talking about his new lover."

"hey!" jamie pouts, "you're just jealous because i've been regularly having passionate sex allll night long while you're still vying over your boss." you hear a shocked gasp behind him and you all turn to see an elderly couple looking at jamie like he's said the most blasphemous thing they've ever heard.

"really classy, james." you snort.

"what the hell! you're supposed to be on my side! everyone has noticed how you've been in a better mood since that gala. alex told us how they checked up on you afterwise and you showed up a day later with a new outfit and a hickey on your neck."

"that is- god, that’s so intrusive and so like them,” you rolled your eyes. you knew as soon as alex saw you that morning that they’d be gossiping to everyone about the state they saw you in. “and i don’t kiss and tell like that. at least not in public like this.”

“ok, so we’ll stop by your place tonight with some wine and talk all about it tonight. agree?”

“what? no-”

“agree!” chloe beams and shakes hands with jamie across the table, blowing you kisses before leaving her share of the bill on the table and leaving with some excuse of having to be somewhere. you glare at jamie as a warning before he gives you a kiss on the cheek and does the same. you grumble before biting into your muffin.

a few hours later you’re sitting on your soft sofa with jamie’s head in your lap and chloe on the other side, talking and laughing about old stories from your jobs. you take a sip of merlot right before jamie brings up what you were hoping they’d forgotten about by now.

“ok ok, enough chatter. seriously, chlo, you cackle like a seagull. y/n, when are you going to tell us about this mystery lover of yours? do you need another glass of wine to start talking?”

“don’t even think about pouring me another glass. look, there’s not much to say, ok? i was singing, she was staring at me from across the bar, we flirted a little, that was it!”

they stared.

“you want more?”

“how could we not? we haven’t seen you like this with anyone! not since we took you on that tourist tour on the seine!”

that…that took you for a spin. you remembered it clear as day, them tugging you along when they’d heard since you came to paris you’d been focusing on building up your image and working. it was more a joke, but the lights of the boat, the sky and the lights made you feel like you were in the most perfect moment of your life. hearing them compare that to how you looked now had a nervous feeling building in your gut.

“we spent the night together. and it was…good. really good. she let me stay while she went out, bought me a new outfit then said she’d be in touch.”

your friends are silent. way too silent. you’re afraid they’re about to laugh and judge you before they’re squealing and tackling you, pulling back when you groan after you almost spill your wine on your clothes.

"god, why are you always the lucky one? this isn't fair! at all!" chloe groans while dramatically resting her head on your shoulder, jamie still giggling as the wine clearly starts to take an effect on him. "please, please tell us what happens next before i scream."

"no thats- i mean, thats it. so far. for now." you stutter along your words as your friends' faces go blank yet again, except this time without a hint of a chuckle or smile.

"what the hell do you mean 'that's it.'? she ghosted you?" jamie gasps.

"no, she didnt ghost me-"

"sweetheart, im sorry to say this but you have been ghosted. in a really dickhead way."

"its not like that! she's a busy person with a serious job and a kid and responsibilities!"

you briefly hear chloe snicker "milf?" before you roll your eyes.

"she's gonna contact me. and even if she doesn't, maybe it was just a nice one-time thing! everyone knows I'm great at those."

jamie snickers before chloe smacks his shoulder in a second.

"why? why did you laugh?"

they share a look before she smacks his shoulder again.

"would you stop? i have pains, you know this. but y/n, we know you. we love you. but your latest stints haven't been...the most successful. or left you in the best headspaces."

"he's right, honey. remember the last girl, hannah? one of the worst situationships i've ever seen. you told us you would be alright when she broke it off and then we found you at that lousy bar at eleven in the morning..."

you start biting at your lip. there was nothing you hated more than when they told you the truth about how you could act. it wasn't your fault that all the time your relationships got messy, or that you got attached a little quickly. people didn't understand but a life like yours could be lonely. standing up on a stage and performing for people who want you to do just that and only that: sing and look like a glamourous pin-up doll. most of the time its the other performers who even bother to ask if your throat is alright after singing for hours.

so yes, sometimes you rushed into relationships. and you might have done it again in the dumbest way possible.

"i just...she let me stay after, y'know? and she came back and brought me with her again. why go through that effort just to leave me behind like trash?" your friends pouted before closing in to comfort you, rubbing your back and giving you small affirmations.

for a month you go into a rut. unless it's performing or going to the dentist for a checkup you don't leave your house. you become pretty good acquaintances with the grocery delivery boy, benny, who started panicking when he realized he forgot one of your items until you assured him it was fine. it wasn't the first time you'd grown so oddly attached to a romantic prospect, and it wasn't the first time you'd gotten hurt by it. you spend your time moping on your couch and binge-watching your favorite show for the third time when your phone buzzes from beside you.

nancy schmancy : call me.

you rolled your eyes. she could have just called you in the first place, but no. she had to be extra about it. you press the call button and don't have to wait even five seconds for her voice to ring in your ear.

"do you want to know what mister barbier just emailed me?"

"i think you already have that answer for me."

"he said, and i quote, 'tell y/n i send my best wishes. her performance last night was hauntingly beautiful, and i'm hoping it was one of her greatest acts yet.'"

"if you ask me, it sounds like i did a pretty good job."

"it sounds like he thought you were singing your damn suicide note!" she groaned, and you could hear her face scrunching from over the phone. "i don't know what is going on with you recently, and i don't want to sound insensitive, but if you can't manage to keep your work and personal life separate, even i can't help you make it far in this business. clients may say they want you to be expressive but they only mean so far. unhappy music means unhappy customers, capeche?"

"i understand, nancy. ill send a personal apology to mister barbier."

"good. ill call you soon to let you know about any new gigs. take care of yourself. seriously."

the line clicks and you toss your phone onto the couch and take another sip of sauvignon blanc from your rose-shaped wine glass. it pained you to admit it, but nancy had a point. if you kept letting yourself mope in your feelings you'd run out of people who wanted you to sing, and if the point came where you were out of gigs...you didn't even want to think about it. if you weren't singing you weren't living.

only a few hours after that call you manage to get back to normal. you go out and get your own groceries, deciding to indulge yourself and buy the ingredients for some recipe you saw online months ago. one of your clients cries at your performance, ecstatically telling you they'll be in talks with your manager to set up a stable contract. things really start to look up. two weeks later you even manage to get the number of a cute girl, elise, a tall woman with dyed hair who reached for the same vintage music box as you at an open market.

you're smiling as you look down at the messy ink on a slip of paper, the numbers and tiny smily face distracting you as you enter the hallway to your apartment. so distracted that you nearly trip over a object on the floor, looking down to see...a bouquet?

a really gorgeous bouquet you notice as you bend over to pick it up. its a collage of dusty blues and off-colored ivories, and when you brought it closer to your nose for a whiff you felt a sense of bliss. you bring it into your apartment with a skip in your step before you spot a piece of paper among the flowers, plucking it from the collection and reading it over.

upon closer inspection, you can see its a postcard, the cover a flattering shot of the statue of liberty with text that reads "love from new york city!". you try to calm your heart down at the location and the 'love' part, but you've already gotten your hopes up when you turn the card around to read the message:

xxx-xxx-xxxx

sorry for the wait. i'll make it up to you, angel.

you'd never felt so conflicted as you did in the past five seconds. half of you was vindicated that yes, this attractive woman didnt leave you high and dry and did actually have a deeper interest in you, but the other part was angry. and embarrassed that you were angry, because again, you spent less than a day with this woman, she didn't owe you anything. but also yes the hell she did.

before you could get yourself together you were harshly tapping the number into your cell, biting at your lip as the phone slowly rings.

"y/n, is that you?" echoes from the line, victorias voice sounding and running over your head like soft silk. no, no, stop it. focus.

"howd you know it was me? im sure you have other people who'd be calling you this late."

"certainly not anyone with a phone number from paris. besides, i was hoping it'd be you."

"well, i would have been flattered two weeks ago but unfortunately i dont think your words could phase me right now."

she sighs and the line goes silent. you feel bad for being catty for a few seconds before you brush it off. she's the one who played with your emotions and promised to call you but never did. she had this coming.

"im sorry, really i am. i've been busy with things at work and my daughter-"

damn it, she pulled the kid card again.

"i just...dont like being lied to. or led on. maybe its my fault for beeing too clingy-"

"no, no. dont apologize. if it means anything youve been on my mind for weeks now."

"yeah, same here. except my thoughts havent been all that nice." you laugh.

"deserved. and id like to make it up to you."

"oh yeah? let me guess, this time we'll spend two nights together?"

"close. how about two weeks. in new york."

you don't know if you should laugh. you feel like you should, so you do. but she isn't.

"you...you're being serious."

"im being serious."

what do you even say? what do you even do? of course, whatever higher power there is would make your life stable and steady for the past few months then throw this in to shake you up. you really should have been expecting it, considering...

you shake yourself back to the present. victoria is still waiting on the other line, unwilling to rush you into a decision, apparently. you'd applaud her for her chivalry if you weren't so stunned.

"victoria, come on. we've only met once, and while it was nice it was brief. now you want me to upend my life and career to jet off to america? it sounds crazy."

"you make me a bit crazy, honestly. besides, you were telling me in bed you haven't been in the states since you left, i have a feeling you miss it more than you let on."

you shuffle in your spot, reminded that you're standing in your cold-ass kitchen and you haven't changed out of the outfit you wore out today. but half of your uncomfortableness is from a feeling gnawing at your chest because she's right. at this point you can barely remember the night you left your childhood home, but you know it was rushed. you wanted to forget everything.

"i think you're also forgetting that i have a blossoming career here. are you gonna pay my definitely going to be pissed off manager her wages? plus i was supposed to be first pick for this really good gig-"

"i'll pay for everything, i promise. dont forget that i have connections. in two weeks they''ll be singing you praises across the globe."

you close your eyes and take in a breath.

"can you make my ticket first class?"

-

one thing you didnt miss about america? just how...much everything was, all the time.

your flight was quiet. victoria didnt hesitate to book you an expensive ticket, almost taking offense to your request for a nice one and scheduling you for business class, sending you a text to get lots of rest in the ultra-luxe beds on the plane. it was probably one of the best nights sleeps you'd had in months.

when you got off the plane there were two tall escorts holding a sign with your last name on it, taking the suitcases from your hands before you could say anything and leading you into a sleek black car. a voice in the back of your head starts screaming but you ignore it. for now.

the men in the car give you some basic rundowns, how they'll constantly be hovering over you during your stay for your "protection", and that they'll be taking you to settle into a hotel until victoria makes contact, and the little voice starts freaking out again and telling you that you've slept with and are fraternizing with a mob boss. at least it's more exciting than your last few flings.

the car goes silent after that, and you put in your earbuds as you watch the city go by. you weren't from new york, but you loved watching movies set in the bustling cityscape. the buildings really are humongous, and you see so many different types of people it sets your brain on a whirlwind.

you look back down at your phone after the fifth 'the seven' advertisement in one block.

yet again you're led into a clearly extremely expensive hotel, breezing through reception before you are led to a luxuriant hotel room, the bodyguards ignoring you as you giggle and flop onto the bed, waving them off when they tell you they'll be posted outside.

the sheets feel heavenly on your skin, and with the soft sunshine from the window beaming down on you and the gentle hustle and bustle of new york outside, you think you could fall asleep in a minute. but, begrudgingly, you peel yourself form the bed and open your suitcase to start putting your clothes away before taking a quick shower in the giant bathtub.

just as you exit the shower and wrap your body in a towel, your phone starts ringing and as soon as you read the 'v' in the contact name you push answer and bring it to your ear.

"hello? vic?"

"hey, hon. eager to talk to me?"

"you called me. and 'hon'? really? we've moved to petnames already?"

"figured id start making up for those weeks with no contact. and id like to do so again tonight. i wanna bring you somewhere."

your mouth quirks up in a smile as you re-adjust the towel around your body, the phone nearly slipping from its quick placement between your phone and ear, "id really like that. i hope its out to dinner, i didnt care to eat any of the plane food."

“yes, it’s to dinner. but its up to you if you want it to be fancy or casual. i know its tacky but there’s this pretty cute french place near where i live...”

“that vaguely sounds like an invitation to your place, but ill let it slide. are you gonna pick me up or are your special agents going to escort me everywhere for the next few weeks?”

“special agents? what agents?”

a bead of water drips from your neck down your back and it feels like the tip of a knife. a pressure builds in the back of your throat and your fingers grip the fabric of your towel. “what…that’s a joke, right?”

her laughter rings in your ear and you are seconds away from hanging up the call.

“sorry, sorry. i sometimes have a weird sense of humor. you'll get used to it.”

“i doubt it.”

“and i'm hopeful. i'll let you go so you can get ready, i'll be by in under an hour.”

you hang up after a sweet goodbye and gently sit on the toilet. your brain is rushing to catch up after the conversation like your body goes on autopilot when you hear victoria's voice. its terrifying and its thrilling. and you don't know why a part of you likes the feeling.

after you brush your teeth, do some quick skincare, debate over shaving just in case, and spend twenty minutes picking out a cute outfit, you finally hear the gentle knocking on the door while you're double-checking over the content of your purse.

rushing to open the door, you're greeted with the sight of a smiling victoria, her hands tucked into the pants of her clearly expensive pinstriped pantsuit. you're admiring the look of her hair tucked back into a ponytail when she's reaching forward and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"you look perfect. come on, i made us a reservation."

and it turned out to be a perfect night. she did end up taking you to the french place, allowing you to order whatever you wanted. that place was weirdly empty, only a handful of other patrons inside. you were pleased to see that the waitress was french herself, having a small chat about the customs and foods she missed while she praised the authenticity of the food at the restaurant.

only a day and you had already forgotten how forward the people back home could be, because the waitress throws a subtle look at victoria and compliments you on finding such an attractive woman. when she leaves vic just smiles.

“ok, id say at this point we’re doing pretty good with the communication thing, right?” you ask, taking a sip of the pricey wine your date ordered.

“yeah, id say that.”

you finger the rim of your glass, the nerves getting to you before you ask your question. "i want you to tell me what your job is. your actual job, not some vague ass title. you have security following gus around, so i feel like i should know."

"no, no, you're right. i just didnt wanna scare you off. or have you think differently of me once i told you." she sighs, thumbing the napkins on the table. "i work in the government. i'm a congresswoman, to be exact."

you don't doubt she's a politician for a second, because she shows no hint of nervousness at your lack of emotion.

"are you...a good congresswoman?"

"i don't really know how to answer that." she laughs.

"i'm sorry. i knew you were important enough to be at that gala, but a politician is...tricky."

she reaches across the table and lays her hand palm up, smiling when you rest yours on top of it. "look, i get it. i should have told you sooner but please understand why i didn't. i wanted to get to know you as normally as possible, without all of the press and politics in the way."

"normally as possible, huh? that includes sleeping together on the first night?"

you're trying to show your acceptance of the situation with your humor, but you can tell victoria can sense your uneasiness at the situation. here you were thinking you had found some under-the-radar millionaire to dote on you and instead, you'd roped in someone whose job was entirely in the public eye that could be put in danger at the flip of a switch.

"how about we finish up and take this back to my place? i'll tell you everything that you wanna know about me. no matter how personal."

you stare into her eyes for a few seconds and decide that she looks genuine, getting confirmation that her daughter is staying with a friend before ending your meal and following her to her place.

for the amount of money she's ready to spend on you, you're surprised to see that victoria lives in a chic but quaint townhome only a twenty-minute walk from the restaurant. she gently takes off your coat and instructs you to sit with her on the couch, pressing on a remote to turn on her fireplace.

after a few hours and two more glasses of wine, victoria had opened up to you about nearly everything in her life. the mysterious death of her birth family, being adopted by a man who helped pushed her to go into a political career, her polite but loveless marriage with her ex. she even shows you a picture of zoe that she has in her wallet, taking the chance to gush over her daughter. she seems like such a sweet girl.

maybe it's the wine or maybe it's the way vic is opening up to you so freely, but you decide to tell her more about your past. how you always wondered why you barely stuggled moving to another continent at such a young age, or the fact that you dont even remeber why you had the drive to leave your parents home in the first place. you didnt even remember the last words you said to each other.

and throughout it all she's nothing if not attentive, she doesnt ask questions unless you give her permission too, keeping her eyes on you and gently placing her hand over yours.

you feel a turning in your stomach when she moves a stray hand of hair behind your ear. you told yourself to try taking things slow this time, but your body is starting to feel fuzzy and shes looking at you like she wants to devour you.

she decides to indulge you and gently brushes her lips against yours, smiling at the way your breath staggers. your head moves forwards to finaly get her to kiss you but she jerks her head back.

"i want you to tell me what to do."

god, your stomach feels hot. this is new, but a really arousing style of new. the last time you both slept together she had taken a careful but unwavering charge, unraveling you with a steady hand a sweet smile.

"cmon just...please?"

"no. tell me what you want me to do."

you sigh and bite at your lip. "i want you to lay me down and fuck me. right now."

so she laid you down and she did. there were no words to describe how much you enjoyed that night on her couch, the way she could read your body like a book and brought you to ecstasy again and again and again...

and when you wake up a soft blanket is draped over your body, a brekfast of coffee and some crepes set in front of you.

the days after are a whirlwind. discreetly as possible victoria takes you on a tour of new york city, to more expensive restaurants and hidden jewels that most tourists skipped over.

youre lounging in your hotel room when you decide to inform your friends of how your trip is going. while slightly hesitant they seemed more than happy that you were enjoying yourself with someone who took a genuine interest in you.

until you told them her job.

"my love, are you insane? a politician?"

"an american politician?" chloe gasps, continuing off of jamies shock.

"hey, im american too dont forget!"

"of course you are, but please, you understand why this is not good, no?"

"you know how fishy they are, especially with all the supe business going on. that place is getting more dangerous by the day, and i dont think you should be seeing someone whos contirbuting to that."

it pained you to admit it but jamie had a point. the three of you would always laugh in amused horror at how badly things were going on in your birth country, and the politics...it was less than pleasant.

not to mention the supe business. every corner of the world had to deal with the annoyance that was vought and their "products", even france. but so far you'd just had to deal with a few perverted looks from traveling supers and talks of some stupid theme park a few miles out of the city. meanwhile, it seemed like every day a new superhero was being introduced to the American public. it unnerved you.

"i understand. i appreciate both of you looking out for me. trust me, i'll be on my guard for now on." you mumble, picking at the material of your sleeve.

"of course, songbird. we'll call again soon."

the call ends and drop your phone on the nightstand. you look at the eiffel tower cutout in your phone case and your heart aches.

the next morning you're eating a a breakfast of coffee and fruit crepes when your phone rings, dragging your atttention away from the trashy dating show you were watching on the bedroom's tv. when you see nancy's name you hesitantly answer the call.

"nance? is everything alright?"

"everything is great. i'm just here to check in about your next gig."

"my next- nance, im on vacation. please tell you didnt forget and booked me for a job when im across the ocean."

"no, im not that stupid, hon." she sighs. "i didnt even arrange this job, victoria did. im just the messenger."

you blink once. then twice. you remember vic saying something about helping you with a job but you honestly just thought that was bullshit to get her to come stay with you.

(or get in your pants. but you don’t think you’d be too upset about that now.)

“ok. thank you, nancy. tell me the details.”

it’s a lot more extravagant than you expected. victorias friend, an actual senator, was holding a fundraising event for some government program he and vic were both involved in. nancy wasn’t told what the program was, but that you would have to go through a security debrief before being told you'd be given a team to help you prepare. and picking from a selected closet of dresses. fun.

you ignore the feeling of nervousness that’s building up in your gut. because while all of your gigs were important, they were never this important. you push it down as you call victoria and thank her endlessly, when you tell your friends the minimum amount that you can tell them, and when victoria picks you up from outside your hotel twelve hours before the event even starts.

she pressed a small kiss to your hand, laughing at the grumpy and tired mumble you let out when you sit in the car seat. it only passes once she gives you a coffee she picked up, the caffeine waking you up and putting a smile on your face.

the content feeling turns into shock when you enter victorias' place and see zoe, vic throwing a short explanation of “busy babysitter” over her shoulder as she heads into the kitchen.

its a bit awkward at first, sitting on one couch as she plays on a black nintendo switch on the other. it helps when you ask her about whatever she’s playing, the girl diving into a rant about the farm game she’s playing and how she’s trying to catch a certain type of fish.

victoria comes back with a tray of breakfast for the three of you before asking her daughter how school is going, how her friends are, etc. its nice to get a glimpse into victories private life during the morning, the close bond she has with her daughter. you notice some tension but decide not to bring it up.

the morning goes by too quickly, zoe being picked up to be dropped off at a friend's house after giving you a sweet goodbye and you getting rushed upstairs as the team comes to the townhome to help you prepare. its a nice change, having other people doll you up instead of having to worry about trying to do everything correctly and by yourself. and its a perk you don't have to spend your own money to do it.

the team members are nice but punctual, finishing your hair and makeup in record time with not a second wasted. you barely get time to notice yourself in the mirror before you're ushered into a gorgeous gown, soft fabrics and a chic and elegant style.

when your finished you’re finally allowed to observe yourself while your transportation and is prepared, and it feels like you’re looking at a dream version of yourself.

as you admire yourself in the mirror vic comes up next to you, clearly enjoying herself as her eyes slowly drift up and down your body.

“you look…ethereal.” she whispers, pressing a small kiss to your cheek after you turn to smile at her.

“only because of you. i don’t know how i could ever make this up to you, vic. this is just…”

“trust me, you’ve already done enough.”

while you knew there would be some press at the event, you didn't expect over two dozen paparazzi to quickly start flashing their cameras in your direction as soon as you got out of your ride. questions about who you were wearing, the relationship you had with vic, etcetera etcetera. you would've buckled from the sudden pressure if it weren't for victoria’s steady hand on your waist, the press of her arm through her red pantsuit.

the venue is downright insane, so grand you start to wonder if you're in one of those gilded age mansions you used to read about in new york magazines. climbing pillars and art on the ceiling of the main hall, which you don't get to admire since you’re yet again whisked away to get ready.

after a few more touch ups you aren’t afforded a minute to prepare, guided to the edge of the performance area. the sinking feeling is back in your stomach. the biggest moment of your life and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

the lights dim and you glide onto the stage, able to see the shadows of the guests faces from the flickering table lights. it’s eerie, the amount of them staring up at you with eyes you can’t even see.

you were given a set list a few days prior, only a couple of songs for the payment you would apparently receive after this. the songs piqued your interest, a collection of classical melancholic pieces from around the fifties. vic told you her friend was a vintage nut, but you didn't know why he chose these for you to perform when the event seemed to have an uplifting aura.

either way it felt…different, singing this time. the spotlight was on you and you’ve never felt as beautiful as you did in this moment. everyone was watching you, so hooked on the melodies escaping your body that you could see the emotions brining some people to the edge of their seats.

you don’t let it show but you grow a bit anxious at the sight of supers in their uniforms in the crowd. you don’t see anyone from the seven, but you do notice a woman you recognized from some commercial about climate change and earth preservation, the green of her dress and the nature motifs in her outfit give you a clue as to what her power was.

just when you feel yourself about to slip, dangerously close to hitting a note at a weird pitch, you see victoria, getting deja vu at the sight of her staring at you from the bar like the first night you met. she's looking at you like she's never doubted you for a second, like you're an angel sent from above that's blessed her life.

you hold her gaze when you sing. noticing the soft smile on her face when you sing a lyric about how the feelings in your heart feel so intense you fear you're going insane.

when the first song ends the lights come back on and you're met with a polite yet thunderous applause, the smile on your face so wide your cheeks start to hurt. the presenter comes back on stage, praising your performance with a swipe at his eyes before telling the guests that the host would be on shortly, and after he gives a short speech you'd be back to sing some more. with a gentle nod and wave, you step off the stage.

you feel like you're walking on air, with no doubt that was one of your best performances yet. your emotions got a little intense there but nothing you couldn't manage, and everyone seemed to like it anyway.

you're able to send a quick text and a picture to jamie and chloe before you hear the sound of the door to your quaint dressing room open, not able to turn around before you feel hands around your waist and plush lips on the side of your neck, the sight of victoria wrapped around you in the mirror making butterflies swarm in your stomach.

"i take it you liked my singing?"

"like doesn't even begin to cover it," she mumbles into your neck, raising her head slightly to be able to hold eye contact through the mirror. "i'm so lucky i found you, y'know that?"

you playfully brush her off, telling her you have to freshen up for some mingling before you get back on stage. she gladly helps you with your makeup, and while you weren't expecting her to be so touchy tonight you definitely aren't complaining, especially when her hand starts to drift closer to the space between your legs. it takes an embarrassing amount of mental strength to deny her, promising you'll continue once you go back to her place.

once you're finished getting ready she leads you back out to the hall, introducing you to numerous business people, politicians, celebrities, etc. you try not to fangirl when you meet a singer whose songs you've been obsessed with lately and when she asks you to perform at her cousins wedding. victoria just smirks when she leads you away and you let out a tiny squeal under your breath.

once the networking is done you're able to take the time to sit down and eat some of the catered food, almost moaning at the tastes of the food. you sometimes forget just how good food could be in the states, and these rich people pulled out all the stops. you try not to eat too quickly or impolitely as victoria talks with her tablemates, some people from her job apparently. after the first introductions and praises they gave you you mentally tapped out of the situation. she luckily covers for you when they question your mood, laughing when she tells them you've had a long day of being treated like a singing barbie doll.

everyone in the room quiets down when the hos taakes the stage and starts his speech. he introduces himself as robert stendham, and you feel a little embarrassed that this man gave you the chance to sing here and you didn't even know his name. you're thinking about how odd it is that you weren't introduced before this when he mentions something about the program and you perk up.

"...extend a personal thank you to general jameson for finding the time to escape his duties to fly in and be here with us tonight, and a special thanks to director neuman for helping me with this project and finding the beautifully talented y/n to perform for us tonight."

there was a brief few seconds of applause, victoria looking around and giving out smiles while you wondered what the hell she was the director of.

"as you can see, we have a few supers with us tonight. people like hazelwood, whose efforts against climate change have lead to over a dozen organizations plating millions of trees and clearing millions of pounds of trash for the ocean. because that's what supers are supposed to do-protect us. not act like degenerates who get to do what they want because of their abilities."

your eyebrow twitches, sensing the slight anti-supe propaganda from the end of his speech. well, not anti every supe, just the ones who act like gods among men, which you could understand. but you still felt an uneasy feeling rising in your stomach. you feel vic's palm rest over the top of your hand under the table.

"which is why im incredibly honored that director and congresswoman neuman has extended a hand to me to invest in the federal bureau of superhuman affairs, and to further extend that hand to you to help participate in this monumental institution..."

everything is a fog and your brain taps out once he starts talking about what this burerua does, how they closely monitor supes and jail the ones who've caused public harm. your head feels hot and your chest feels cold, and you can't stop your body from going on auto-pilot and excusing yourself to the bathroom before finding some balcony on the higher floor.

the cold air of new york shocks your body back into normalcy, but the pounding in your head persists. it feels like a panic attack ut so much worse, like your fight or flight has been activated without anything even happening. had you rushed into all of this? chasing a girl and a dream like you were a teenager again?

yet again the door opens behind you and someone comes to stand next to you, able to tell who it is by the scent of brown sugar and the glimpse of dark hair blowing with the slight breeze.

"you alright? mr. brandon from the tech startup was asking about you, tried to make me invest in some room light plant grower hybrid-"

"why did you bring me here?"

you cut her off and the air is quiet, save for the sounds of cars and the city and the wind. it's weird, standing in a tense silence like this with her.

"how are you feeling?" she whispers .

"are you- " you turn, nearly giving yourself whiplash with the speed at which you turn to look at her. the look on her face, like she's just observing you and how you're reacting. it only upsets you more. "are you being serious?"

"yes, i am. tell me."

"no, answer my question first. why are you avoiding it?"

she sighs, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face before reaching to grab your hand, which you hesitantly let her hold.

"as you heard, im part of a buereau that monitors supherhumans, keeping track of them, making sure they cant use their powers for harm. so far we've only had to deal with supes here in the states. until one day, this couple comes in that believe their daughter has used her powers on them."

she reaches for something in her pocket and your grip tightens. she pulls out a polaroid and holds the picture up for you to see. you feel like you're going to vomit when you see you, smiling, standing with your parents in a backyard.

"what...what is this? how'd you get this?"

"the couple gave me this picture, and told me how weird the least few years have been. friends and family asking where their daughter went, how she was doing, a daughter they didnt even remeber having."

you bring a hand up to your head, hopelessly trying to dissipate the splitting headache that's forming.

"but then they said the memories started coming back. glimpses of a child running in the grass, birthday parties, graduations, talent shows-"

"stop, please just stop." you gasp, hunching over as good as you can with the restrictions of your gown. it doesn't even feel like the world is just spinning, it feels like its being played in some celestial game of pool. "so what, you're saying...you're saying i did that? to my parents?"

"yes," she reaches for the side of your face, guiding you to look up at her. "and you can do so much more. you already have."

this can't be happening.

"why do you think people react so emotionally to your singing? you think its just because you're amazing? that's not even half of it."

your breathing is picking up again.

flashes of memories start appearing in your vision. so many happy times with your parents that you forgot, friends that you left behind. how your parents didn't support your half-thought-out plan to become a singer, how you made them forget. made yourself forget.

"i don't want you to think i did all of this just for what i want. i didn't. i care about you, and i want you to help me. but you need to trust me."

the blood is rushing back and from your head, and you think about how weird her eyes look against the backdrop of the city before you pass out.

finally. FINALLY. ong i wrote like 1k in the past day because i said just get this shit over with but its done! 5 months later! hope you enjoyed :)

[witchpassing]

interview_3aC

I got into piloting during the Third Generation. For the historically illiterate, that’s before the breakpoint, not after. Summer Offensive, Chelsk Offensive, ‘81, ‘82… All that shit.

When you say pilot now, people get a certain mental image. It wasn’t like that, back then; end of the day, a G3 frame is basically just another kind of tank. Hot like hell inside and full analogue control. You had to think five, six, seven seconds ahead sometimes, because that’s how long it’d take you to string together the inputs for what you were doing next.

I was good. I mean, I’m good at my job now, sure, but… you should’ve fuckin’ seen me then.

... Anyway. Long and short of it is, I got unlucky. Everyone does, sooner or later. Coterie railcannon caved in part of my cockpit, crushed my leg to dogmeat, and that was that. A few years later, they’d have amputated, plugged in a spare, and sent me back in, but this was ‘83, the tech wasn’t there yet. We were hearing about it, you know, shit on the grapevine about the brain-machine barrier, weird tests underground out in Lysk, but I don’t think any of us really believed in it.

I wanna say I knew what was coming, but I didn’t. Nobody did.

So. Cockpit breach. Fucked leg. They did a lot of work, got it to where I could walk on a good day, but it was obvious I wasn’t gonna cut it any more. Took my pension, checked out, spent eight years in the worst dyke bars I could find. Don’t really wanna talk about that part. That’s not what you’re here for, anyway.

So I’m a few years down the line, losing my mind somewhere in Sengrade, and I get a call. It’s this guy I used to know, I never really nailed down what he did, Information maybe, and he’s telling me about this program they’re spinning up over in Lysk, and sure that rings some alarm bells but what am I gonna do, say no? I don’t even need to hear the specifics, he’s trying to tell me it’s the next big jump in frame tech, it’s gonna win us the war, whatever, I’m already halfway onto a train.

The job turned out to be the Fifth Generation. Not only was the brain-machine barrier real, but they’d smashed clean through it. I said a G3 is basically a tank, right? So I was expecting an iteration on the form. Sharper, sleeker sure, but at the end of the day just a prettier-looking tank.

Well, I was dead fuckin’ wrong. Seeing something that size move that way, it’s… I don’t think I can put it into words. Go find a poet or something. Ask them what they think about Gen 5.

… Didn’t come for free, of course. The neural throughput on a machine that size will cook an unprepared brain like a fuckin’ egg. You need to be dosed to the gills on a whole cocktail of ten-syllable shit to take it for more than a few minutes, and the drugs make you weird. Horny, mostly - I’m sure you’ve heard about that - but you’re also looking at impaired impulse control, difficulty with long-term thinking, emotional disregulation, mania… Plus, there’s something in the cocktail or the link or both that is bastard habit-forming. You see them counting the hours between sorties. They adjust to the hyperstimulation, get calibrated to it, and then everything else is just too god-damn quiet.

Think maybe it’s carcinogenic, actually, but you didn’t hear that from me.

So, yeah. Weird. Command doesn’t want weird operating superweaponry. Weird doesn’t make sound tactical decisions. Which means all the shit that makes somebody a functioning soldier - the long-term decision making, the impulse control, the ability to give a fuck about the rules of engagement - it had to be outsourced.

The term they used at first was “special consultant”. Then “special consulting officer”, once we hit field testing. It wasn’t “handler” until later.

The first crop of us - I’m just gonna say handlers, I know how you’re gonna wanna spin this, I get it - were all ex-pilots. G3, mostly; Gen 4 didn’t leave a lot of material to work with. I guess the idea was we were the closest you could get to a G5 candidate’s frame of reference, but it was pretty clear within the first few months that that was bullshit. Some of us took to it, some of us washed out. A lot couldn’t take the wetwork, which I guess I can sympathise with.

Me, I handled it fine. Better than I should’ve, maybe. Being a tanker didn’t do shit for me, but my dad, he was a dog trainer, and… Yeah, well, you get the idea.

… No, no. The other kind of wetwork. You know what I mean.

…

The leg? Ha. Yeah, they offered me a prosthetic. ‘Course they did. But, call me a hypocrite, whatever you want - by that point I was six months in and I knew with total fuckin’ certainty I didn’t want the link. I spend enough of my time helping the military put their shit into peoples’ bodies, you know? I don’t want it walking home with me.

… No, I don’t understand why they keep signing up. Early days, sure, nobody knew what it did to you back then, but there’s been leaks, people’ve talked - hell, I’m talking right now. You can find our burnouts in any dive in the country, or what's fuckin' left of them. The candidates now, they know what we do to people here, and they just keep coming, and coming…

Though, you know… I think sometimes about the first time I saw a Gen 5 machine take off, that first day on the program. The way it moved against the blue-black of the sky, like it weighed nothing at all. And I almost get it.

[zoradementio]

Block Tales Predictions & Headcanons Because This is my New Hyperfixation

Predictions

So the next sword is 100% the Firebrand. And what better fire level is there than an active volcano? I believe the next demo will open up the docks & we're gonna be sailing to a tropical, volcanic island for the Firebrand.

Added with that, I believe we'll meet the ship captain mentioned by Mayor Monty (can't for the life of me remember the name rn), as he'll be the one to sail us across.

I also believe that this Chapter or maybe the Windforce one will be weilded by Kyoko's sister, since Kyoko's dialogue in Chapter 3 hints that at the very least something is going wrong with her.

On the UnkownSpaceGuy Youtube channel - the channel that uploads both demo trailers & the OST - there's a track listed called Space Battle. While some might think the background & track are misdirects, considering the Weird Battle OST teased enemies from Chapter 3 well before it was implemented, I think it's possible this could also be hinting at future content. Specifically, I believe the Chapter taking place on the moon will either be the Darkheart or Illumina one.

Once the game is finished, there'll be a New Game+ mode where you can actually have the chance to beat Terry at the beginning of the game.

Headcanons

~Cruel King~

Dude needs a different moniker than "Cruel King" because that is a misnomer and a half. So, unless he's given an official name, his given name will be Rex to me.

His favorite foods include warm drinks like hot chocolate & coffee and frozen desserts, especially ice cream.

His favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry.

He likes Mexican cuisine but it also destroys him.

Had a German Shepherd when he was growing up.

~Griefer~

While Mayor Thaniyel is mostly right about Brad not being 100% like that before the influence of the sword, he still was a bit of a little shit. It's just that Thaniyel didn't see most of it and it was mostly relegated to online games/forums.

Despite what his soda addiction may lead you to believe, he really likes fresh fruits, apples being a particular favorite.

Likes sherbet & sorbet more than ice cream.

Really likes spicy food. Man would fuck up a bag of Flammin' Hot Cheetos & puts jalapenos on everything he can.

It is often said that the highest honor one can give a fictional character is to headcanon them your personal lived experiences and traumas. Thusly, Griefer has mommy issues. Undecided whether I prefer her being kind of a bad mom or if she simply wasn't around when Brad was growing up.

Big fan of Pokemon. Favorite Gen is 3, both in terms of the Gens in 2010 and all Generations to modern day. Favorite starter is Treeko, though Grooky would be a close second.

~Greed, Solitude, & Fear~

I like to group these three together as The Vices.

Greed is a bit of a fashionista, keeping up to date on the latest trends.

Greed likes carbonated drinks. Particularly, they like champagne.

If Greed were to order a steak, they'd order it Blue.

Solitude gets uncomfortable in large crowds. A large crowd to Solitude is more than 2 people.

It's difficult to tell at any given moment if Solitude is concentrating really hard on something that caught their attention or if they're just disassociating.

A picnic in the park might not fix Fear, but it would do a whole lot to improve their mental state.

Fear's favorite foods include fruity drinks/juices, comfort food, and baked goods.

Fear's favorite colors are dark blue and dark green.

Despite them literally being the embodiment of fear (or perhaps because of that), Fear is fiercely protective over those they care about. Can't have courage without fear after all.

[zorrasucia]

Teach Me Tonight - Part 5

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Deleted Scene] [Part 4] Part 5: [Part 6] [Part 7] [Deleted Scene] [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (4k)

Tags: Smut, Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Porn with a little plot, Virgin!Carmy, Fluff, P in V sex, Rough Sex (consensual at reader's request), Facesitting, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary:

It was Friday, a little past nine at night and you were home alone. You had said goodbye to Carmy back at the restaurant, the frantic energy inside the kitchen a clear indicator that you wouldn't see him until the next day. 

You huffed and rolled over on the mattress. You were antsy, and a little horny; thinking about what Carmy would do to you if he was there wasn't helping in the slightest. After a while of being just restless you decided to watch some porn and masturbate to get sleepy.

You started teasing over your underwear, vaguely following the vapid introduction of the video. When the couple began fucking in earnest, you touched yourself following the rhythm of their moans. You were getting wet and squirming between the sheets when you heard the front door unlock and open.

"Shit," you cursed. "Carmy?"

"Hey," he called from the hallway.

"You're back early."

"Uncle Jimmy bought out the restaurant for the evening. Forgot to tell you. We set up everything and he sent us home," he explained, then peeked inside the room. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Why?" 

"Dunno," he got close to the bed, "you look flushed," he placed a hand over your forehead, that little wrinkle between his eyebrows showing up immediately. 

You sighed; you couldn't let him worry over nothing just because you were embarrassed.

"Uh- I was watching porn and touching myself," you confessed. You handed him your phone - the screen showed a man and a woman, tastefully lit, fucking over a bed doggy style.

"Ah," he arched his eyebrows.

"I didn't know you would be home early, or I would have definitely waited for you," you bit your lip. He stayed silent for a little while. "Are you mad?"

It wouldn't be the first time that a guy felt a certain way about you watching porn - the argument was mostly about the fact that they were allowed to do it and you weren't.

"No, it's just-" he sat by you. "You never said you liked this," he gestured vaguely at the position.

"Um, I didn't think you'd be into it. When we fucked the first time you said you liked eye contact. This is sort of the opposite," you shrugged helplessly.

"Yeah, but I also fucked you from behind on the kitchen table that one time and it was fun," he reasoned.

"I thought you were only doing it for me," you realized you sounded a little silly but it was the truth. For all your willingness to try new things it had mostly involved positions where you could face each other. And you liked it. Still some secret part of you wondered what it would be like with Carmy.

"I mean, yeah, it started that way but in the end I enjoyed it too," Carmy said earnestly. "Really. I don't- I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me these things."

You blushed. 

"Okay," you nodded. "Okay. Uh. I like being fucked from behind sometimes. Not always but uh- it feels good, you can get a little rough," your already wet underwear got soaked at the thought of Carmy using those strong arms of his to manhandle you a little. 

Without a word, he untied his shoes and got rid of his shirt. Then, he leant over.

"Tell me what to do."

You shivered. 

"Kiss me," you asked and a second later he was all over you, shoving his tongue in your mouth, getting the idea of 'a little rough' and running with it.

You started unbuttoning his trousers, shoving them and his boxers out of the way and he followed suit, tugging at fabric blindly until you were completely bare. Your hand was touching his cock idly, getting him hard.

"Put me face down on the bed," you said against his lips.

He grabbed you by the waist and maneuvered you into position, a little too gently for your taste but it was a start. You got on all fours while he rummaged the bedside table for a condom. 

"Tease me," you pleaded. 

He obliged. His hard cock traced figures over the lips of your pussy, almost pushing in but not quite. He lined up his cock with your entrance. 

"Slow at first, slow." He took his time to fill you up. "Fuuuuuck," you keened. 

There was a sharp inhale behind you and Carmy ran his fingers down your spine, to your hips and moved the last inch in a hard thrust.

"Shit, just like that," you praised. 

It took him a little bit to get the hang of the position, his thrusts cautious and slow. You focused on the feeling of being full of him. You swayed your hips with his cock buried deep inside you, a challenge of sorts. 

"Jesus," he panted, falling into rhythm.

It was still careful and you thrust back into him, desperate, needy.

"Harder, Carm," you whined. 

He growled, getting a good grip on your waist. You moaned, your jaw dropped at the head of his cock grazing your G spot everytime.

"Right there, right there," you reached back for his thigh, giving him a reassuring squeeze that turned into you leaving scratch marks on his pale flesh.

"Do you- shit-" he stuttered, overcome with pleasure. "Do you like to have your hair pulled?" 

And you would have caressed his face gently and kissed him sweetly in that moment - he had taken a glimpse at the video and he was devoted to making it real for you. 

Except, well, you were on all fours being fucked senseless and absolutely wild with lust. So instead you grinded into his cock and begged:

"Yes, please, fuck, please!"

He gathered your hair in the nape of your neck and gave a tug that electrified you all the way down to your pussy. A breathy laugh escaped your lips. 

"Good?" he asked.

"So fucking good, keep going," you praised and he thrust harder, every movement pushing you over the edge. "It's so good."

He grabbed your hair harder than before, pulling you until you were on your knees, flush against his chest. You moaned in surprise and bliss. His free hand immediately found your clit and teased it mercilessly until your pussy was fluttering on his cock. 

"Keep going, keep going," you pleaded through your orgasm. 

He held you through it, kissing your neck and shoulders with a tenderness that didn't match the wanton moans and gasps that tickled the side of your face. In your daze, you realized he was holding back for you. Carmy was thoughtful and shy and caring, but he could also be angry and mean and explosive. You knew, you had seen glimpses of him in the kitchen at rush hour. 

"Carm... It's okay."

"Hmm?" It was a desperate sound - his grip on your hips was so tight that you suspected you would wake up with bruises. 

"You can go as fast as you want, as hard as you need, baby," you intertwined your fingers with his. "I'll tell you if you hurt me, just-"

He dragged his teeth down the side of your neck, from your ear to your shoulder. 

"You sure?" he exhaled into your skin.

"Pretty fucking sure," you touched his hair and kissed the side of his face blindly. You went back on all fours and looked back at him seductively. "You've been so good, Carmy, you deserve it."

You knew you were overselling it, but you meant it. Carmy chuckled a little, his fingers softened their grip and caressed the curve of your spine, settling back on your waist. 

With barely any warning, he thrust into you, hard, knocking the wind out of you.

"Oh my God," you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as he made you see stars with every forceful movement. He kept going, his skin clapping on yours, hitting perfectly with each stroke. "Yes, fuck!"

You felt your second orgasm approaching quickly, the punishing pace Carmy set had you gasping for air. You felt your arms give out and suddenly your face was on the comforter, your ass up, and the mattress swaying under the two of you. You squirmed and moaned, and he kept on fucking mercilessly, prolonging your orgasm until it was almost too much to bear, until your pussy was straining from squeezing around his cock. You bit on the comforter to stop yourself from screaming.

Carmy bent over on top of you, his cock still drilling into your pussy. He twisted around to kiss you - it was all teeth and tongue and desperation. Your right hand reached underneath to touch your clit. The pleasure and pain had blurred and you were pretty sure your last orgasm was turning into a third one. 

"So good, so fucking good, Carm," you mumbled into his mouth, squirming, feeling his sweat mix with yours. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna-" he started and you nodded eagerly. 

"Yes, please, come with me," you panted, rolling your eyes when his hips started moving even faster than before. The sounds he uttered would have been enough to have you coming but there was also his hand on your throat, and his cock inside your pussy...

You came at the same time with a series of grunts and a long, high-pitched moan. His hips kept rutting into yours, making you tremble with pleasure for a while longer, not a drop of that delicious electricity gone to waste.

"You okay?" he asked, his breathing labored and his lips kissing your shoulders and spine.

"Yeah," you sighed and chuckled, satisfied. You reached out behind you to caress the nape of his neck, wet with sweat. "You?"

"Yeah." He nodded and, after a quick kiss on your shoulder, he rolled over, leaving your pussy empty and wrecked. He threw the condom to the trash and laid back, looking at you. You whined a little as you untangled from your position, thighs cramping, to lie by his side.

"You sure I wasn't too rough?" he tilted his head, cupping your face. 

"It was amazing, Carm," you gave him a gentle kiss. "I think I got a little carried away, though," you added softly.

"It's fine - I liked it," he covered his face to hide a grin.

You smiled relieved and got closer to him, claiming your place between his arms.

"Thank you," you said against his collarbone. He hummed into your hair, tugging on the comforter to cover you both with it. "Carmy? Do you have one?"

"Hmm?"

"A fantasy you haven't told me about because you thought I wouldn't be into it?" you asked. 

He stayed silent for a while and you looked up in search of his eyes. 

"I- uh- I've been wanting you to sit on my face for months," he gulped, avoiding your gaze and the shocked face you were doing. "I didn't say anything 'cause you get all nervous and start apologizing when you squeeze me with your thighs..."

"Well, I don't want to hurt you!" you replied defensively.

"I don't mind," he blushed. "I'm kind of into it."

"Shit, Carmy," you giggled, settling back in his embrace. He held you closer. "We're definitely doing it, don't worry."

"Not now though," he said, completely exhausted.

You laughed. "No, not now," you repeated, falling asleep to the beat of his heart.

~

"Come on, Carmy! Come out!" you urged him from outside the changing room. 

"The pants are too long," he complained. "I look fucking stupid."

He opened the curtain and walked out, wearing the vintage tuxedo you had chosen for him - midnight blue with satin accents.

"You look very handsome," you beamed, straightening the lapels of his blazer. He allowed himself a small smile.

"Just- the pants," he insisted. There were about three inches of extra fabric pooling at his feet. 

"Baby, you do know that clothes can be tailored," it wasn't a question - his slacks and his favorite coat had all been professionally shortened to fit him, you knew.

"Yeah," he said, defeated.

"C'mere," you guided him to stand on a stool. You knelt by him, folding the fabric by his ankles and pinning it carefully. "What's this about?"

"I'm going to fuck it up," he said, looking at the ceiling. "I can't do that to Sydney. Let her down again," his eyes had turned a little glassy.

"Hey," you gave his calf a gentle caress. "It's gonna be okay. You're just introducing her. She's very excited about this."

He cleared his throat. "I know." That's the problem.

"Imagine if a friend had given you your award," you prompted. "Someone you looked up to, someone as excited as you were to get it."

He hummed, biting on his lip nervously.

"The only way you'd let her down would be to not show up," you said softly, then stood up to meet his gaze. "And you are showing up, right?" you cupped his face lovingly. 

He nodded. He was too tall to reach standing on the stool, so you tugged on the lapels of his suit to kiss him.

"Good," you said against his lips. "I don't want to miss it - I already chose a dress for it."

"Can I see?" he asked.

"No. It's a surprise."

"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" he said in mock annoyance.

You smiled, walking to the counter and returning with two options of bow ties and placing them near his face. 

Just then, Richie walked in. 

"Hi!" you greeted him. "Help us pick."

"Right one," he pointed at the wider tie. 

"I agree," you said.

"Looking like a real boy, cousin!" he teased.

"Fuck you," Carmy replied without bite.

"Chef Sydney asked me to pick up her dress," Richie said. "Ever since she got that James Beard invite thing she's become such a diva."

"She kind of deserves it, though," you said. "Here you go," you handed him the gown, a seventies number with a plunging back, inside a suit bag.

"Is he gonna be ready on time?" Richie asked you.

"Count on it," you reassured him. 

“Alright!” Richie hollered from the door. "See you tonight, kids!"

The drive back to Carmy's apartment had been quiet, with him only breaking the silence to lend you his coat. His hand was on your thigh, and you felt calm and safe.

"So, was it like this when you got your award?" you asked. 

"Dunno, didn't go to the ceremony," he said blankly.

"Why?" 

"You know me - talking in public and shit," he shrugged.

"You were scared," you realized.

He hummed, not admitting to it but not denying it either. 

"You were good tonight," you squeezed his hand. "Syd looked very happy."

He smiled. "She did."

Carmy let go of your hand for a minute to park the car, his arm around your headrest.

"You look very hot when you do that," you flirted as he turned off the engine.

"Shut up," he laughed and got out of the car, racing to open the door for you. 

You walked to the apartment hand in hand, enjoying the quiet of the night. You returned his coat once you were inside, helping him turn the lights on.

"You look very pretty," he said.

You leaned into his space and kissed him, the many petticoats of your fifties dress rustling as he brought you closer. 

"Thank you," you whispered against Carmy's lips. You tugged on the ends of his bowtie, undone from hours ago, making him look disheveled and beautiful. You kissed a while longer, his mouth gentle against yours, and his hair going back to that familiar mess. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your waist and lifting your skirt a little.

"Wha- what's this?" he asked, his palm landing on your upper thigh. 

You smiled and turned around instead of responding. "Help me with the zip."

He did. Opening the dress carefully, caressing your sides and shoulders as he helped you get out of it. Under the dress, you were wearing a lacy bra, panties, tights and garters. 

"Holy shit," Carmy said, covering his mouth. 

"They're vintage. You like them?" you asked, your hands brushing over the clasps on the garters, a little self-conscious with how he was staring.

"Do I-? Fuck."

He lunged forward and kissed you hungrily, holding onto the back of your thighs until your legs were around his waist and he could carry you to the bedroom. He placed you on the bed and he cupped your face, a pleading look in his blue eyes. 

"Can I- Can we do it tonight, baby? Will you- Jesus- Will you fuck my face?"

It sounded like a confession, the words getting stuck in his tongue like it was something shameful. You placed your hands over his and nodded, feeling a familiar heat pool in your belly and your chest. 

"Yes."

He beamed. You dragged him by the bowtie to lie on the pillows, while you straddled his hips. After he had told you about his fantasy, you looked for some videos to see what he was talking about, what he wanted and what you'd be willing to do. 

"I don't want to hurt you, Carm," you said gently, caressing his chest and unbuttoning his shirt. "Is it okay- Would it be okay if we don't do it too rough?"

You felt a little guilty, since he had been so open to fuck you hard when you had asked him to. 

"It’s okay. You can do as much as you want," he said, his hands caressing your thighs, tracing the edge of your garters. "I don't want you to, like, break my nose or anything," you laughed together. 

"Good, I like your nose," you said softly. He sat up to kiss you and you helped him get undressed, throwing his clothes somewhere across the room. After a while of making out and grinding on your clothed pussy, he guided you upwards, to the headboard, while he kissed down your body - your chest, your belly, your hip, until he was right underneath you.

"Hi," he said, dissipating some of the tension. You grinned.

Carmy's face between your legs was a sight you couldn't get enough of, and the change of perspective was really doing it for you. His eyes were half-lidded as he kissed the inside of your thighs. His tattooed fingers moved your panties to the side; he had insisted you kept everything on. 

"I'll tap your thigh three times if I want out," he said; his breath on your pussy made you shiver.

"Okay," you swayed your hips a little, already worked up from just thinking about it. "Fuck. I don't know how to do this," you said, holding on to the headboard, your knees by the sides of his face. "Promise you'll tell me if something's wrong," you said, locking eyes with Carmy. 

"Promise," he said. 

He pulled on your hips until your pussy was just over his mouth. He took a deep inhale and started lapping at your wetness, small licks at your clit and long strokes up and down. You rolled your eyes and let out a long moan. As he grew more confident, he held on tighter to your thighs, pulling you downwards, keeping you close. 

He sucked on your entrance, which felt nice, but it would drive you insane if it was on your clit. Gently, you grinded backwards, until his mouth was right where you wanted it. 

"Holy fuck," you mumbled, staying there, back arched, while his hands caressed every inch of your legs, his touch over the tights making you hum with pleasure. "That feels so nice, Carm, so nice."

He kept sucking diligently until you were on the edge of your release and then let go. You sighed, frustrated. 

Carmy went back to licking gently and kissing over your pussy, almost making out with you down there. You ran one of your hands through his hair, caressing, trying to return even a fraction of the pleasure he was giving you. He tugged on one of your garters and let go, spanking your thigh. You chuckled, loving the feeling. He went faster, humming into your pussy. You squirmed and held on tighter to the headboard, still determined to not lose control. Suddenly, he stopped sucking on you, gently biting on your thighs instead. 

"Use me," he said, and then went back to sucking on your entrance. 

When you tilted your hips backwards, he froze, making you grind again and again. A glance behind let you know he was touching his cock and groaning. He liked it. 

You shifted a little, finding a comfortable position and started riding his face in earnest, the tip of his nose grazing your clit and his tongue fully out, caressing every fold and nerve. It was so good.

"Oh, fuck," you let out desperate noises, the beginnings of a delicious orgasm building in your belly. "Caaarmyyy," you dragged the vowels of his name into a high pitched sound.

He hummed again, vibrating into you. You could feel his right arm picking up speed on his cock. 

When he went back to sucking, you grabbed his face with both hands and kept him there, on your clit until you came with a scream, too caught up in ecstasy to worry that you were squeezing the sides of his head with your thighs. Everything was white, hot, and electric.

"Fuck," he mumbled, neglecting his cock to squeeze your ass and hips, licking every drop of arousal you gave him.  

"You okay?" you asked from above, panting heavily.

"Yes, perfect," he replied, his eyes wide with lust. He was still kissing and touching greedily. "Turn around."

You did. His hands guided you back above his mouth, only now your clit was on his chin and you had a clear view of his erection. You leaned forward to touch his cock, give it a couple of pumps. Underneath you, Carmy squirmed with pleasure but pulled you back on his face, away from his cock. You didn't have time to argue - his mouth was devouring you, worshiping you. The wet noises he was making were driving you insane. 

His right hand gave your pussy a gentle caress, taking your arousal to use it as lube to pump on his cock.

"Holy shit, Carm," you gasped - watching him, listening to him, feeling him. It was all too much and before you realized it you were coming again all over his chin. "Fuck."

The orgasm was short, leaving you more frustrated than anything else, especially compared to the one you had before. When Carmy stopped licking, you pleaded:

"One more, can I have one more, please?" 

"Yes," he sighed, warm air hitting your pussy and lighting you up again. 

You leaned forward, bracing on his chest while he made you lose control once more. You used the position to play with his nipples, enjoying the feeling of him moaning into you. He snapped your garters once again in retaliation, and it made you shiver. Your grinding was becoming frantic, the hand on his cock echoed your rhythm. You moved backward until his tongue was right on your clit and his nose poked lightly at your entrance. You were so close to your release it hurt.

"Right th- right there, baby," you said, one of your hands caressing his chest and the other playing with your own breasts, staring at Carmy's weeping cock. 

It built up beautifully - his moans with yours, your nails teasing over lace, his fingers holding tight to the flesh of your hips. And his mouth, fuck, his mouth. 

You came with a scream, thighs shaking around Carmy's head, watching him come too while still feeling the aftershocks yourself, still grinding lightly on his nose and chin.

Slowly, you dismounted, feeling like you were made of jello, weightless and giggly. Once you got face to face with Carmy you found he was smiling too. Gently, you fixed his hair and wiped his face with a tissue. You handed him another for the mess on his stomach and chest.

After, you kissed his chin, his nose and his lips multiple times, getting the tangy taste of your arousal on your tongue too.

"Thank you," you said, feeling giddy and satisfied.

He ran his fingers down your side, until they landed on your tights.

"Thank you," Carmy said, arching an eyebrow that seemed to say 'This was my fantasy, remember?'

You smiled wide and kissed him one last time. 

"Shower?" you proposed. 

He nodded and followed you. 

~

[Part 6]

~

@th3h0nkz

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - XII

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters gen. warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more 3rd pic is BRZRKR #2 cover variant 😍

⚠Trigger warning: dash of noncon, if that squicks you DO NOT READ!⚠

12. the serpent deceived me

It’s been a while, since you’ve had a migraine. 

It seems like tonight’s your night. 

Groggily you attempt to open eyelids that feel as though they’re made of lead. The room spins at first, and you try to hold your head in an attempt to put things back in their proper place. You are prevented from doing this, however, because your hands are bound over your head. With a snarl you pull at your restraints, metal manacles biting into your wrists, rattling chains bolted securely into a stone wall. You cannot budge them.  

You look around in a panic, and realize you are in a cave. Candles in wrought iron sconces and on various flat surfaces light the cavernous space. It looks lived in. There’s furniture, a table, chairs, even books, like this is someone’s subterranean retreat–mixed with a dungeon. 

“At last, look who’s awake.” 

With fangs bared you turn towards the familiar sardonic sound. “You…”

It’s about all you can think to say at first, as you behold don Juan sprawled in a throne of a chair across the room, his legs crossed and his beautiful mouth pulled in a satisfied smirk. He looks good enough to eat, in a billowing white shirt unbuttoned at his throat, his slender legs encased in leather boots up to his knees. He looks like he’s stepped out of a different century, and you vaguely wonder if older vampires wear the trappings of their time out of nostalgia, or like a security blanket against a modern world they hardly recognize. 

“Where’s Chas?” you demand, looking around. 

“Who?”

You bare your teeth, hissing, “The boy. Our friend.” 

Juan shrugs, smirking, and you hate him so very much in that moment. “I wouldn’t know.” 

Your mind flips through all the horrible scenarios of what could have happened to Chas. Was he dead in an alley? Or did they just take his fucking hat to bait you? You realize this monster does not care, and will not tell you. 

The next question you dread the answer to is: “Where’s John?”

“Which one?” asks the vampire with a cruel delight, looking back over his shoulder. 

Your heart filled with dread, you look past him into the shadows across the room, to find John Wick bound in a similar fashion to you, his wrists in manacles, his shirt in tatters and his torso covered in blood. He’s unconscious, hanging from the wall, and with a sinking feeling you wonder how the hell they managed to pull that off. What did they do to him?

“Thank you, by the way, for sending him marching right into my trap. He’s a bit of a blunt instrument, isn’t he? So predictable, the lot of you.” 

“What?”

The old vampire scoffs. “Did you really think you were going to nose around without me knowing? You, so freshly dead that I can still taste the sunshine on your skin? I felt you snooping from a mile away.”

You purse your lips, frustrated, mostly with yourself. You’d thought you were being careful. Turns out you still have a lot to learn. It might not matter, if you can’t figure out how to get out of these damned restraints…

“Um. Yeah, kind of,” you admit, pulling on your manacles again.  

He laughs at you, a malevolent, diabolical sound that grates you to the marrow of your bones. God, but you really do hate him. 

“He killed a great deal of my vampires though. I do not appreciate being forced underground.” You can sense there are other vampires around, lurking in the shadows. It feels like he still has plenty of minions to do his bidding. 

“Sucks to be you.”

“We’ll see who sucks who.” He stands from his seat, raking you up and down with a look that leaves you feeling decidedly unclean. “You are cute. I will give your suitors that.” 

You frown, unsure how he knows you have more than one…but then, maybe from now on you should just assume this snake knows everything. He’s far too clever. What chance did any of you have, against a thing that’s lived as long as he has? You sag in your chains in your despair, feeling helpless and stupid. Your only hope is that Constantine is still out there…but you realize that you hope he focuses on saving the world, rather than saving you. 

“Oh,” says Juan with false lament, pursing his lips in a pout that should look ridiculous on a grown man, but somehow…why is he so fucking beautiful? But you know it is like the serpents of the jungle; the ones most pleasing to the eye will prove the most deadly. “Giving up so soon? That’s no fun, the games have only just begun!”

You glare at him, for what it’s worth. “Why…would Hell on Earth seem like fun to you?”

He shrugs, approaching you with slow, deliberate steps, a predator stalking his prey. “The High Table has made life…untenable for my liking. It’s time to put them in their place.”  

“You’re crazy.” 

Before you can blink he’s standing before you, delivering a backhanded slap that rocks your head sideways into the stone. “You are a mere child, compared to the years I have lived. Do not question things you cannot understand.” 

You taste blood in your mouth, and you know it paints your smile red. “And, you’re a huge asshole.” 

He laughs, pinching your chin between two fingers in a vice-like grip. “That, I will give you, querida. But if you behave yourself…” He steps in so that there’s barely a hair’s breadth between you. “You may have a seat at my side, rather than in the fiery pit.” 

Still, you shake your head. “What makes you think you can keep the son of Satan to his word, once he has taken over here?”

“Not to worry, corderita,” he says with a mocking gentleness, his long finger caressing the curve of your cheek. “I’ve taken that into account too. He’s not so all-powerful as The Book would have you believe.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re going to double-cross the devil’s son once you get what you want out of him, aren’t you?” 

This pulls an oily chuckle from the older vampire’s lips. “Now you’re getting it,” he whispers. “A few more hundred years, niña, and you just might be dangerous.”

The hubris of this man is staggering, and fear seethes in your belly like angry snakes. There are so many ways all this could go wrong, and the whole world is at stake… But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, because he truly believes it all belongs to him. 

“And what if…he’s planning on double-crossing you?”

Juan huffs with laughter, his eyes upon your lips, his finger under your chin tilting your head just so. “I will burn that bridge when I get to it.” 

He leans in to kiss you, and that is when an unearthly growl fills the cavern, a voice like the grating of ancient stones demanding, “Get. Off. Of her.”

Don Juan smiles wide enough to flash his fangs at you, anticipation sparkling in his high-polished onyx orbs. You realize he’s been waiting for this moment all along.

“Finally, the dumb beast is awake.” 

John Wick strains at his chains, the impressive muscles corded in his arms and chest rippling, his eyes glowing that unearthly blue. You know you’re an idiot, but you can’t help but stare, moved to your toes by the deadly magnificence of him.   

“Let her go,” Wick warns again, and there is a charge in the air, like a growing storm. It raises the gooseflesh all down your arms. 

Juan positions himself so Wick can get a better view. “My spies told me you’d taken a liking to her. You really think she’s your dead wife reborn?”

Wick growls in answer. “She is mine.”

Juan grins at that, looking between the two of you trussed like Christmas turkeys. “That’s not how it looks from here, cabrón.” 

Faster than the eye can follow, Juan tears your dress right down the middle, exposing you from head to toe. It’s stupid, but you scream, surprised by this violation that you suspect, deep down, will prove laughingly minor compared to what’s coming. Wick roars, and Juan savors it like his favorite candy, laughing wickedly. 

“I can’t fault your taste, dhampir, I will give you that,” he says, before grabbing you by the hair and slanting his mouth over yours. You struggle, of course, but it does you no good. He doesn’t even have to use that staggering mind-fuckery from earlier in the club. He just has you, and all your undead strength will do you no good against a creature as old as him. He pins you with that lithe body against the wall, so strong that he too may as well be made of stone. 

Wick seethes and snarls like a caged bear, and don Juan just grins. “I once kept a werewolf captive there in those chains for fifty years,” muses the vampire to you conversationally. “He won't be getting out.”

Greedily he runs his hands over your body, squeezing your breasts and tracing the lace of your bra with his thumbs, pinching your nipples cruelly through the soft fabric. Your body betrays you with a jolt of sickly sweet pleasure sent straight to your loins. 

Furious, you scream, trying to squirm and buck him off but to no avail. You’re not sure what’s worse–the way he touches you, or the way he laughs at your futile resistance, your complete lack of power in his clutches. He ignores the thunderous uproar behind him, feeding off the sound of Wick’s fury, delighting in both of your pain. You catch a glance of the dhampir over Juan’s shoulder, and you think that maybe don Juan is a fool trust in just those iron chains. Are the eye bolts wiggling loose from the wall? An eerie blue light is filling the room, and not just from Wick’s eyes. It is as though it is emanating from his very pores, and you find the thought of him unleashed scares you as much as it gives you just a sliver of hope. 

Engrossed in his distraction, Juan’s hand runs down the curve of your spine, disappearing into the back of your underwear, squeezing your ass then probing lower. “Mmm. I knew you’d have a perfect little coño,” he hisses in your ear, nipping at your earlobe as he teases your treacherously wet little hole. 

“I hate you,” you answer through gritted teeth, bloody tears streaming from your eyes. 

“Good,” Juan answers glibly. “It makes the victory all the sweeter, darling. But you may as well get used to it. I’m going to make you my pretty little muñequita before we’re through, and I will fuck you in front of your stupid pinche pain-in-my-ass boyfriends whenever I feel like.”

 He kisses you again hard, his mouth trailing to the curve of your neck. Wick continues to snarl, and over Juan’s shoulder, through the glaze of your tears you see that the dhampir is damn close to actually breaking free, one of the bolts in the walls only precariously attached to the stone, and the other close behind. You feel Juan start to turn to look, and you know if you have any hope of getting out off there you have to keep Juan occupied.

You cannot hold him, so you use the only means available to you, wrapping your leg around his hip and sinking your teeth into his lower lip. 

Juan groans, surprised by your change of heart, but not questioning it in all his outsized ego. He leans into you, forgetting all about the dhampir in favor of the woman in front of him. His greedy hands roam your torso again, cupping your breast. 

“I knew you'd come around,” he gloats with a smirk, pressing his bloody mouth to yours. 

That is when the cavern fills with the blinding crackle of lightning, and the whole world goes blue.  

__________

*querida - dear *corderita - little lamb *niña - little girl *cabrón - derogatory term, like bastard, motherfucker, etc *coño - pussy *muñequita- little doll *pinche - fucking *wow i know a lot of dirty words in spanish i’m so sorry mother 😆

[scenequeenwritingmachine]

Just for Tonight

Pairing: Genma Shiranui x Fem Reader (Smut)

WC: 7k

Summary: You run into an old friend, he invites you to come over and get high like old times.

Warnings Under the Cut

Warnings: mildly dubious consent (they're both high), porn with feelings, body worship, fingering, blow jobs, p in v, riding, floor sex, extremely light angst, friends to lovers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Funny seeing you here,” a voice rang out behind you, “it’s been a while.”

You turned around, a gentle smile spread on your face when you saw him.

“Yeah, it has, Genma.”

You never would’ve expected to see him at the market, you had hardly seen him at all over the past couple years. Things weren’t like they were when you were teenagers anymore, you had both grown up and were now in your early thirties, basically living in different worlds at this point. You mostly worked at the academy training the next generation of ninja, hardly going out into the field anymore. You wanted to settle down and start a family, while he remained one of the most active shinobi in Konoha. You had never even given thought to the idea of him grocery shopping, with how little he was around. You figured he just lived off of the rations and food pills he received on missions. Yet here he was.

He stood in casual attire, simple black pants and a turtleneck. You didn’t think you had seen him like this since your early twenties. He still wore his bandana with his signature senbon hanging from his lips, though. He hardly looked like he had aged at all, his face was still smooth and youthful, unaffected by the stress of the job. He looked at you with soft eyes and a relaxed smile.

“It’s the first time I’ve gotten a couple days off in forever, so I figured I’d run some errands like a normal person,” he let out a slight chuckle. “I know it’s been a long time, but I couldn’t resist the urge to say hi to an old friend, so,” he trailed off, “hi.”

“Hi,” you replied. You couldn't help but fall into his charm.

“So, how has the academy been treating you?” he asked. “I know kids can be a handful, so I applaud you for putting up with them,” his tone was lighthearted, a bit more sweet than you’re used to with him.

“I’ve been doing fine with the kids,” you chuckled, “you’re right, they can be a handful at times, but these children really are incredible. I can already tell the future of our village is in good hands.”

“Well, you have always liked kids, I’m surprised you don’t have any of your own yet,” he remarked.

“I would if I could, but I haven’t found the right guy yet,” you explained, “ I wanna do it right, ya know?”

“Yeah, I get it. I know you’re the type of woman who would do anything to give your children a good life, I guess making sure you find a good dad for them is pretty damn important,” he replied.

You wondered if Genma ever thought about having a family. He always struck you as the lifelong bachelor type, never settling down. He seemed to really care about his job, always active and busy, but he never seemed too stressed. He liked helping people and protecting the village, he was born to be a ninja.

“I think you’ll find him though,” Genma continued, “I think any man would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks Gen, I appreciate it,” you smiled. You didn’t expect him to ever say anything like that, but his words warmed your heart. He had always been a genuine guy, but he tended to be a bit more of a smartass. Maybe it was the casual setting, but you liked this side of him.

“I’ve got a few more errands to run and I know you have to get your groceries home, but I was wondering,” he trailed off for a moment. “If you aren’t busy, do you wanna come over to my place and light one up like old times?” he asked. “I still live in the same apartment,” he added.

You thought about it for a moment.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” you replied, “just give me a time and I’ll be there.”

“How ‘bout 8?” he suggested.

“Yeah, that’s good for me.”

It had only been around 1pm when you ran into him, but something made you want to finish your shopping and get home as soon as possible. Somehow, seven hours didn’t feel like enough time to get ready. Maybe you were just excited to go to an old friend’s house and hang out, not confined to the setting of a mission. You hadn’t been to his apartment in almost ten years. Sure, you had seen him plenty of times since then, you had often been assigned on missions together. You really only stopped seeing him over the past two years, since that was when you transferred to the academy. It was only natural that forgetting about the stresses of life and relaxing with a friend sounded appealing, but you couldn’t help the way your heart rate picked up thinking about it. After all, when you were younger you’d hang out with all of your friends at his apartment, but now it would just be you and him.

Once you got home and put away your groceries, you headed to the bathroom for a much needed shower. You spent a bit longer than you usually would, but you were basically operating on autopilot with your shave-day routine. After you finished in the shower, you got out and put on a nice outfit, then you proceeded to dry and style your hair. Finally, you finished up by applying your usual makeup. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but feel pretty.

It was still only 6:30 by the time you finished getting ready, so you cooked up a light dinner and ate. You knew that you and Genma would be having snacks later, so you didn’t want to overdo it. After you finished eating, you checked yourself in the mirror one more time, smiling. You looked at the clock, it was 7:30, exactly the time you needed to leave to arrive at his place by 8. You were a very punctual person, after all.

You felt nostalgic as you walked the familiar streets. You reminisced about your younger days when you and all of your friends would head to Genma’s to get high after a night of bar hopping. The next day when you showed up to get your mission briefing, you’d all be hungover. The Hokage would always chastise you all for your irresponsibility, yet you’d always end up doing it again. Eventually though, you did end up quieting down and everyone found their niche. You don’t remember when it happened, but one day everyone just got too busy to hang out, all of the shared meals, cheerful banter, and partying just stopped.

‘I guess we all had to grow up someday’ you thought to yourself.

Soon, Genma’s apartment building came into view. You didn’t know why, but nervous butterflies started flying around in the pit of your stomach. You approached his door and knocked. After a few beats, he opened it.

“Perfectly on time as always, come in,” he invited, stepping to the side so you could pass him. His tone was relaxed and casual as usual, with a slight drawl.

You smiled at him and stepped in. His apartment hadn’t changed at all in the past decade. It still had the same posters and artworks covering the walls, you wondered if he just never had the time to change the place up since your early twenties. He had the lights dimmed with the radio playing quietly in the background, it was the same atmosphere that always made his apartment the best place to get faded.

“I’m sure you already have some, but after I ran into you, I decided to buy some extra snacks. I know you always get the munchies really bad, so I hope your favorites haven’t changed in the past ten years,” you laughed.

He smiled, shaking his head to signify that they hadn’t changed. He then gestured to the kitchen bar for you to put down the grocery bag you brought.

“Thanks,” he said, adding in your name, “feel free to make yourself comfortable while I roll up.”

You nodded, complying. You walked over towards his bed, sitting on the floor with your back against it. Somehow, the floor always felt the most comfortable. You watched as he walked over to the desk under his window, opening the drawer. After all this time, he still kept his weed in the same place. He proceeded to grind up the flower and then expertly rolled up the joint. It reminded you of the time when you asked him to teach you, but your sad attempt of a joint ended up just falling apart. You tried again and again, but eventually decided to suck it up and let him keep doing it. You never quite got the hang of rolling.

You studied him as he placed his senbon on the desk and picked up the joint, bringing the paper to his mouth. You were hypnotized by the way he darted his tongue out to lick the edge, adhering the rolled joint together. A slight flush rose to your cheeks, but you shook your head to snap out of your trance before he turned around to come sit by you. Once he settled on the floor to your left, he set the ashtray that had previously been on his desk between you and passed you the unlit joint.

“What a gentleman,” you teased.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he smirked, lifting his lighter to the end of the joint between your fingers.

After it was lit, you dropped your head against the bed, brought it to your lips, and took a long drag. You felt the tension that had been plaguing your body lift as you exhaled the smoke. You were beginning to feel the most relaxed you had in a long time. Then, you smiled over at Genma and passed him the joint.

You watched as he angled his head back against the bed the same way you had to take his own drag of smoke. He had heavy lids and his jawline was partially obscured by the hair that his ears separated from the back of his head. He was the embodiment of relaxation, perpetually in a calm mood, even before feeling the effects of the weed. He pulled the joint away from his mouth, and after a beat, he parted his lips, blowing out the smoke towards the ceiling.

After he handed the joint back to you, Genma got up, heading to the kitchen. He grabbed the family size bag of chips from the bag of snacks you brought and opened it, eating a couple as he walked back to join you on the floor again. You took your drag, and then he traded you for the bag. You weren’t too hungry, so you didn’t eat any of the chips, but you still accepted it to free up his hands.

After a couple more puffs each, you guys finally began loosening up, transitioning into lively chatter. You told funny stories about your experiences at the academy, like all of the times your students said wildly inappropriate things. You explained how hard it was to reprimand them, since it took all of your effort to not just burst into laughter.

“Damn, kids really do say the darndest things,” he chuckled, “where do you think they’re learning how to talk like that?”

“I have no idea,” you shrugged. “I guess we weren’t too much better in our academy years, but it does seem they’re learning more and more over time. I don’t think we were that bad, though,” you added, with extra emphasis on ‘that.’

He then told you about the time he was sent on a mission to take care of an old lady in one of the neighboring villages while her family was traveling.

“It was the worst. She was pretty easy to take care of, but I did have to bathe her and help her dress. She just wouldn’t stop flirting with me,” Genma explained, “you thought the mouth on those kids was bad? That’s not even a fraction of what this woman was like. Imagine me trying to do my job and put clothes on a fully nude 85 year old who won’t stop talking dirty and ‘flaunting’ her body at me.” You were trying so hard to hold in your laughter. ”’Oh, you’re such a handsome boy, and a ninja?! I bet you have a great body under there’,” he mocked in his best old lady voice, “‘I bet big boy Mr. Ninja could make ‘ole granny feel like a young woman again.’” You were practically rolling with laughter. “She’d be running her old lady hands up and down my vest while batting her eyelashes. Do you know how hard it was to get a bra on her? It was such a nightmare to get her decent, and every time I got something on her, she’d try to pull it off again, like I’d fall in love with her or something if I saw her naked constantly. Now that I think about it, maybe she was just an exhibitionist. The worst part was, before her family left after I arrived and when they returned, she’d revert to this quiet, helpless, sweet old granny persona. They had no idea what she was really like!”

There were tears of laughter beginning to well up in your bloodshot eyes. “I forgot that for as many dangerous missions there are, there are even more silly and mundane ones.”

He took another hit and smiled. “Yeah,” he sighed, “I want to say it’s not what I signed up for, but sadly, it is.”

The joint was starting to burn too low now, so Genma snuffed it out in the ashtray he placed between you earlier. He got up and walked to the kitchen again, this time pouring you each a glass of water. He passed you one of the glasses and walked back over to the desk to roll another joint. There was an unspoken vibe between the two of you that you both wanted to get too high to worry about anything else.

“Thanks, Genma,” you praised, raising the glass to your mouth for a sip.

He hummed in acknowledgment as he worked. His back was turned to you, but you were still captivated by his movements. Your mind wandered in your haze, thinking about nothing and everything all at once. You were too spaced out to notice when he walked back over to you.

“Here,” he spoke up, catching your attention.

In the time your mind was wandering, he had already sat down and lit the joint. Now, he held it up to you. Instead of taking it with your own fingers, you just leaned into his and took a hit. You were a bit too dazed to really pay attention to your actions, not noticing as he watched you with heavy lids and a lazy smirk. You weren’t looking at him, just gazing at the wall across from you. Once you were done and exhaled the smoke, he leaned back and did the same thing.

“Thanks for inviting me over, Genma,” you mumbled, “you’re really sweet, I’m glad you’re my friend.”

“Always,” he replied, a smile evident in his tone.

It wasn't long before you began rambling about your life, the things you wished you did with your friends, your worries, your dreams. The weed was making it too hard to shut up, you just had to get out everything that was on your mind. You both stared blankly at the wall, but Genma still listened to you intently.

After a bit, you decided you had enough and stopped smoking, but he continued to smoke a bit longer. Once he felt satisfied, he set the joint on the ashtray between you. You don’t know how long you were rambling to him, but eventually you stopped and fell into a comfortable silence.

Neither of you knew how long you sat in your shared daze, just slowly blinking at the wall. At some point, you rolled your head to the right and saw the clock above his stove. You could at least make out a 1, but you weren’t sure if it was midnight or 1am.

After you stared at the clock for a while, you slowly rolled your head back over to the left and looked at Genma. He felt your eyes on him and soon, rolled his head to look at you as well.

Your heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes made contact and you studied each other. You had no idea what he was thinking, but you couldn’t help but admire him. His pretty, brown hair fell around his face perfectly, his soft skin was illuminated by a beam of moonlight that escaped through a gap in his drawn blinds, his expression was completely neutral, but it still managed to draw you in.

He began to slightly lean in towards you, you wouldn’t have even noticed the fraction of an inch closer he got if you weren’t paying extremely close attention. Your heart fluttered and picked up a beat, but you couldn’t stop yourself from mimicking his movement, leaning in a tiny bit closer to him.

The tension in the air was so thick, you could hardly breathe, but you were too high to get flustered. He leaned in another fraction of an inch, and so did you.

His face was expressionless, but you didn’t need to read his face, you could practically hear his thoughts.

You glanced at his lips for a second as he leaned closer and you realized how bad you wanted this. Your heart was pounding in your ears, but you moved your gaze back up to his. His look said it all.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you both leaned in, closing the gap.

The second his lips met yours, a jolt of electricity buzzed through your skin. Maybe it was the weed making you sensitive or maybe it was because Genma was the person you were kissing, all you knew was that it felt like heaven.

He leaned further into you, deepening the kiss while bracing himself with his right palm on the floor behind the ashtray. He reached his left hand across his body and cupped your cheek, fingers threading their way into your hair. Soon, he nipped at your bottom lip. You opened your mouth for him in response, allowing his tongue to meet yours. The smell of weed and the taste of him was utterly intoxicating. You wanted more and more, but you didn’t know if it was possible to get enough.

Genma reveled in the sweet little sounds you made as he made out with you. He slowly began to push you back, gently moving towards laying you down parallel to the bed so he could crawl over you. However, before he could get very far, you put your palm on his chest to stop him.

He pulled away, a string of saliva still connecting your lips to his. He gave you the cutest confused look you’ve ever seen in your life, but you just gave him a sweet smile in response.

Slowly, you began pushing him back towards his original seat against the bed. He allowed you to move his body freely. Once he was in position, you crawled over to him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Then, you put your hands on his shoulders for support and lifted your right leg to swing it over his lower body. Now, you were straddling him.

Genma looked up at you, a cocky grin spreading across his handsome face. You lifted your hands from his shoulder to the back of his neck and pulled him into another kiss. He could feel the happy grin on your lips as you kissed him and he couldn’t help but smile back into you. He moved his hands to rest on your hips, thumbs dipping up under your shirt and rubbing soothing circles against your skin.

Genma couldn’t believe how right your lips felt against his, it was like you were made for him. You’ve known each other for over two decades now, how did it possibly take you guys this long?

You had been straddling him with your knees rigid. Your hips had been hovering above his as you held yourself up, but you decided it was time to lower yourself down. Butterflies shot up through your stomach and you let out a soft sigh as you felt his erection against you.

Genma couldn’t help but use his hands on your hips to help guide you back and forth against him, letting out his own little groans of pleasure as you continued to kiss him deeply.

Your fingers slowly moved themselves up from the nape of his neck into his hair, one hand reaching up to slide his bandana off his head. He didn’t mind as it fell off and onto the bed behind him. His hair was disheveled, but you didn’t care. You figured it would only continue to get messier.

As you continued to lazily grind against him, Genma pulled away from your mouth. He then leaned in to start leaving love bites across the column of your neck. In response, you angled your head up to give him easier access. You moaned out as you felt his teeth graze against your skin, your fingers fully entangling into his hair.

You felt so warm. Every single one of his touches sent sparks across your skin. You could only imagine how wet you were getting as his clothed cock rubbed against you. You were trying to remember if a man had ever made you feel this good before, but you couldn't think of any times. Genma has barely touched you and it already feels like he’s the only other person in the world, like he was made for you.

Once he was satisfied with his work on your throat, he moved one of his hands from your hip to up to pull the neck of your shirt to the side. His lips met the junction between your throat and shoulder and he began to bite and suck there. You didn’t care that he was stretching out the neckline of your shirt, and you didn’t care if he left visible marks on you for all to see. All that mattered was feeling him against you.

The hand that remained on your hip moved further up under your shirt and he began gently rubbing up and down across the warm skin of your side, his fingertips grazing the bottom of your bra.

After a moment, Genma decided that he was satisfied with the purple bruises he littered across your neck and shoulder. He moved his fingertips to the hem of your shirt and tugged. You got the message and stopped grinding your hips against his, finding balance. You untangled your fingers from his hair and lifted your arms up, allowing him to slowly lift your top over your head. He dropped your shirt and rested his hands back on your hips, looking up at you with lust-blown pupils as you straddled him in only your bra. You needed him to touch you, you needed to get rid of the barriers between you, so you brought your arms behind you and unclasped your bra, allowing it to fall from your shoulders onto his lap. You quickly reached down, grabbing it and then tossing it into a random section of the room.

“So pretty,” he praised, once again sliding his hands up your bare skin. He now allowed them to rest on the underside of your breasts, thumbs grazing over your hard nipples. “Can’t believe it took this long…” he trailed off.

“Genma, please,” you don’t know what you were asking him for, you just needed more.

He leaned into the apex of your right breast, latching onto your nipple. He gently massaged the area around it with his hand, kneading your other breast with his other hand as well.

You cried out as he sucked, your hips again jolting into his. He couldn’t help but meet you with tiny thrusts of his own. You couldn’t believe how collected he appeared, you were falling apart over him and he didn’t even seem to mind how little you were touching him. If only you knew how much worshiping you got him off.

Eventually, he decided your right breast had enough attention for the time being and he switched to the left. His fingers slid easily across the spit-soaked skin of your right breast as he moved to knead it. You could hardly handle the feeling as he rolled your abused nipple between his fingertips.

It was all getting to be too much, you had to feel him. Your fingers dug into the fabric of his turtleneck against his back as he sucked you. You needed it off, you needed to touch him.

He soon got the message and pulled off of you, quickly discarding his shirt.

You sat back on his hips as you studied his body. You giggled to yourself, remembering the story he told you about the horny old lady he had to take care of. Her prediction was right, he really did have a perfect body under his baggy clothes. He was lean, not super massive, but still toned and fit. There was a dusting of light freckles across his shoulders and a smattering of tawny hairs down his lower abdomen. He leaned back and gave you another cocky smile with heavy-lidded eyes as you ogled at him. As much as he wanted to take care of you, he didn’t mind the attention.

You reached out and lightly ran your fingers down the contours of his chest. You felt lines of tight scarred skin under your fingertips at points, but his scars were a lot like yours, long since faded. You were so grateful that he didn’t seem to have any recent wounds. You knew it was part of the job, but the idea of him being injured made a tear begin to well up in your eye. Working at the academy, it was rare for you to get injured now. You were really only in danger during emergencies, since of course it was still your responsibility to protect the village as a ninja. But Genma, he was still on active duty, he could be called out on a mission at any time, he could get injured at any time, he could die at any time. He wasn't yours, you had barely even seen him in two years, but you couldn't bear to lose him.

You managed to break yourself out of your negative thoughts almost as quickly as they began. You think Genma noticed the slight falter in your expression, but he didn't say anything. You were usually a pretty positive person, so you attributed the weed to making you a bit more emotional.

You brought your arms to drape around his neck and kissed him again. In response, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him. As you sat on his lap, chest to chest, heart to heart, your kisses were deep and sensual.

The room was filled with hums and sighs of pleasure, along with the sound of the ambient radio playing in the background. You felt his hands drift under the waistband of your pants and underwear to grope at your ass as he guided you across his clothed erection. It felt so good, your eyes rolled every time you even thought about what was hiding under his pants.

Lucky for him, your waistband was stretchy. Genma didn’t even need to pull your pants down, he just angled his wrists out and they slowly rolled down on their own. Once the entirety of your ass was revealed to the air you lifted your legs up one at a time, allowing him to help you completely discard your pants. After they were fully off, he stopped kissing you and angled his jaw to the side so he could rest his chin on your shoulder. He reached his right hand between your legs from the back and ran a finger through your sopping wet cunt.

“Gen-!” you cried out, practically falling limp against him. You could almost feel the smirk he had on his face as he moved to pump his index and middle finger in and out of you. You couldn't see him, but you knew his mannerisms well enough to get a good idea of what face he was making. His left hand was groping your ass as he worked you with his right. You were involuntarily pushing your hips further onto his fingers, you needed everything he could give you.

“You're doing so well for me,” he purred, his voice low and erotic.

You were quiet, biting your lip as you tried to muffle your squeaks of pleasure. Your hands were buried in his hair as if it was the only thing grounding you. Your nipples were being stimulated as they rubbed against his bare chest, blessing you with yet another wonderful sensation.

After a few moments, he pulled his fingers out of you. You whined in annoyance, but he gently shushed you, kissing your shoulder in comfort. He then reached further under you until his middle finger came in contact with your clit, his thumb now replacing where it had been previously.

You sobbed out a high pitch moan as he rubbed circles around your clit. He found the perfect angle and you could feel your impending orgasm bubble up. You were panting and mewling as he worked you.

Genma knew you were getting close by the way you were squirming against him, it only egged him on. He kept a steady pace as he rubbed gentle circles around your clit, knowing consistency was the easiest way to make a woman cum. He had found the perfect angle for you and he wasn’t going to waste it.

“You’re doing such a good job,” he whispered into your ear, enunciating your name at the end. “It’s okay, sweet girl, you can cum for me.”

You nodded your head vigorously

“Wanna cum for you, Genma. Wanna be your good girl,” you babbled between moans.

Your heavy panting soon picked up speed and you stopped being able to hear anything over the beating of your heart. Your body was already trembling as you approached your climax.

Genma continued to praise and coo at you, he knew this was it.

“Gen-, gonna-,” was the last thing you managed to get out before your orgasm hit you. You let out a choked scream as your eyes rolled back. You saw stars as Genma worked you through your climax with more gentle circles on your clit. Soon though, you started trembling really hard and you were beginning to get overstimulated. Genma didn’t want to be mean, so he pulled his hand away from you and you slumped against him.

Now it was his turn to groan as he felt your bare, soaked pussy land atop the outline of his clothed cock. He knew how ready you were for him, your slick had dripped down the back of his hand all the way to his wrist as he fingered you earlier. He could hardly wait to feel you around him.

Genma lightly held you, bringing his right hand up to pet your hair. He didn't even care that he was getting it sticky with the release you dripped onto his hand earlier.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, coaxing you out of your slump.

You pulled away from him and looked up at him with your pretty, bloodshot eyes. You backed up off of his lap, fully nude and perfect. Genma was entranced by your beauty, his high making you seem nothing short of a goddess. He watched as you reached out and placed your hand over his cock. He groaned out and lightly bucked up into you as you palmed him.

“Genma, I wanna see,” you drawled.

“Anything for you,” he smiled in response.

He moved to hook his hands under the waistband of his pants, lifting his hips to roll them down. You watched him intently, slowly blinking as he revealed the rest of his body to you. He was absolutely perfect.

Your mouth watered at the sight of him. His hair was disheveled and sticking to various parts of his flushed face, his chest was rising and falling with heavy inhales, and his perfect, thick cock bobbed against his lower abdomen. He swallowed as he watched a drip of slick from your cunt roll down your inner thigh.

You reached your right hand out and wrapped your fingers around his cock, rubbing small circles over the head. His cock was heavy and warm with a drop of precum threatening to roll down the tip. Genma groaned and sighed as you familiarized yourself with it.

You leaned over, maneuvering yourself to rest on your stomach. You couldn't bear to not taste him, so you allowed your tongue to lick over the tip, picking up the bead of precum that had been resting there. He tasted absolutely divine.

You gently wrapped your lips around just the head of his cock, licking and sucking the tip. Your hand pumped the lower part of his shaft. Your movements were slow and lazy, his panting and groaning encouraging you. You knew you could easily stay here, sucking his delicious cock for hours, but today wasn't the day.

Genma moved his fingers to your head, lifting you off of him. He proceeded to guide your lips up to his again and you crawled up to meet him.

His kisses were so soft and deep, you never thought he would be such a sensual lover. You always figured he'd be more of a player, quick and rough, just from his personality. But he never actually talked about his sexual exploits, not even when you and your friends were all young and horny. Right now, he was treating you like he loved you, it warmed your heart and broke it all at once.

Now you were straddling Genma again, this time the both of you were fully nude. Your slick pussy caught against his cock every once in a while as you moved against him. His hands came down to rest on your waist, helping guide your hips back and forth over him.

Soon, you began getting impatient. You reached between your bodies and grabbed his cock, angling it towards your cunt. But before you could sink down on him, he stopped you. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes.

“I-,” he stuttered out, “I don't know if I could ever be the man you're looking for, the man you deserve,” he trailed off, “but maybe just for tonight.”

His words made your bloodshot eyes well up with tears. You just smiled at him and leaned in to kiss him again. He brought one of his hands to your cheek and wiped away the stray tear droplets.

As you kissed Genma, you still held his cock angled towards your core. You sank down on it, and both of you sighing in relief as he bottomed out. He filled you up so perfectly, stretching you in all the right ways.

You pulled away from the kiss and wiped the stray strands of hair away from his pretty face. His eyes were closed and his brows were furrowed as you began riding him, small moans were escaping his mouth.

You were letting out sounds of pleasure as he ran his hands across your body. Everything felt absolutely perfect, and your shared high made you so sensitive, increasing your pleasure exponentially.

Genma soon opened his eyes as he guided you up and down. He noticed your gaze was fixed, watching his cock disappear in and out of you. Eventually your eyes made their way back up, locking with his.

In that moment, a wave of images flashed through Genma’s eyes. He saw how you looked when you first met, how you teased him growing up, even though he only ever played along, never giving you the satisfaction of successfully messing with him. He saw your pretty smile when you and your friends went on a picnic, he spent that whole day trying not to let it slip that he was absolutely enamored by the beauty you exuded in your sundress. He thought of the way you laughed loudly when you were high, not caring about anything else. He saw the bittersweet expression you gave him the day you told him that you were going to transfer to the academy, no longer joining him on missions. He even saw memories of things that never happened. He saw you on your wedding day as you walked down the aisle towards him, he saw you pregnant with his baby, and he saw you surrounded by your shared children.

Genma was absolutely in love with you. He wanted to be the man you chose to spend your life with, but right now he didn’t have a life to give you. It hurt, the idea of you settling down with someone else, but he couldn’t hold you back for his own selfish reasons. He had to let you fly free and make your own choices, it wouldn't be fair to prevent you from building a family now by making you wait for him.

His face wasn’t showing the complex emotions he was feeling, it just conveyed the pleasure of great sex. Genma couldn't help but pull you flush against him again. If he couldn't have you forever, if this was his only chance, he needed to feel all of you right now.

You were mewling and whimpering against him, pussy tightening as he thrust up into you. He felt so amazing and you couldn't get enough.

Genma began peppering kisses against you, against your face, your neck, your shoulder. He then brought a hand between you and started rubbing circles around your clit again.

You were practically sobbing against him as you bounced on his cock. He knew he wasn't going to last long either. Your name escaped his mouth, and his escaped yours. You were babbling praises and he was showering you with affection.

“Where do you want it?” he asked as he strained against you.

“Inside, Gen, please I need it inside,” you cried out.

“Are you sure? I won't do it if you aren't sure,” he choked out.

“Yes Genma- please, I need it, I trust you,” you responded.

His heart fluttered at the sound.

The feeling of him inside of you and the pressure he was putting on your clit was too much, you were about to cum. You could tell that he was about to as well.

You screamed out as your orgasm hit you, his hitting at the same time. He pulled your body as tightly against him as possible as he milked himself into you, letting out a mixture of praises, expletives, and your name.

He couldn't remember the last time he came this hard, and neither could you.

As you came down from your shared high, your heartbeats slowed and your bodies relaxed. He hugged you and rubbed soothing circles on your back.

He wanted to tell you he loved you, but he knew he couldn't. He knew saying it would come with expectations, expectations he couldn't meet. The last thing he wanted to do was break your heart and hold you back from your dreams.

You leaned back, pulling Genma in for another deep kiss, his cock still buried inside you. This kiss was gentle, it wasn't a kiss of lust, but one of pure love.

He melted into you, smiling.

“Genma, thank you, thank you for taking care of me,” you praised. You wanted to tell him you loved him, but you knew it would only put a pressure on him that he didn't need. You really had always loved him, but you never acted on it. You knew he would always be just out of reach.

Eventually, you began to get up, smiling at him as you pulled off. You found your panties and pulled them on, along with your shirt. Once you were slightly decent, you walked over to his bathroom to go take your post-sex pee and freshen up.

As the bathroom door closed, he got up and found his briefs, pulling them on. He picked up the ashtray with the half smoked joint and put it on his desk, he also cleared away both of your discarded water cups.

He was undeniably tired, the late hour mixed with the weed was starting to hit him. So, he crawled into his bed.

After a few minutes, you walked out of the bathroom and saw him in his bed, pressed up next to the wall. He left his covers folded over, inviting you to get in.

“Come here,” he smiled, “ I’m not gonna make you walk home at this hour, especially not in the state you’re in.”

Your face lit up with joy and you ran over to crawl into the bed with him, settling with your head against his chest, his arm wrapped around you. You both breathed in a slow, steady rhythm, quickly drifting off to sleep.

You woke up with sunlight filtering through the gaps in Genma’s closed blinds. For a moment, you forgot where you were, but you quickly remembered. You were engulfed by Genma’s scent, his heart was beating under your ear, and his arm was still wrapped around you. You smiled to yourself as you blinked away the sleep.

You slowly angled your head up to look at him and his eyes met yours, he was already awake. He smiled at you with pure adoration.

Looking at you waking up next to him, Genma swore to himself that if you still weren't married by the time he was ready to settle down, he would do it himself.

[helloiamadrawer]

Hello my friend; I wanted to see if you could do a headcanon or story on Android 17 x Saiyan!Reader who's also Goku's daughter and who is also a black!reader? (You can make it both SFW and NSFW!!)🤗👌🏾❤️‍🔥

Android 17 x Black! Saiyan who is Goku's Daughter

a/n: Hi @lelewright1234 unfortunately I can't do nsfw ( I may do that on a later event but not this one sorry!) but I will make it fluffy and romantic for ya!

Ok it may seem stereotypical but 17 listens to Kendrick Lamar as he cruises through the park with you in his dune buggy, making sure everything is okay and the animals are safe and you ofc

You always admired his love for animals, as you had a liking towards them as well, so whenever you got the chance to patrol, he would ask if you would like to come along if you werent busy

As you are a Saiyan, you and 17 train to maintain your power (cause Goku is mostly NOT present cause he is out training with his rival friend Vegeta) or just for plain fun

and per chance sometimes you two place silly bets on whoever loses 🤭

Cause you prefer defending yourself sometimes and who knows if you end up alone and someone tries to run up on you, the usual defense methods

You asked him once if you could dread or braid his hair and he was totally cool with it as he had no idea what you were going to do but it turned out pretty cool! (Tbh, android 17 in dreads is like a new cool style he would rock it!)

showering you in kisses just out of nowhere really hehe

Your laugh almost sounds just like your father's and 17 just finds it so cute like its his magnum opus of happiness

Sci fi movie nights

Hear me out: Arcade dates because he knows every game and would beat you at all of them (he'd let you win at least one tho and he basically won all the prizes for you such a sweetheart 🥰)

Sugar Daddy 17? 😳😳🤔 just a thought..

You tried teachimg him a bit of gen z lingo but the only word that looks good on him is 💫s l a y💫 you laughed so hard when he tried to put it in a sentence when you were cooking something one day and he goes, "Wow, that smells so slay babe." next thing he sees is you half bent over laughing and 17 is just confused "Omg, you are such a card 17! But nice try though honey, we'll have to brush up more on that."

Did i forget that Bulma once let him rent one of her super dope yachts to 17? Yk, after the TOP and stuff? Yeah he did it again for yall's second year anniversary of being together;a cruise date! complete with flowers, a nice candlelit dinner with a amazing view of the sunset descending over the sea, it was beautiful and romantic at the same time. You couldn't help but think to yourself 'How did i get so lucky?'

a/n: annd...thats about it! Hope you liked it!

[khunyuki]

"I've lived my life with blade and you always in my mind"

ꜱɪᴅᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ: 𝚐. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚝...

Synopsis: Narumi Gen is really frustrated at the fact that his crush, his soldier, his platoon leader, and his friend whom he thought he had something special with, was actually his rival's fiancee.

Pairing/s: Unrequited!Narumi Gen x OC

Note/s: Part 2 of side story d! Letter g for Gen!

Genre: Angst

Masterlist: TOC, Previous, Next

Narumi Gen and Uzui Kagami are friends despite their positions as captain and officer. It was something the rest of the First Division knows yet they think that there's something else going on. There were rumors that officer Uzui is dating the Vice Captain of the Third Division but they deem it as unreliable information.

Why? Well...

It's because they think their captain and her are secretly dating.

They watch as their captain sip on his four seasons shake under the parasol while leisurely leaning on his deckchair. Some unfortunate officers were fanning him like servants. It would seem like he's on a vacation at the beach but in reality, he's just barking out orders while watching the new recruits train. Once he got bored, he started playing on his game console.

'This is tyranny' everyone thought as they watch their captain chilling on the side while they suffer from the harsh sunlight as they train. They couldn't help but feel envy and annoyed as there is nothing they could do about it. Even their vice captain and other platoon leaders couldn't do anything as he gives out advice while doing so.

All hope seems to be lost as they suffer from who knows how long until they saw their savior. Their savior in the form of a woman whom they keep underestimating yet never relenting. She appeared like a ghost that is always there whenever she's needed.

They watch as their captain suddenly perk up like a dog seeing his owner. He started talking to her excitedly while she just listen to him calmly. Only after he finished talking did she respond to him, obviously scolding him for his wrong display of authority. It wasn't the shouting type like their vice captain but rather the gentle parenting type. Their captain must've said something as they saw her rub her temples and sigh, then she picked him up like a princess and left to their destination.

That is exactly the reason why they think those two are going out. Their captain obviously have a crush on her from how he reacts whenever she's around. Officer Uzui usually have this cold aura around her that makes one unable to approach but that seem to disappear whenever their captain is involved. Their closeness is evident, mostly because of the skinship they show. No normal person would carry and hug someone they don't like right???

"See! They're totally going out!"

"It's weird combination but they really compliment each other well"

"I ship captain Narumi x officer Uzui"

Mentions of them suiting each other and how they ship them together makes Narumi Gen feel so giddy like a teenager. He's proud yet a bit disappointed. If only there wasn't any Hoshina Soshiro around, he would've make a move on her a long time ago.

"You were just smiling then now you're frowning. Are you experiencing mood swings now, Gen-kun?"

Hearing her call him Gen-kun always gives him so much pleasure, he would squirm like a worm if he wasn't in her arms at the moment. He's really happy that she's comfortable enough with him to even joke around that he daydreams in her arms of what they could be, unintentionally ignoring her in tbe process.

"Weirdo"

Seeing as he wasn't responding, stuck in his own world, she just shook and head and ignored him. She couldn't guess why he was acting like that at all, rather she doesn't even try as most of the time he's like that. It's a good news for him that she doesn't know cause she would've broken his spirits if she did. This woman have excellent hearing that could reach far away yet she just lets it in one ear out the other. She doesn't bother listening or understanding what people say as she thinks it's just insults towards her yet again.

Narumi Gen thinks that maybe he would have a chance if he try but looking at her face, he's back in his cowardice. From what he read in his mangas and novels, arranged marriages that started from childhood doesn't work out in the long run. The protagonist's true love would appear and take her away from her fiance that she doesn't have a good relationship with. On one hand, she could ditch that bastard Hoshina and be with him instead. On the other, it could strengthen their bond and leave him alone in his misery. He didn't want to take that risk.

=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=

Hibino Kafka, otherwise known as Kaiju No.8, is someone Narumi Gen has yet to recognize. He's the reason Kagami no longer has any time for him and gets scolded by the higher ups every time she visits him. He also hurt the person he respects the most, the Director General of the Defense Force, Shinomiya Isao, right in front of his very eyes. There's no way he could forgive that so easily. Cuz what if he goes out of control again and hurt Kagami this time around?

Uzui Kagami was getting reprimanded for trying to befriend Kaiju no.8 for the 5th time this week. If she continues, there's a high chance she'd get suspended and no longer be capable of helping. But she perseveres as this was something her fiancee requested of her and she'll see it through no matter what. Even if she has to lie and make things up to other people, just so she could keep a close eye on Hibino Kafka.

As soon as she left the room, she was greeted by the sight of her captain leaning against the wall. She knows why he's here and it's for the same reason as the last 4 times she was summoned.

"I heard you're going to be suspended if you keep this up. Why go so far for that guy?"

No longer does he call Kafka as Kaiju No.8 in front of her since she'd frown and ignore him if he did. She wasn't normally so stubborn yet she keeps in insisting this time.

"He's interesting. A human turning into a kaiju. This is the first time something like that has happened"

Like a broken record, she repeated her reply o that question for the 5th time. She started walking back to her squad. A platoon leader like her should be watching over her squad right now instead of whatever she's doing.

"Is it because of Hoshina? I'm right, aren't I?"

She came to an abrupt stop and turn to her captain that was following behind her, maintaining an unbothered expression.

"I don't know how Vice Captain Hoshina is involved in all of this, sir"

Gen realized that he must've hit the right vein. It was just a suspicion as he couldn't really believe it himself. There's no way she'd be that stubborn just because it involves her fiance.

"He's your fiance, right? He must've asked you to risk your safety just to watch over that guy. You try to lie but you reveal yourself by calling me sir"

She looks directly at where his eyes are covered by his bangs as he stares into her own.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I am doing this out of my own volition not because he asked me to"

"You're so stubborn. I just don't want you getting hurt"

He pushed back his hair due to frustration. Can't she see that he's worried about her? He only wants her to be safe away from that kaiju yet she willingly goes in harm's way just because of her damned fiance.

"I appreciate your concern but I can handle myself. If you'll excuse me, my squad needs me"

She saluted as she left him alone in the hallway. In the end, she chooses to protect her fiance's name by keeping quiet. He hates it. Why? Just why can't it be him? Why can't it be him that she cares about?

He wanted to chase after her and hold her in his arms as he confesses his feelings towards her. He wanted her to look back and return to his side but as he gazes at her disappearing back, he realized that he's powerless and that there's nothing he could do. He's called as Japan's Strongest yet in front of her, his title is insignificant compared to the man he proclaimed as his rival.

=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=

Months after the Anti-No. 9 Eastern Divisional Conference that was held in Ariake Maritime Base, the Third Division kept having joint training exercises with the First Division.

That means Narumi Gen will see his rival's face over and over again. The rivalry between the two divisions are as clear as day and has become even more evident recently. Maybe because they all knew of the love triangle happening between Captain Narumi, Vice Captain Hoshina, and Platoon Leader Uzui. The First Division is filled with GenxKagami shippers while the Third Division roots for SoshiroxKagami.

All of the sparks thrown between them while the main cause of all this is oblivious to it all, having only her fiance in her mind. She always tries to keep it professional as she avoids the Third Division upon the insistence of the division. She'd still be her captain's babysitter who was even harder to manage whenever they're at the base. She tries, she really does but if Soshiro ever calls for her, she's immediately be by his side.

Uzui Kagami is professional while at work. She doesn't let romance go in her way but Gen knows. She'd bend and break the rules all for the sake of her love.

That's why he feels so sick to his stomach as he saw them stealing kisses with each other when they think no one is around. Maybe they know and that they're doing it on purpose. He wouldn't put it past that sly fox when he saw him looking at his direction as he watches them.

He hates it.

He hates this.

That should be him.

He could feel his heart breaking into pieces as that bastard tramples on it until it turns into sand and is gone with the wind.

He couldn't bear watching the woman he loves with another.

So he just walked away.

=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=

Notes/s: Thanks for the idea @imthecosmicbasball! I dedicate the last part to you!

<- Previous Next ->

[demigod-shenanigans]

Have not posted about mine and @queenjunothegreat’s next gen kids in way too long so: Pipeyna kiddie

-Her name is Emilia McLean. Her go-to nickname is Em. When she’s in trouble, Piper calls her Lea. Yes, she‘s named after Leo. He would not stop wailing when he was told about this.

-Em is Sofía’s best friend. She’s three years older than Sofía and they grow up considering each other sisters. (Good luck trying to tell Sofía they’re not sisters because they’re not related, she’s not related to her dads either and they’re still her dads, so checkmate)

-When they were small, Sofía followed Em around like a little duckling, insisting to play whatever Em was playing and do whatever Em was doing. There’s nothing these two wouldn’t do for each other. (Also yes I gave them matching earrings in different colors because they’re dorks and they would.)

-Em loves skirts and dresses and putting her hair up in fancy braids. Reyna’s got the braiding covered due to her time on Circe’s island, but when Em asked her moms to show her how to do her makeup, they were both sweating profusely because Piper hasn’t let anyone put makeup on her since she was twelve and Reyna’s just never really bothered with it? They spent like an hour trying to watch a makeup tutorial before giving up and admitting they need help. Hylla never lets Reyna live it down, but Emilia is thrilled because “the queen of the Amazons taught me how to do my makeup” is a pretty cool thing to brag about. (There was a discussion on whether or not to call Drew instead but in the end they settled on Hylla because they knew Hylla would be annoying but not as overly smug about it.)

-Drew absolutely takes Em clothes shopping sometimes because she’s decided Reyna and Piper are both useless. Piper lets it happen because it makes Em happy but is also fuming about it. Reyna is honestly just grateful to be getting out of clothes shopping lmao her closet is almost entirely made up of work outfits.

-Piper and Reyna have a rescue dog named Kitty (Em named her when she was three, in honor of that the name is spelled in all caps in all official documents) and Em loves that dog so much. It’s entirely mutual. Kitty is wildly protective of Em and will bite people if they so much as look at her weird.

-Leo is Em’s chaotic fun uncle and they get into so many shenanigans together. Jason is a significantly less chaotic uncle than his husband but somehow always ends up caught in the crossfire of their uncle-niece shenanigans.

-Leo being the chaotic fun uncle inevitably comes back to bite him when Em takes a page out of his book and starts getting into shenanigans with Sofía. Piper is absolutely cackling in the background.

Some more lore stuff under the cut since this is getting kind of long

-Em is actually the only next gen child named specifically after another demigod. This is both because Leo is close friends with her moms and because in a universe where names have power, choosing the name of the guy who beat the odds and quite literally rewrote fate—who defied death not once but twice so he could have his happy ending—is the greatest blessing Piper can think to give her daughter.

-Leo has thought of himself as a curse for a large chunk of his life. The concept of having his name used as a blessing is something he never fully recovers from.

-Speaking of names: Reyna’s bloodline and family legacy was meant to be intricately tied to New Rome’s survival. It ruined her life and took away almost her entire childhood. She happily laid her family name to rest and took Piper’s when they married. They mostly live in the mortal world and her ties with New Rome aren’t nearly as strong as they used to be when she was growing up, but there’s a part of her is terrified that this will come back to haunt her daughter one day. She never tells her daughter about Bellona’s prophecy. She won’t allow for her to grow up with the future of New Rome on her shoulders.

-Emilia is a natural leader. Aside from her general proficiency with various weapons, her main power is a sort of motivational charmspeak—not quite Piper’s ability to control others, and not quite Reyna’s ability to project her own emotions outward, but a milder combination of both that allows her to demand the attention of other demigods, instill confidence in those listening to her and rally her troops. Everyone knows she’d be a praetor at Camp Jupiter in no time, and it terrifies Reyna.

-But Em is a legacy of Aphrodite and Bellona both. She has a place at Camp Half-Blood as well as Camp Jupiter. And when the time comes for her to choose, she chooses Camp Half-Blood and goes back to live with her moms once the summer is over. Reyna nearly cries with relief.

-Maybe Leo’s name worked. Maybe the prophecy won’t be of any relevance until they’ve all long passed, many generations down the line. But Em strays from the path that seemed so set for her. She’s free, in a way Reyna never was.

[the-lisechen]

~6.7k. gen. copia/f!oc. the cardinal has a cigarette with a fan. from there, it gets a little weird. (or: copia gets into a fist fight at 3am in a denny's parking lot over theology. metaphorically speaking.)

header by the divine @enjoy-my-swearing

(the fic that started it all and has eaten my brain ever since. don't mind me, i just wanted to reformat this one and also have it on my tumblr for posterity)

some kind of cosmic rearrangement - ao3

(full series here)

religious discussion, catholic character that isn't an asshole, unresolved sexual tension. tw: catholicism

Copia stepped out into the night, face paint mostly cleaned off, save for the black around his eyes. He couldn't even remember the name of the town they were in. Somewhere in the American South, the air warm and heavy with humidity that felt like silk against his skin. He settled his shoulders against the brick of the alleyway, and sighed, his blood still fizzing from the ritual. The comedown from the adrenaline dump always left him a little hollowed out and shaky.

As he passed a hand over his face, the car in front of him trilled out like a bird and flashed its lights. He turned to the sound of boots up the wet pavement. A small figure, female, dishwater blonde hair, head down, hands stuffed into black skinny jeans. Humming something he could recognize as one of his songs, and that never got old.

He watched her approach, curious. When she at last stepped into the light, she looked up at him, and startled like a deer. Her hands flew up to her mouth, and she squeaked out a breathless “Oh shit!” It took her a moment to recover, and my, wasn't that an interesting shade of pink. He’d seen people blush, of course, but this was remarkable, that red, that quickly.

He had to smile, even bowing a little. “Bunoasera, signora."

"Um! Hi! You are very good at your job!"

Her purse plopped next to her feet, and she knelt down to recollect it, the blush deepening to the color of late spring roses. "Sorry, I'm sorry--" she said, hands shaking as she scooped spilled detritus back into her purse, pens and lip balm spilling from her fingers.

He bent over to help her, smiling. "It is no trouble, signora. Not the worst I've seen." He paused, sitting back on his heels, and picked up a battered paperback the color of burnt orange. "'The Liberation of Theology.'" He looked up at her, mismatched eyes sharp, assessing. "This is what you read? At my show?"

The girl-- woman, really-- went still. She got to her feet and took half a step back, widening her stance, her shoulders squared. "Yeah." She tilted her chin up. "Is it really that strange?"

He flipped it to read the back cover, and her spine relaxed a fraction, with his focus off of her. "Perhaps... somewhat unexpected." An understatement. He stood, slow, putting himself further into her personal space, eyes still on the text in his hand. He read the subtitle. "'An instrument in human liberation.' Has it been?" He looked down at her, not exactly trying to loom, but not exactly going out of his way not to. "In your experience."

The woman folded her arms, leaning back against her car. Keeping her distance. "It can be. It should be." She flipped her keyring, once. "And in my experience? Yes, actually. But I am fully aware my experience may be-- atypical."

"In what way?"

"Well." She looked up, exposing the long pale line of her throat, and her Southern accent became gradually more apparent as she spoke. "I converted to Catholicism. Not really from anything, you understand, unless you count the vaguely agnostic Protestant background noise in America. And I did my catechism classes with a Capuchin Franciscan. A lot of mysticism. And a lot of social action to offset the navel-gazing that comes with that. The culture was-- it's different. I mean, how much do you know about liberation theology?"

"For the purposes of this conversation?" He idly tapped her book against his thigh. "Let us say... not much."

"In simple terms: feed the hungry, clothe the naked. Like the guy said in the book, right? It's both defending the poor and taking aim at the structural issues that are actively oppressing people. Real basic."

"You need a God to tell you this?"

He saw her warming to the subject, eyes alight and not quite on his. "Of course not, but it's a useful framework. And some people do! Whatever provides incentive. Besides that, it works on a practical level, if the Church is your primary social apparatus, that's a structure in place to distribute resources if the state is failing. I mean, the Jesuit approach in South America is not quite the same as the Black church in the Civil Rights movement in the USA in the Sixties, but it's not too far off, either. It's like--" and she cut herself off, the blush coming back, eyes cast downward. "It's just what's supposed to happen. What it says on the tin."

He ruffled the pages with a gloved hand a few times, watching her. "Incentive." He gestured at her with the book, halfway to accusatory. "If someone is doing something in expectation of divine reward, then they are, I'm afraid, an asshole."

"Man, I truly do not care about the motive. I care about the effect it has on the world. But faith without works is dead."

"You believe this."

"Yeah."

"You are this passionate about it, and yet you came to see me. My songs are nothing but blasphemy. Why?"

"Look, as blasphemy goes-- and I'm not trying to denigrate anything you're doing here-- this is just not that big a deal."

He stared at her. "I am literally praising the devil. Literal songs about, literally, devil worship."

"Yeah, and it slaps. Can I have my book back?"

He held it out carefully, as if it was a chunk of meat and she was a strange animal. One that might bite. "What is it, then, that qualifies as blasphemy? In your opinion."

She took it, opened the backseat door to her car, and tossed it in, careful not to turn her back on him. "I dunno. Start with that 'prosperity gospel' bullshit. 'If you're rich, it's because Jesus wants you to be rich!' Joel Osteen can bite the fucking curb. It's lazy exegesis, is what it is." Again, he saw her restrain herself, and she ran a hand through her hair, embarrassed. "I can go on. Obviously. But I think if you're getting bent out of shape about this kind of thing, you need to reassess your priorities."

"No, this is-- at least amusing. You haven't chased us out with torches and pitchforks yet, so I will continue to assume good faith." He smiled. "So to speak."

"Trust me, I am leaving a lot of stuff out." She fished around in her purse, picked out a brilliantly blue pack of cigarettes, and tapped them rhythmically on the heel of her hand. "So what's your deal? I don't know a lot about theistic Satanism. Pop the hood on it, man, tell me how it works."

"In simple terms?"

"Sure." She cracked a smile, thumbing a cigarette out of the pack.

"We honor the serpent that brought knowledge to Eve, as a liberator from the oppression of the corrupted demiurge that you call God."

"The snake, this was one of those gnostic things, right? That was, what, the Ophites? I thought they found it at Nag Hammadi."

"Fragments. References. But we have had the Syntagma for centuries. This was Hippolytus, yes? We borrowed a few things from Marcion of Sinope, as well. From those texts, and other pieces of what you would call apocrypha, we solidified a doctrine. Eventually. These things take time, no? Remind me, when did your people decide on the canon?"

"Council of Rome. I wanna say three..." she tapped the unlit cigarette, "...eighty seven? Somewhere in there. Fourth century, anyway."

"Just so. As a, you'd say-- distinct movement, yes? I would say sometime around the twelfth century that we came together."

"Hold on, twelfth century, evil demiurge-- what was this, like a splinter of the Cathars?"

"Not unrelated. When it came to that kind of dualism, we merely decided to side with the physical world."

"By running straight to the devil."

"Eh. No half measures."

"I'm just kinda surprised it got traction in that environment."

"Mostly on the-- margins, you would say? We had solidified the clerical structure some time before, modeled on the Catholic church. Camouflage, yes? But it was with the obvious corruption of the fourteenth century that we started to gain momentum. Acolytes. A whisper network of proselytization."

"That is neat. Like, what, a Dark Reformation kind of thing?"

"...That is, perhaps, somewhat reductive. But not inaccurate."

"Oh that is so cool. It's like finding a whole new life form in the Marianas Trench. No, I can see a kind of sense to it. Get far enough away from Rome, look as close as you can to the actual Church, you might get away with it."

"They did burn us. Your people did do that."

"I am sure that they did," she said, with a certain blithe amicability. "Burnt a lot of Cathars, too, makes sense. Sir-- Father-- I'm sorry. What is the title?"

"Cardinal."

A blink, barely perceptible. "Cardinal, then. Your Eminence, if you want me to stand here and apologize for every atrocity the Church committed, we're gonna be here all night, and it'll get boring quick. And, forgive me, at what point have I attached a moral judgment over your faith?"

He spread his hands, smiling a little. "Very well, I concede the point. You can understand if I am somewhat-- defensive."

"Yeah, of course." She grinned, mostly to herself. "And here I am, a good Catholic girl. Everything you rail against."

"Eh. It could be worse. You could be a Baptist."

She let out a laugh at that, an entirely inelegant sound, and Copia felt as if he'd won something.

"Oh. No. No, I couldn't. Too diffuse. A million different opinions going every which way. I'm also not into sola fide--"

"'By faith alone.'"

"Yeah. Not my bag. If it doesn't inspire you to help your fellow human beings and not just focus on your own salvation, it's probably bullshit." Finally she put the cigarette she'd been fidgeting with into her mouth. "Man. Cathars and gnostics." The woman brought out a burnished zippo and flipped the lid, a faintly musical sound. She didn't light her cigarette, but shot him a sidelong look, eyes alight. "Sounds more like heresy than outright blasphemy."

"Oh, now I'm offended." He was not, in fact, offended. He was fascinated. He wanted to study her under a microscope. "Certainly, that's the first time I've heard that. Maybe I should send you to talk to the-- ehh, how is it? The protestors. What do you call, the evangelicals, yes?"

"They don't like Catholics, either. The veneration of Mary, y'know? Idolatry." Finally she sparked the lighter, her face turning to alabaster in the light of the flame. "We're both going to hell in their lights. Just different neighborhoods." She bent her head to the light. A long drag on the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke upwards. "So no, I don't think going to a concert counts as a sin. There's just some songs I can't sing along to, is all."

Copia leaned back against the wall, arms folded, considering her. "You know that your Church would call this blasphemy. What is it, then, that you think I'm doing, if not spreading the word of Satan?"

A long drag of her cigarette. "Sick tunes, man," she said, around the smoke. Shrugged. "It's fun. And fun is underrated, as a concept."

"Signora, I don't think 'fun' is what brought you here." He leveled her with his mismatched stare, and she dropped her eyes.

"No," she said, studying the cherry on her cigarette. "No, fun would not be enough."

He took a step closer, not quite edging into her personal space. "What, then? What could possibly bring you to deny your programming, when you clearly believe with such conviction?"

The back of her shoulders hit the top of her car, but she tilted her head up at him in challenge. "Call it joy, then." A defiant kind of vulnerability. "That's what I hear in your songs. And that's a rarer thing."

"What a monstrous thing, to deny joy. To yourself, to others. That sounds to me like blasphemy. What abnegation of the self. We are not hurting anyone. I am not hurting anyone. Why not do as you like?"

"'An it harm none, do as thou wilt.'"

"Precisely."

"Isn't that, what, Louÿs by way of Crowley? Nineteenth century. I thought your stuff was older than that."

"That is beside the point and you know it. Answer me."

"Because that's where it falls apart for me! To begin and end with 'do no harm' does not work. You cannot always do exactly as you like, you have an obligation in society! Feed the hungry. 'Do what you want, whatever,' that's too passive. And being passive in the face of oppression is oppression! Come on, man, you must know this. You're too smart not to know this."

"I'm sorry, you want to talk about oppression? With the literal Catholic Church? With the colonialism and the forced conversion and the actual literal Inquisition? Even laying that aside, the harm it's doing now, how can you still stay with it?"

"Because that's not all it is! Not all it could be. Because it can be just, it can be equitable, and it can be used as a tool for liberation. I believe that, I do. And if if I'm in it-- and oh boy you would not believe how much I'm in it-- then I have a moral obligation to try to shape it towards those ends. Because those people--" she flung a hand out, gesturing towards what, he couldn't say, and he took a step back. "Those bullshit assholes that want to strip people of healthcare and gut the social safety net-- they're in my house! And they don't get to fucking win."

"You must see that this is about control. You are too smart not to know this."

The woman slumped back against her car, and took another long drag on her cigarette, before dropping it and crushing it under her boot, an oddly fussy swiveling motion. "I dunno, man. For me it's about service. You just don't fix something by walking away. And anyway I'm committed."

"I think you are tilting at windmills." He watched her, the last tendrils of cigarette smoke from her exhale the same blue-grey of her eyes, letting the silence linger until the smoke cleared entirely. "What is your name?"

She flicked her eyes back up at him, and then away, coming to a decision. "Sophia Turner." She bit her lip. "Sophie."

"Sophie. That's lovely."

"Thank you. And what do I call you? Feels a little weird, saying 'Your Eminence' to a guy whose faith you don't subscribe to."

He tilted his head in the faintest approximation of a bow, biting back a smile. "Copia."

"Well. I am delighted to make your acquaintance." Her accent more pronounced with the formality, a distinctly Southern drawl.

"You say you're committed. How? You don't have to stay anywhere forever."

"Oh. Oh boy. Um." She looked down at her hands, picked at the edge of a painted nail, and then turned to him, watching his mismatched eyes for a long moment. She smiled, a little rueful. "I am taking my vows in a few months." And to his blank look-- "The Maryknoll Sisters of St. Dominic." He blinked, recoiled a little, and she flinched, turning to look down the street, not seeing the rain on the asphalt, the streetlight shining on the fire escape. "I still don't think it's a sin. But it's-- maybe a little harder to square. After that. Wanted to see you while I could."

Her face composed. No-color hair hanging in grey eyes. He wanted to reach out, to brush it away, to see her clear, to make her look at him. A gulf between them, on the narrow sidewalk. Something twisted in his chest, at the waste of it, the thought of a fire like that locked in a cloister. And yet: "I could never fault someone for devotion to their faith. The discipline is admirable. Truly. But I would-- Are you allowed? To fraternize with the enemy?"

"Well. Maybe in the spirit of friendly ecumenical dialogue." She looked up at the streetlights, shoulders tensed. She chewed at her lip. "We are allowed to have friends, you know."

He had to drop his gaze, at that, a sharp inhalation. "Ah." And again: "Ah. Hm." He looked back up at her, at the tense muscle in her jaw, her face still resolutely turned away from him. "I wonder--?"

She darted a quick look at him, not quite daring to look at him full-on, yet, and made a motion for him to continue.

He had to smile, even if it was with a little trepidation. "Do you have another cigarette?"

That rough bark of a laugh again, and yes, it felt like a victory. "Yeah. Yeah, man, sure." She pulled out the cigarette pack and extracted one, holding it out with the slightest self-deprecating hint of ceremony. He took it between his gloved fingers, careful not to touch her. When he put it to his lips she leaned in to light it in a movement that seemed both courtly and instinctual, an ingrained habit. He couldn't quite look at her when she did it, shocked by the casual intimacy of the gesture. The warmth of the flame through his gloves, the first rough hit of smoke at the back of his throat and the head-swimming nicotine rush. An awful taste, and completely satisfying. He closed his eyes at it and drew in deep, amazed all over again at how much tension dissipated on the exhale.

When the initial wave of the nicotine high had passed, the fatigue settled in, and he tilted his head back against the bricks, eyes still closed, too tired to be on guard. "Where are we? I confess, I lost track."

"...Asheville, honey." A pause."D'jeet yet?"

Well, that certainly got him to look at her. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, that was very pronounced, wasn't it? My apologies. Have you eaten?"

His brain felt like static. It was all the answer she needed. "What I figured. C'mon, I know a spot."

"I should--" He stopped, inexplicably stricken. "We're leaving in the morning. I don't remember where's next. Charleston, perhaps?"

"I'll have you home before bedtime, scout's honor." He hesitated. Gently: "I don't have designs on your virtue, Cardinal."

He was tired, and sore, and his head was starting to hurt somewhere behind his right eye. He could feel the dried sweat on himself, like a film, absolutely revolting.

"Alright," he said.

She led and he followed, falling into step at her left elbow, almost without thought. "This is the South, yes? We won't-- we might attract. Attention."

"Mm. I might would worry about it somewhere wasn't Asheville. Here'd probably be fine."

"That seems to be an awful lot of weight to put on 'probably.'"

"More worried about someone from your show running into us and losing their minds, be honest with you."

"As in, dropping their purse and squealing?" Was he enjoying this? He was.

"Oh you think you're funny. And I did not squeal."

"Heh. It was a little bit of a squeal."

"Ain't gonna argue the point with you."

The nicotine felt wonderful. He grinned up at the streetlight filtering through a magnolia tree, the orange light reflecting on the leaves, the faint citrus scent hanging in the thick air. He couldn't restrain himself. "You are not, I hope, leading me into temptation?"

"Oh, foul! Foul. Get thee behind me."

"Equally terrible, signora."

They lapsed into silence for a while. Copia came to the last quarter inch of his cigarette, pinching off one more drag before dropping it down a storm drain. The smell would linger, but it had been blissful in the moment. "So."

"So."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Barbecue joint, open all night. Just up here, actually. You had barbecue yet?"

"I have not."

"You in for a treat, then."

They rounded the corner, heading into the jaundiced sodium light of a patchy parking lot, under a flickering red neon sign. 'Little Pigs Genuine Pit BBQ.' It seemed somehow ominous, but the set of her shoulders reassured him. Somewhat. She pushed open the door with its small jangling bell to red vinyl booths, formica tabletops, wood paneling. Vinegar and roasting meat.

He could feel the eyes on them as she ordered for them both, in a dialect so thick it was almost incomprehensible to him. He stepped closer to murmur, "Coffee for me, please, signora," while he surveilled the crowd. Not outright hostile, had seen stranger things, maybe, but a collective flicker of curiosity before sliding off of them. That flat and unsympathetic gaze. Her accent helped. His obvious manners did as well. Still, he was on edge.

He stayed on edge until he slid into a booth opposite her with his back to the wall, and even then it only let up slightly, a background hum to go along with the labored air conditioning. The barbecue was very nearly worth it, salt and sweet and vinegar and umami, along with the blunt force animal pleasure at hot food after a long time without. He looked up at her, making an inarticulate noise of shocked delight through the sandwich, and she nodded in eager agreement with her mouth full. Swallowed. "I know, right?"

"You cannot convert me."

"Okay. Wasn't trying."

"If you could, this might do it."

"Welcome to the South. It's got problems, but there are compensations."

"So I see."

They lost themselves in the food for a little while, and Copia, a usually fastidious man, found that it was actually impossible to eat a barbecue sandwich neatly. After a while he gave up trying, grateful for the strange softness of American paper napkins. It made sense, if the food was like this. He eyed her iced tea, wondering about it, if that was also an American custom, or if it only applied to the region.

She caught him looking after half a second, and passed it over with barely an eyeblink of thought, the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh, and you've lost me. This is an obscene amount of sugar."

"They do call it 'sweet tea' for a reason."

"Are you sure that this isn't just colored sugar water?"

"Reasonably so. Might be accentual, brings out the depth of flavor, like. Least it isn't corn syrup."

"This is a nightmare dystopia you live in."

"Could be. Try one of them hush puppies, then you get back to me."

"Mm." Then, after following instructions, "I will concede on the food."

"Yeah. There's nowhere and nothing that's bad all the way through."

"Perhaps." He took another sip of her tea, pleased at her sputter of mock-indignation. "This brings me to where it falls apart for me. An omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, omnibenevolent God."

"That is the doctrine."

"Why, then, evil? Why suffering?"

"We going with theodicy, then?"

He motioned for her to continue, a little gleeful.

"Which answer would you like, from the, oh, four-five thousand years that this has been a question?" She tossed the rolled-up sleeve of her straw in his general direction, smiling. "Why you coming at me with this shit, man?"

"Ehh. I want to know what you think. You, not your Church."

She nodded, and poked at the ice in her tea with her straw while she gave the question the consideration it was due. Finally: "I like Simone Weil for this. You read any Simone Weil?"

"Let us say that I haven't."

"Okay." The vinyl booth squeaked as she leaned back. "This isn't necessarily unique to her, it's got a lot of similarities with-- a Jewish creation story, yeah? But creation is where God withdrew. If God is everything, for creation to exist, there has to be places where God is not. If there's places that God is not, then almost by definition they are not, inherently, holy. It's apophatic, unknowable, like John of the Cross or Kierkegaard or what have you-- I'm getting into the weeds here. Evil is the form which God's mercy takes in the world. Affliction-- she's got a specific term for this, she's talking about spiritual affliction more than physical affliction-- doesn't create human misery, so much as reveals it. And it drives us towards God."

"That sounds, if you will pardon me, fucking horrific. The act of a sadist."

"I don't know that I'm explaining this well. We are created matter, and with affliction we are consumed by God. In the Incarnation, God suffers affliction, is made matter, and consumed by us. It's reciprocal. And if you can go through affliction and still love, and recognize your fellow human being as someone else who has suffered like you, then your duty is to help."

"No, still terrible."

"How do your people explain it, then?"

"By not having an omnipotent deity, to start."

"...I walked right into that one. I surely did. Evil demiurge, again?"

"All about control," he replied, amiable.

"Fair enough. I'm not a Jesuit, I could maybe get at this better if I was. My whole thing with it is, there's a difference between affliction-- which is personal-- and, say, generalized oppression, right? The personal makes you more empathetic with the collective."

"I can see the logic there, yes. I do not know if I agree, but I can see it. But do you truly need to suffer to sympathize with another's suffering?"

She turned her glass around in her hands, focusing hard on the ridged plastic edges. "I'unno. Some things you don't understand till you've been through them. Difference between empathy and sympathy, I guess."

"This is, what. You say, 'the personal is political?'"

She cracked a grin at that. "Oh, you done a lot of reading on second-wave feminism, then?"

"Condescending and uncalled for," he said, wagging a finger at her, mock-stern.

She held up a hand. "Fair point, apologies."

"Te absolvo."

"Thank you." She turned her glass in her hands, trailing through the condensation with a chipped fingernail. "My point being. For me. Affliction leads to empathy, and empathy leads you to act. What's the quote. 'Misery as a collective fact expresses itself as an injustice that cries to the heavens.' That's Oscar Romero, I think? Yeah. Oscar Romero. Anyway the thing he gets at-- Saint Oscar Romero, excuse me, did a lot of stuff in El Salvador in the the seventies, but the idea being: turning people into commodities for economic oppression, that's sin. The idolatry of wealth, of 'national security systems,' that's sin. Divine love should be mediated through justice. Gloria dei vivens homo--"

"'The glory of God is the living person.'"

"Yeah, exactly. Romero was on some-- gloria dei vivens pauper, which I think is probably about right."

"'The glory of God is in the poor.' Hm. And how well did that work out for him?"

"Well. They shot the guy during Mass in nineteen eighty."

"A martyr's death. Isn't that what your people aspire to?"

"Not me, man. I wanna live. But yes, he did lean in hard after his friend was killed. That was an inciting incident. I won't deny it."

"So, what, it is acceptable for one death, if it spurs on 'the greater good?'" He made air quotes at her, and she frowned.

"Not gonna debate the very concept of martyrdom with you, but I'm gonna say no, of course not. But like. Me personally? Rather that than have it go to waste. Some right wing fascist chucklefuck takes me out, I'd sure hope my people'd leverage it for all it's worth."

He sat back and tipped his coffee at her. "Bleak."

"Maybe. We each owe a death. And I mean, despite the guy being beatified, he isn't even necessarily the main dude in Latin America. None of these are exactly new concepts, you understand. But as a modern movement, really, it starts in nineteen sixty-eight, with the Medellín conference in Colombia, kind of as a response to Vatican Two, and from there--" she stopped herself, and raised her glass of tea at him in mock-salute. "Minutiae. The point, and I think I'm cribbing from Ernesto Cardenal here, is that while God is love, love can only exist in accordance with equality and justice."

He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows in total skepticism. "I can only say that this has been-- the opposite of my experience. To put it in the most, eh, diplomatic terms possible."

"The Church has done horrible, fucked up things. Continues to do horrible fucked up things. In a space that big, though, there are always going to be practices that are inherently contradictory. This one is mine. And I have the benefit of being fucking right."

"You do see, don't you, how that-- attitude? Mentality, yes? Is dangerous. Even you! Even if I happen to think that you're right. Which I actually do. The benefit of Satanism, I find, is that we do have room for differences. It is, you would say, I think, built in? There is no wrong way to approach. You find your own way. Nobody will lead you, nobody will control you."

"And how far has that kind of rugged individualism progressed the reduction of human suffering?" she snapped.

"At least it doesn't perpetuate it!" he shot back.

They glared at each other over the formica, not quite snarling, equally frustrated.

The diner had gone quiet. Blank suntanned faces, the lone clink of a spoon in a coffee cup, the somehow awful bubbling of the deep fryer. A lot of people, for one in the morning, he thought. They looked at each other in mutual alarm for one tensed breath, and went for their wallets at the same time.

"No," he said, firm, fishing past Euros for American dollars. "You are taking a vow of poverty and I am an actual rockstar." He shot a stern glance at her opened mouth and felt a stab of immense satisfaction when she shut it, apparently- miraculously, even- chastised. He threw down enough to cover the bill and the tip and reached to drag her out, stopping short of actually touching her elbow at the last moment. "Come."

She went.

They escaped with the perversely jaunty ring of the bell over the door into the thick warmth of the night, and she brayed a laugh again, not quite on the edge of hysterics.

"Go, go, this could get ugly." But he was laughing, too. Madness. He'd seen these exact sort of people outside of a venue, enraged, faces red, carrying hateful picket signs. One small woman and one man frankly built like a noodle could be in real danger. Still, their laughter echoed down the gravel-lined drive they had ducked into, their boots crunching in a staccato rhythm in the stones. This was far too much adrenaline for one night, he thought.

While they slowed to a walk, he watched the fireflies darting upwards in the undergrowth, the ascending dashes of yellow-green light seeming fantastical to him, otherworldly. You heard of great masses of them, in America, but in such quantity it was like seeing a fairytale with your own eyes. They thinned out as the landscape started to shift, from residential suburbs to side streets.

"This was-- good. It was good, to get out. To talk. A lot of this, it is, ehh." He waved a hand in the general direction they were moving, to the venue, the concert, the tour. "Movement. Instinct. There is, by definition, no quiet. And that is fantastic, I enjoy it, I love what I do, I am fortunate in that. But it is not often that I get to speak about these things." The thud of their boots, and the high monotonous drone of a cicada somewhere off in the distance, blending with the faraway hiss of a car on the damp streets. "Thank you," he said, soft. "For this."

Her eyes forward, mouth closed tight. It took her a few steps before she spoke. "You are very welcome." She cleared her throat. "And I appreciate the outside perspective."

"Interesting thing, is it not? Having a vocation."

"Being called. Yes."

"What I do not understand-- and I do not wish to, as you said, litigate the very idea of martyrdom, of course--"

"Of course. That's above my pay grade anyhow."

"But the denial inherent in your practice. The self-denial. It seems to me a, hm. Turning away from joy. You say your God is love, very well. This is removed from my experience with Christians, but I do understand that it should be the intent. To claim that divinity is love and then to willingly cut yourself off from the experience of love seems to me contradictory. Not merely the physical, although that alone seems hideous. Some people of course are not interested, but this cannot be true of all your monsastics, your clergy, your unmarried."

"This is also an old question."

"You cannot tell me it is not vital. Few people are physically martyred, and I can see the value there, even if I think it grotesque. But this seems to me a martyrdom, and willing. And pointless. Everyone should be loved, yes? Is that not your very doctrine?"

"It is, but there's different kinds of love--"

"You are dissembling. Do me the courtesy, Miss Turner, of your honesty."

Copia heard her sharp intake of breath. He had stung her, and he very nearly regretted it.

"Discourtesy wasn't my aim, Cardinal. It's an old question, and people struggle. It's maybe the struggle, for most people, the stumbling block. How can I answer you? It's kind of a personal question, y'know?"

"I can see how it would be. I do not wish to intrude, but come now. What, you offer your suffering up to God? What kind of God would ask you to give up love in the very name of love? It's monstrous!"

"The standard answer is that one becomes the bride of Christ. My thinking is, in turning away from the singular, you're better able to focus on the collective. To focus, to pay attention. And attention in its highest form is prayer."

"You deny yourself. In denial, you turn away knowledge. You said this yourself, how can you understand suffering if you have not suffered? You should know joy, or else how can you understand joy? You should be free to do that, to be in the world, and the world is here! You are here, and while you are here you should be here fully. You should allow yourself to be loved!"

He had actually raised his voice, and his words hung in the thick air, almost suspended with the humidity. He couldn't take it back, and he fell silent, mortified. They had fallen to a stop.

"It's discipline," she said, helpless. She couldn't look at him, and he had to look away at her expression.

"In any case." He cleared his throat, and resumed walking. "Discipline I understand. There is discipline in my practice, you know."

"I can see that. Dedication, certainly. Seems like the whole world's against you. The dominant social climate is not accommodating to being that outspoken about, well, anything to do with sincere belief, really, but especially in your case."

"No. And in this situation, it is easy to-- tend to isolate. To stay in one's own community. Safer. Especially in a hostile environment. Anger is easy, you would say."

"Don't I know it. You do have to live in the world. I think you and I both have cause to be angry. Hell, we're probably angry at a lot of the same things. Coming at it from opposite directions, is all."

"The hypocrisy is galling," he agreed. "If I am a monster in the eyes of these people, let me be an honest monster. They feed their children poison and tell them it is virtue, to hate, to fear, I do not--" he cut himself off, blew out a laugh. "We are angry about the same things. The work is the same. We are both called to liberate, yes?"

"Yeah, I would allow that's fairly definitional."

"Here, you take that side, I will take this one, and we will meet in the middle and cast off all oppression," he said, grandly, sweeping out an arm as if he were back on stage. He echoed her smile on pure reflex.

"And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

"Julian of Norwich. An anchoress." Something in the concept, and in the simultaneous hope and resignation in her face, pierced his heart all the way through. She was remote, and lost to him, a marble statue of a saint. The nature of his ministry was to encourage pleasure, of mind and of body, and he did want to break her out of the cell she'd walled herself off into. Perhaps merely for his own satisfaction, when freedom was the whole of his law. Even her freedom to walk into her own cage. "Not so much to be consoled as to console," he said, halfway to himself, watching her.

"Francis of Assisi. But I think you knew that."

"I did."

"You are something else, aren't you?" She looked at him, pleased and reassessing. He felt seen, almost entire.

It was not an entirely comfortable feeling. "Ah," he said. "Perhaps."

He recognized, now, the alleyway they had walked down, the venue shuttered for the night. The only lights inside were deep in the back, distant. Likely everything had been packed away, or near enough. Likely the ghouls were wondering where he was. And she was small, and faith alone would not protect her.

It was too much for him. "It is very late. And I do not know if-- do you have a place to stay? This is not, I think, your home."

"I don't and it's not." She waved him off. "Was planning on just sleeping in the car. The seats fold down, I got a pillow, it's fine."

"I don't like it."

"Ain't about what you like." She dropped her head. "I apologize, that was rude."

"No, it is only--." He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "I do have a hotel room."

"No." It seemed reflexive. But he could see the split second flash of her face cracking open with sheer want. Watched her snatch her composure together just as quick, even as the afterimage lingered in his brain like the echo of a lightning strike. "No, I-- I do not think that would be a good idea."

"There is a couch, even. I could take the couch."

"Copia." Oh, and it was costing her. Painful to watch. That wretched self denial. "Please." A brittle little laugh, accent creeping back in as she forced herself to sound brighter. "I seen you bounce around that stage, you gonna need a mattress."

"Nothing you do not wish, Miss Turner. Never that," he said, as gently as he could. A breath of silence strung out in the thick air, the space of a heartbeat. "Anyways." He considered his position, took a breath, and made the leap. "It would be good to-- I would like to continue this argument. You have some time, no? Before you are-- fully committed. Come to Charleston. My guest. In the spirit of, eh, ecumenical dialogue."

That got a smile out of her. "I'll think about it."

"Please. Do."

"I will. I will think about it."

"In that case." He straightened his spine by three degrees, took the smallest step forward, and picked up her hand in both of his. Even though the gloves it made something catch behind his sternum, the stutter of some cog in engineering. He bowed over it as deeply as he ever had on stage, registered the barest breath of the smell of her, leather and nicotine and something like amber, a clean animal scent. It was only an instant, and he straightened with some regret. "I have enjoyed your company, Sophie."

"I--. Yes. Yeah. Me too." She squeezed his hand, once. "Very much. Be well, Cardinal." And then she slipped away.

He watched her carefully measured walk to her car, head held up with the dignity of the condemned. She opened her door and looked back for the space of one brief inhalation. Orpheus, he thought, nonsensically. He stared at her taillights, the red glow like eyes, the dragon's breath curl of exhaust, long after it had faded into the wide restless night.

It was another twenty minutes before one of the ghouls dragged him back inside.

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Accomplishments Gen 1 pt.75

The night Kason and M made up, Beckett never stopped by or called. M had sent him a text but didn't think much of it when he didn't respond, concluding that the date had either been really good or was another one to file with the growing list of failed dates Beckett had been on.

The next day was a free day for most of the Gratz household besides Kason, who had work. He spent the morning tending to the plants in the garden, it was secretly his baby. He had planted and nurtured every plant that grew there. Recently he decided reluctantly to leave Spirit to take over caring for the garden while he focused on work. There was a promotion coming up and with his outstanding performance, he was hoping to secure it by the end of the weekend.

M, on the other hand, had gotten the kids fed, dealt with a squabble between Venus and Aphrodite, who seemed to constantly be at each other's throats, settled them into their own individual activities, and decided she was feeling creative. For the cosmic duo, the storm was mostly behind them, which was ironic considering a huge thunderstorm was rolling into the Bay.

M was supposed to take Aphrodite to Chestnut Ridge that same Saturday but she'd gotten a call Friday night from the Ranch instruction. They'd been forced to cancel all horseback riding lessons due to the storm. The Weather channels were predicting it would be 4-days long. Dite had been looking forward to this trip all week it was all she'd talked about before school or during dinner. She had jam-packed all her free time after school and violin practice reading equestrian books or watching the Pony up Kids Channel whenever Venus wasn't hogging the Livingroom tv playing video games.

(Call takes place Friday night)

When M took the call Dite had shadowed her every move. M had paced the span of the first floor, trying to get something worked out.

M: We had classes set up for tomorrow afternoon. Yes. I understand. No, no thank you that's fine. The last weekend works just as well. I really appreciate that. Thank you again. Bye.

She'd barely removed the phone from her ear when Dite jumped her.

Aphrodite: So?!

Ishtar was in the living room watching the continued news coverage. It droned on about the strange 4 day storm affecting Chestnut Ridge but moving quickly into other areas like Evergreen Harbor and Henford-on-Bagley.

M: *sighs* Here's the deal. It's not raining here yet, but the thunderstorm is already in Chestnut Ridge and should start here later today. They don't think it's safe to take the horses out.

M was internally holding her breath. Aphrodite's' response was unexpected for any 7-year-old girl but Dite was special.

Aphrodite: That's okay Mom. I don't want any of the Horses or their babies to get hurt. The horses don't really like the thunder and the lightening.

M was in awe of her daughter and how mature she'd become despite her young age. M rewarded her with spectacular news.

M: Well I spoke with the owner Byron and he booked us for a weekend, to give you personal lessons and he's agreed to do indoor and outdoor lessons. That will give you more riding range and if the weather doesn't hold up they won't have to cancel again.

Aphrodite lit up.

Aphrodite: I get 2 days of riding lessons?

M cherished moments like these, when she could make her children happy and they looked at her with admiration and love.

M: Hmm, yes you get two days of private lessons from Byron himself. We'll get to stay in a hotel and try the local food. But, you're not upset we can't go tomorrow?

M asked wanting to snuff out the guilt she felt at the possibility of disappointing Dite. She had made Dite a promise and she'd wanted to keep it.

Aphrodite: Are you kidding this is awesome! I can't believe I get to take private lessons and sleep in a hotel! Can I call and tell Kelsey? Oh, and Mom, can we still buy me my own riding gear, please?

Her begging was unnecessary. M wasn't the type of parent that said no.

M: After school on Tuesday we can go shopping deal?

Dite jumped up and down too excited to express her agreement with words.

M: I'll take that as a yes. Go on, go call Kelsey.

Having taken care of that the day before, with no other plans M settled into her office to finish the remaining chapters of The Court of Slumbering Fae. Her deadline was coming up and she didn't want to give Takara a reason to come down on her. She was already working overtime dealing with the media. She'd gotten the photos removed and was working on Mercurys slander case against the reporters who had taken Paris' false information and tried to spread it like wildfire. Luckily Takara was like a tsunami, she was known for putting out fires immediately and would take out anyone who stood in her path to get it done.

Zohreh on the other hand was having a rough day. Lately, he'd been clingy and Kason was the parent of his unwavering affection at the moment. So when Kason left for work later that afternoon it was no surprise he threw a tantrum. He stood by the front door crying his heart out till Ishtar came over to comfort him.

Ishtar: Zoh what's the matter?

Zohreh: Dadaa w-weave Zohweh!

Ishtar: Come here Zoh. It's okay Daddy's coming back. I'm going to change. You go wait in the office with Mommy and then when I'm dressed we can play! Okay?

He kissed his brothers forehead and walked him to the office then went to change. Once inside he quickly found trouble. M paused her writing to interrupt his destructive search.

M: Zohreh? Can Mommy help you find something?

He trained his soft green eyes on her and pouted.

Zohreh: No. I wait for Ishtaw to pay.

His pale green eyes and curly blond hair made her think of his adult double. It warmed her heart to see so much of Kason in her youngest son, consider the triplets seemed to favor her with their dark hair and moss green eyes. Ishtar had taken on her exotic Tomarang coloring while the girls were fairer toned like their father.

M: How about some company while you wait.

She joined him on the floor as he babbled about Dada, his toys, and his favorite (and only brother) Ishtar until his mood lightened. Ishtar returned and took Zohreh out front to play, leaving their mom to work.

The afternoon passed by uneventfully after that. The kids kept busy while M worked on her book, until Spirit had summoned everyone from their respective activities to have lunch. At 7pm Kason returned home to find Spirit reading on the porch. He greeted her before heading inside to find all the kids gathered in the entryway helping Ishtar complete his school project.

Kason: Hey guys. Where's your mom?

Triplets: Hi Dad!

Ishtar: She's still in her office.

M emerged having heard the voices outside the door. She strolled over to Kason greeting him and sharing good news.

M: Welcome home handsome. The book is finished. I sent it to Takara for last minute edits before publishing.

She whispered with a hint of lust and excitement as she hugged him the sight of him making her instantly flirty. He pulled back showering her with kisses.

Kason: Mmm, you brilliant woman. I can't wait to read it.

She nipped at his bottom lip. His response was low and seductive.

Kason: Save some of that for later. I'll make it worth the wait. You'll never believe what happened today?

He mumbled between kisses.

Venus: Hello we are still here. Gross!

Ishtar giggled and Aphrodite sighed and shook her head at her sister's comment. Kason kissed M's nose one more time for good measure before putting a little distance between them to stop the mock gagging noises coming from Venus.

M: So? What happened?

A mischievous smile spread across his face.

Kason: Nope. You have to guess.

M: Hmmm. Paris quit?

She said only half-joking. Kason snorted.

Kason: Good one, but no we aren't that fortunate. One more and then I'll tell you.

M: Hmm. You..you got the promotion?

Kason shook his head enthusiastically the smile on his face full of pride his eyes shone with accomplishment. He had worked for Bay's Robotic Engineers for almost 8 years. He had been hired mid-level due to his degree but that hadn't stopped him from putting in his all to impress Greg and earn his keep. He'd moved through the ranks fairly quickly, his progress only halted when he needed to take time off after the triplets and Zohreh were born. He had even put up with training Paris and all the craziness that came with having her work for the company. His focus never wavered, he had a goal and finally he could ring the bell on his career. Being promoted to the head of the department he was now Bay's Robotic Engineers new Master of Machines and he could finally call himself a master of his trade.

M: Congratulations!! I'm so proud of you! Guys Daddy got the top promotion at work today!

The triplets jump up to join their parents excited to be a part of Dads big news.

Ishtar: Congratulations Dad! You're like the lord of the robots now!

Venus: Dad does that mean that you're the boss? That's so cool you get to tell everyone what to do.

Aphrodite: Yay Daddy!

Comet barked loudly running around the family's feet with confused excitement. Zohreh toddles out of the living room and M picks him up waiting for Kason to finish with the triplets. She brings Zohreh over to Kason and Zoh immediately squirmed reaching for his father.

Zohreh: DADA!

Kason: Hey buddy!

Zohreh: Zohweh missed you

Kason snuggled his son close.

Kason: I missed you too Zoh. I'm sorry I had to leave earlier Mommy told me you had a hard day but your big brother kept you company. Good job Ish.

Ishtar smiled up at his dad with fulfillment. Zoh just snuggled closer happy to be back in his father's arms. They stood around laughing and congratulating him. Kason was euphoric, his life felt whole. He was at the top of his dream career, he'd found and married his soulmate, and though they'd found trouble their marriage was stronger in the outcome. He was making good money and felt he and M were laying a secure foundation of wealth for their children to inherit when they were gone. The only thing worth perfecting now was his parenting. His kids were his life and he wanted to be the patriarch they felt they could always come to for love, knowledge, and protection. What else could be worth his time and dedication now that his personal life goals had been met? Kason had always been a great father but when it came to his children he knew there was always room for improvement. His parents hadn't been perfect and he knew the same was true of himself and M even though he felt she was as close to perfect as a parent could get.

He started by joining the triplets in tackling their school projects. When all the castles were complete and everyone was cleaned up for the night they gathered in the backyard to celebrate and enjoy each other's company. The clouds were low and ready to open and unleash rain at any moment but it wasn't raining yet. So they roasted marshmallows and hot dogs while Kason played the guitar (another of his hidden talents) while Spirit told ghost stories in anticipation of spooky day which was only a week away.

Around 11 the first signs of rain became evident as the droplets fell on the fire, the logs hissed in protest, leaving faint wisp of smoke in their wake as it tried to smothered small portions of the flames. Everyone found shelter inside while Kason stayed behind to ensure the fire was properly extinguished. Feeling full, accomplished, and filled to the brim with love for each other the family turned in for the night.

Previous Next

Beginning

Sidebar: It felt like Kason and M needed a break. Just a day to work on their own careers and spend time with their kids and each other. I also wanted to give a quick update on what was happening with the photos online. With M being a celebrity there had to be some fallout from her husband being called a cheater online. M has an active slander case against the paparazzi which I will include the results of in a later post. Also, I had no idea that Tucker was in the house or by the fire when I took the last couple of pictures. I didn't notice him till everyone was going to bed and got the notification thanking us for hanging out with him.

I sent M and Aphrodite to Chestnut Ridge to go horseback riding when I got there, there was this crazy thunderstorm going on (I forgot to reinstall my sul sul weather app by littlemssam) so I added the Friday night call because apparently something is wrong in Chestnut Ridge and there was like a 4-day thunderstorm almost none stop.

Poses: @elen-shine Homecoming

cc: @ravasheencc Fantastical Play Rug

[monokuma-apologist]

Some of the participants of the next-gen killing game! These guys belong to me and @detective-dick-gumshoes-pot-room!

(Some of these older designs are inspired by the drawings done of these silly guys by @foryoupeko!! Please check out the art they did I kid you not I pull it up just to look at it at least twice a day IT’S THE GREATEST THING- Also! These are all traced from sprites from the official games in an attempt to recreate the style as closely as possible! Needless to say doing this was mostly for body and face shapes! And finally, this doesn’t contain all of the important characters!)

When the tragedy had begun to die down and the world was beginning to recover, Makoto rebuilt Hope’s Peak Academy to ensure that those who fell victim to the Killing Games were remembered…and to restore Hope’s Peak Academy to the shining beacon it was always meant to be. But something’s gone wrong- it’s impossible. How is he back? What’s going on?

Koji Hinata - Ultimate Gamer

Though it seemed for ages like Chiaki really was gone for good, with the help of Kazuichi and Alter Ego, she was able to be brought back- restored, though stuck fully digital. And she and Hajime were able to be happy.

Koji is an AI created by her years ago to serve as Hajime’s and her child. Though usually quiet and cynical, he loves his parents more than anything in the world and is a whiz at video games.

Now, with an artificial body, Koji was selected to attend Hope’s Peak as the Ultimate Gamer, just like his mom…

…and, having already been forced to participate in a killing game at a young age, Koji wants nothing more than to go back home to his mom and dad.

Hotaru “Angel Boy” Tanaka, the Black Dragon of Tartarus - Ultimate Poet

Sonia and Gundham struggled for ages to conceive, though they wanted a child more than anything in the world. But they stayed hopeful. When Makoto found an infant orphaned by the Tragedy, he suggested the pair take him in- and thus, Hotaru is their “angel boy”, their gifts from the heavens.

Hotaru is just as odd and proud as his father, though he’s much more smooth and charming. He has an interest in all things strange and unusual, and truly cares about those around him.

Natsuki Kuzuryu - Ultimate Sportsman

Natsuki is really bummed that he didn’t get chosen as an Ultimate Swordsman, but he supposes this will have to do.

Though he often comes across as cruel and detached, Natsuki is fiercely loyal to the other Jabberwock Island kids, and won’t let any harm come to his little sister Fumiko or his best friend Aika.

Kiko Naegi - Ultimate Lucky Student

Though she’s never gotten along with him, Kiko takes great pride in the accomplishments of her father and will fiercely defend him against anyone who tries to slander him or his attempts at restoring Hope’s Peak.

She ends up taking lead the most, though she at first clearly has a disdain for the other participants…especially the kids who grew up on Jabberwock Island. She’s extremely annoyed by Honda’s constant emphatic support, but she does grow to care a lot about him.

Fumiko Kuzuryu - Ultimate Negotiator

Fumiko was always a daddy’s girl- and as she grew older, she retained that same innocent physique that her father once had. Fumiko, though, takes great pride in this, as it thoroughly assists her endeavors to manipulate those around her.

Fumiko puts on a very sadistic, uncaring persona, but she’s deeply loyal to her friends and especially her brother, comforting him greatly when Aika dies. She’s the participant who most frequently performs the autopsies.

Aika Mioda-Soda - Ultimate Mechanic

Aika has the combined passion and enthusiasm of both of her parents- and is proud to be following in her dad’s footsteps as the Ultimate Mechanic. Though she causes a lot of trouble- frequently pulling pranks on other participants- she’s desperate to at least build camaraderie between everyone and stop the killing before it happens. How tragic it is, then, when she accidentally becomes blackened herself- executed by one of the machines that her dad built so long ago.

Honda Hagakure - Ultimate Salesman

Honda’s older brother told him that his time at Hope’s peak would be full of great riches, great fortune, and great romance- and he’s right a third of the time, so one of them is bound to happen, right?

Honda is very frightened of this killing game- knowing he’s unable to kill anybody and is an easy target, making his chances of escape slim to none- but when he’s not struggling to withhold panic, he’s usually following Kiko around, who he thinks is a brilliant leader and the smartest person here. (He may or may not have a very obvious crush on her).

Though he can be a bit of an idiot, Honda genuinely wants everything to be okay and is more than willing to make sacrifices for those he cares about.

He’s a bit of a kleptomaniac, with a briefcase full of completely useless trinkets he stole from his peers.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 35 (Parental Guidance)

A few nights after Malcolm's visit, Heather took Ash to see his grandparents at her childhood home in Henford. On arrival, she was greeted with the joyous news that Cassandra was expecting her and River’s first child!

She let her predicament take a backseat as the family sat down to dinner, and she didn't want to tell her parents she was seriously overthinking an old tale about a curse. But as she gathered the empty plates at the end of the meal, her mother could see something was bothering her. At Daisy's urging, Heather confessed what she'd done.

"I hacked into Landgraab Systems to crash the app they stole from me, and I thought I was going to be arrested."

"Arrested?! Buttercup, what the hell were you thinking?" Her dad, Neal, tried not to sound as disappointed as he felt.

Her brother, on the other hand, offered her a fistbump. "Right on! Screw the Landgraabs."

Cassandra shook her head, but couldn't wipe the smile from her face around her husband. "River, she could have gone to prison!"

"I know it was stupid," Heather insisted. "I told the detective the truth but the Landgraabs ended up not pressing charges. Not yet, anyway."

"What do you mean 'not yet?'"

"I mean Malcolm came by the other day and offered me a deal. He'll give me 40,000 simoleons for our son if I change his last name to Landgraab and file a custody agreement. They're also willing to let me buy out the clinic if I can come up with another 175,000. But they won't sell if I don't make Ash a Landgraab."

"That's a steep price," said Daisy cautiously.

"It's a steal from the Landgraabs," her father muttered, frowning. "We don't have that kind of money."

"You helped me with the down payment for the clinic in the first place. I don't know what to do but I won't ask you that."

Her parents exchanged careful glances. "You may not want to hear this, but you cost yourself a lot of leverage and the offer may be too good to turn down," said her mother. Her father nodded reluctantly in agreement, embracing his daughter with a comforting hug.

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that."

"You want independence from the Landgraabs financially, and this is a fair way to do it," reasoned her brother. "Besides, if Malcolm's finally ready to embrace his role as a father I think, deep down, you want that for your son, despite your own feelings about him. And why wouldn't you? We had a great dad; everyone should be so lucky! Ash, too."

Heather looked at her younger brother with a smile. "When did you get so wise?"

"You only think I'm wise because you're a butthead, Butts."

With her family’s support, she sent Malcolm the paperwork confirming their son was a Landgraab in name, and he transferred the lump sum payment as promised. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: I'm really sorry to those who didn't want Heather to change his last name, but I really wanted there to be a big consequence for the hack. I wasn't feeling a prison storyline and this is the next worst-case scenario. In my head she didn't have room to negotiate after the hack (the proof exists even if Conrad chose not to reveal it, but he's too honest a cop to delete the evidence) and it was an all-or-nothing deal.

NOTE 2: I know I'm loading this story with characters but Heather is so close with her family I can't leave them behind in Gen 1, even if I wanted to. Neal gave them their nicknames when each of them were born, like a tradition, picking various plants, mostly yellow, due to yellow being one of Daisy's favourite colours. But a quick rundown on Heather and her siblings-

Heather "Buttercup" Nesbitt b. 2025 - Ash (Nesbitt) Landgraab b. 2050 (son of Malcolm) Holly "Daffodil" (Nesbitt) Bell b. 2027 m. Kristopher "Kris" Bell (son of premades Michael Bell & Cecilia Kang) River "Huckleberry" Nesbitt b. 2029 m. Cassandra Goth Hazel "Dandelion" Nesbitt b. 2033 currently dating Nicola Moody-McMillan, the daughter of premade Kim Goldbloom and a random townie. Nicola's grandfathers were Kim's adoptive dads (via MCCC), Ian Moody & Derek McMillan but they died in a riverboat cruise disaster (off-screen because the game culled them unexpectedly).

Since I put dates in to show the age differences in the siblings, for those who care it's about 2051 in game right now. Heather is 26 and Ash is not yet 2. The year won't really mean anything, it's not a historical or futuristic challenge, but I like to keep track.

Also yes I'm going for sometimes-obnoxious sibset theming with names in this save. The theme in Gen 1 was flowers and plants (Daisy was a botanist but Neal achieved Outdoor Enthusiast so he's big into nature, herbalism and sustainability as an eco-civil designer). River got his slightly off-theme name because I wanted to use it, and the River Bagley IS a prominent feature in Henford, after all! But I'm sorry about all the H names, it's a lot!

Kris & Holly and Nicola & Hazel (who looks like Heather with blue eyes and w/o glasses), since River & Cass are above: