#not exactly meant to imply shipping

[scoonsalicious]

Like A Fairy Tale

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dating Bucky Barnes had been like living a fairy tale, but as he distances himself from you and your relationship, you come to the realization that maybe fairy tales aren't meant to come true.

Warnings: Language to make Steve blush, mentions of alcohol use, implied sex, angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 3.4k This is my very first posted fic, and I am very nervous but I hope you like it! If I've missed any warnings, please tell me so I can add them. Much love and thanks to my bestie @jmeelee for indulging my obsession and dropping everything to read this when I sent it to her <3 Please pardon any spelling/grammar errors.

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3 I write for 18+, so minors DNI. _____________________________________________________________

Once upon a time, being Bucky Barnes’ girl had felt like living in a fairy tale. He was everything your younger self had ever dared to dream of in a Prince Charming– attentive, affectionate, kind, and oh, how he made you laugh! You were the envy of all of your friends, the very definition of #couplegoals, and you thanked your lucky stars every night that the two of you had found one another, despite all the odds.

But fairy tales aren’t real. 

You weren’t sure exactly when it started, but somewhere in the third year of your relationship, after you’d moved into a handsome brownstone in Brooklyn together, after you’d adopted a fluffy white kitten, Bucky started pulling away from you. The steps that took him from you were small at first– he was taking on more and more missions, opting to stay gone for longer periods of time. Days would go by, and they’d turn into weeks, then a month or two at a time would go by where you wouldn’t see him. 

At first, it hadn’t been terrible– Bucky had always made sure to contact you each and every day. A video call whenever he could, a phone call or text when he couldn’t, but slowly, so slowly you barely noticed, the calls stopped coming all together. Sure, he’d answer when you called him… when he could, which wasn’t always possible on a mission, and you hated acting needy and taking him away from his work, so eventually, you stopped reaching out, too. 

When he was home, you were like ships passing in the night. You always offered to take time off of work so you could spend some time with him before he was set to head out again, but he never wanted you to jeopardize your career on his account. Your reunions would always be passionate, but short-lived, a few hot and heavy nights before he took off once more to save the world. 

You tried not to let it bother you. You really, really did. His job was so important. People’s lives relied on him. Where did you get off getting upset over that? So, you kept it to yourself. Until you couldn’t. Not any more.

“Y/N,” your best friend, Lainy, cornered you at her annual New Year’s Eve party, “where’s Barnes? He’s been leaving you to go solo for months now. I don’t think I’ve seen you with him since Mark’s St. Patrick’s Day Party.”

Ouch. “He’s working, Lainy,” you told her, not wanting to admit that March had been the last time the two of you had gone out together, let alone spent more than three days in a row in each other’s company. 

“Yeah, he was ‘working’ over the Memorial Day trip, and the 4th of July BBQ, and Jack and Alice’s wedding, and your aunt’s funeral.” You cringed internally as she applied air quotes to ‘working.’ “And he was ‘working’ on your birthday, and Christmas. Babe, he’s been leaving you alone for almost an entire year. What’s going on? Are you sure there isn’t someone else?”

The worst part was, you knew there wasn’t, or at least, no one individual. When he’d first started distancing himself, of course another woman was the first thing that came to your mind, and you weren’t proud of yourself, but you’d gone through his phone to search for evidence of an affair… multiple times, and repeatedly came up with nothing. And bless Bucky’s heart, but he didn’t have the technological know-how to hide an infidelity from you. Granted, that didn’t negate the possibility that he was randomly hooking up with people while he was away. You’d have to be stupid to not consider the possibility.

You could have asked Steve. You didn’t think Captain America had it in him to lie to you about something like that, but you didn’t want him reporting on your suspicions back to Bucky, nor did you think you could stand to see the look of pity in his eye if he had to tell you that yes, Bucky was cheating on you while you anxiously awaited his return every night. So, you kept the suspicions to yourself. 

Your conversation with Lainy had left you deflated. Here it was New Year’s Eve, and you were alone, the man you loved god knew where– just not with you. How many more holidays and milestones and everyday nights were you going to spend by yourself, waiting for a man who never seemed to want to be home with you anymore? This wasn’t the kind of life you wanted, the kind of life you deserved. 

You made your way to the kitchen to refill your glass of wine. You’d probably already had too many, but you needed to drown the despair that was slowly filling you up. As you poured an exceptionally generous glass, a man entered the kitchen. You recognized him– Harris, a cousin of Lainy’s who had flirted with you relentlessly for years before you had started seeing Bucky. 

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up upon seeing you, “it’s been awhile.” He enveloped you in a friendly hug. “How’ve you been?”

You smiled and exchanged pleasantries, catching up on the overall brushstrokes of your life. 

“I’m sorry about your breakup,” he offered gently, after you’d exhausted the usual small talk.

“My breakup?” you asked, brow piqued.

“Last few events I’ve seen you at, you’ve been alone. I assumed you and Barnes…” he left the thought floating, the implication hanging in the air: Barnes has left you alone, I assumed you broke up.

You huffed out a laugh. God. Was your relationship actually over and you were the only one dumb enough to not see it? 

“If you aren’t seeing anyone,” Harris continued, “I would really love to take you out. You’ve gotta know I’ve been into you for ages, and I figure if I don’t shoot my shot now, who knows when I’ll have another chance.”

You cocked your head and looked at him, taking in his earnest demeanor. Here was a man who genuinely wanted to spend time with you. Why were you waiting on someone who no longer wanted to be around?

“Um, I might have to get back to you on that, Harris,” you told him before excusing yourself. You needed air. 

You found yourself on Lainy’s balcony, the air deceptively mild for the end of December in Manhattan. Alone with your thoughts, you pulled out your phone and dialed Bucky’s number. It went straight to voicemail.

“Someone asked me out on a date tonight,” you said into the recording, your voice choked with tears you didn’t want to shed. “And I think I might say yes, because, honestly Buck, what are we even doing anymore? You’re never here, and I’m always alone. I tried. I tried so fucking hard to not let it get to me, because your work’s important. I know that. I do, and I’m not begrudging you for your job. But… but I can’t keep on like this. I can’t even remember the last time we spent more than three days together. Isn’t that crazy? Three days. Everyone thinks you’re cheating on me. Did you know that? You’re away so much that everyone I know is convinced you’re fucking someone else. Maybe you are, or maybe you already left me, but I’ve been too stupid to notice; if that’s the case, you could have just told me.” 

You kept your composure as you left the message. You weren’t angry at him; you never could be. You were just tired. So tired, and so lonely. 

“All I know is that it’s another night where I’m all by myself, wishing you were here, wanting to talk to you, to feel you, and you’re just… not. You’re off doing something, or someone, more important than me, and I used to be okay with that, but I can’t be anymore. I deserve more than waiting on you, Buck. I deserve to be someone’s priority. I really wish I could have been yours, the way you were mine. 

“So, let’s just call it, okay? Your heart’s obviously not in it anymore, and mine is too tired of being hurt and alone. We’ll have to figure out what to do about the house. I’m keeping Alpine, though. You haven’t been here for her, either, and it wouldn’t be fair of you to take her if you’re never going to be around.”

Inside, you could hear the rest of the party as they counted down to midnight. When they reached zero, the night erupted in fireworks, and you could hear cheers and cars honking their horns throughout the city below you.

“Huh,” you said into your phone, “it’s midnight. Happy New Year, Buck. I hope it ends up being a good one for you, and I’m sorry for whatever I did that made you decide you didn’t want to spend this last one with me.”

You hung up the phone and the tears finally fell as you slid down the balcony railing until you were crouched on the floor. You weren’t sure how long you sat there crying, but eventually Lainy found you, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders and ushering you into her spare room. She helped you change out of your cocktail dress and into a spare pair of pajamas, and helped you wash your face before tucking you into bed. She left you with a glass of water and a kiss on the forehead, promising that tomorrow would be better, that the next best chapter of your life was about to begin, but as you drifted into a fitful sleep, you couldn’t find the will to believe her.

You woke the next morning with a throbbing headache, the alcohol and the tears doing nothing but dehydrating you into agony. You grabbed your phone to check the time, but the battery had died in the night. From the slant of the sun coming in from the guest room window, it looked to be late morning or early afternoon. 

You changed back into your dress, thanking Lainy for her help and making a small joke about doing the walk of shame in your clothes from the night before. You avoided her questions about what had happened, promising to go over it at length at the weekend after you’d had some time to process. You weren’t in the best headspace to get into at the moment.

Fortunately, your best friend knew you well enough not to pry, and you said your goodbyes, plans for brunch on Sunday having been made. You weren’t eager to get back home, to be surrounded by reminders of Bucky, when all you wanted was the man, himself. But he was your ex-boyfriend now, you supposed. You were going to have to come to terms with that sooner than later. Besides, Alpine needed to be fed, and you weren’t going to abandon her.

Your keys clicked in the lock as you opened your front door. “Al, baby,” you called, kicking off your heels and closing the door behind you, “Mommy’s home. You hungry, sweetie?”

You began making your way back toward the kitchen when a loud crash from upstairs got your attention. You rolled your eyes; what had the cat knocked over now? 

But then there was the roar of a body barreling down the upstairs hall and toward the stairs, leaving you frozen where you stood. You cast a glance to where you’d left your phone in your purse by the door. Too far away to reach in time to call for help as the intruder came pounding down the stairs. 

A massive figure rounded the corner, nearly knocking you over.

“Bucky?” You blinked, sure your eyes were playing tricks on you, but no– there he stood, and he looked like shit. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and his eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. He’d obviously been wearing the same clothing for at least a day, if not more.

“Y/N,” he breathed, throwing his arms around you and wrapping you in an almost bone-crushing embrace. “Sweetheart, I was so worried.”

“What are you doing here, Buck?” you asked him, pulling away from him. God, you wanted to let him hold you, but you just couldn’t. Not anymore.

Bucky cupped your face in his hands, blue eyes desperately searching yours. “I got your message. Doll, it fucking broke my heart. I came straight home, but you weren’t here, and I was terrified that you were gone; that you’d left me for good.”

You scoffed. “I’m not the one who leaves, Bucky.”

He flinched at your words. “I know, Baby. I know, and ’m so sorry. I had no idea. I shoulda known what leavin’ you so much was doin’ to you, ‘cause it was doin’ it to me, too. When I heard you say that people– that you– thought I was cheating on you, that I had neglected you so much you thought I found someone else, that I could ever love anyone else, ever want anyone else– I’ve never hated myself more, doll. I can’t stand that you even had those thoughts in your head for one second, because it’s always been you. There’s never been anyone else. You’re it.”

“Then why have you been gone?” you asked him in a whisper. “If there’s no one else, and I’m it, why don’t you ever want to be with me? Why do you keep leaving?” 

Bucky ran both his hands along his face. “God, it feels so stupid now,” he said with a sigh. “But I was trying to save–”

“Trying to save the world, yeah, I know,” you interrupted him, annoyed. “Trust me, I’m well aware that I can’t compete with that. But I needed to know you thought we were worth saving, too, and you never did.”

Bucky started laughing then, and you scoffed. “Wow, you don’t have to rub it in, Bucky.”

“No, no– Sweetheart, no!” he shook his head. “That’s not it, at all. Hold on.” He went to the foyer and grabbed his go-bag; you had missed it when you walked in. Coming back to the kitchen, he put it on the table, opening it up and extracting a folded piece of paper and handing it to you.

It was a real estate listing for a farmhouse Upstate, with acreage on the Hudson. You and Bucky had talked about what kind of house you would buy if the situation had ever presented itself, and it was almost as if you’d dreamed it up.

You looked from the paper back to Bucky. “I don’t understand,” you told him.

“It needs pretty extensive renovations,” he told you. “I wanted to take on enough overtime to have the money for them and make a good dent on the mortgage, but it needed more work than I originally thought. And, I have to come clean– I haven’t been one hundred percent honest with you about where I’ve been spending all my time.” He looked up at you through his lashes, head bent down in shame.

“But… but, you said there wasn’t anyone else,” you stammered, heart ready to beat out of your chest. 

“Oh god! No, and I mean that! There isn’t, I swear! God, I’ve fucked this up so bad!” Bucky tugged at his hair in frustration. “I’ve been going on extra missions, but sometimes, Sam, Steve, and I go Upstate to do some work on the house, to cut down the costs so I could still make my timeline.”

“You already bought it?” you asked, your voice flat. You were in shock. “You want to move out? Away from me?”

Bucky moaned in distress and drew you to him again. “No! God, I’m doing this all wrong. I want us to move there, together. To make it the perfect house. The perfect home for me, my wife and our stupid fur baby.”

You stilled at his words. “I’m sorry, your what?”

Bucky smiled at you sheepishly as he reached back into his go-bag. “I’ll have you know that I had an entire plan. Was gonna have the house ready by Valentine’s Day. Take you up there as a surprise, ask you properly, but I fucked that up, so…” He brought his hand back out, holding a small burgundy velvet box. He opened it to reveal a vintage engagement ring, a sapphire instead of a diamond. Your favorite stone.

Bucky got down on one knee. “Y/N,” he began as his voice choked up a bit with emotion, “I know I fucked up for the last eight months. I would completely understand if you can’t forgive me, but I need you to know that I love you. I have only ever loved you, and if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life making up for the fact that, even for a moment, I let you think that you weren’t the most important thing in my life, my number one priority. Will you marry me?”

“Buck…” you began, not sure how to phrase what you were about to say. “What about your job? I can’t keep coming in second to the rest of the world, and I get that it’s selfish of me, but–”

“I quit,” he said simply.

“What?” Your eyes were wide with shock at his statement. 

“The second I heard your voicemail, where you said you wanted to call it because I was never there, I told Steve I was done, that I needed to start putting you first. It wasn’t even a question. I’m officially retired.”

Your mouth hung open. You had hoped he would cut down on his missions, but for him to have quit completely… You gently tugged him to his feet, taking the ring box and running a finger across it.

“It’s lovely,” you told him softly. “Absolutely perfect; exactly what I would have picked for myself.” Bucky beamed at you, pleased. “But I can’t accept it.” His face fell as you gently placed the ring back in his hands. 

“Oh,” he whispered, eyes growing glassy. “I… um, I understand. I fucked up, hurt you. I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

“I still want to be with you, you idiot,” you admonished him. “But you did hurt me, and we’ve been apart for a long time. We need time to find our way back to each other again, okay? Ask me again on Valentine’s Day, just like you originally planned. Don’t do it now just because you fucked up.” You leaned up on your tip toes and kissed him. “And if it helps make you feel better, I’m probably going to say ‘yes,’ anyway.”

Bucky grinned at you. “Really?” he asked. When you nodded, he picked you up and spun you in  a circle before pressing his lips to yours as if he hadn’t touched you in months. “I promise you, Sweetheart, I’ll do anything I can to make this up to you, I swear it.”

“Anything?” you asked with a smile. “I think I know where you can start.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked you. “And where’s that?”

“Take me to bed, Bucky Barnes,” you said, kissing him again.

Without a word, Bucky swung you over his shoulder and ran with you up the stairs, your squeals and giggles echoing behind him.

Much, much later, when you lay sated together tangled in limbs and sheets with Alpine snuggled next to your heads, Bucky played with your fingers as you rested your head on his bare chest.

“So, Doll,” he said, kissing the pads of each of your fingers, “you gonna tell me who had the nerve to ask my girl out on a date?” 

You laughed. “Lainy’s cousin, Harris. I suppose I’ll have to text him now and tell him I’m not interested.”

“Hell no, you’re not interested,” Bucky chuffed. “Gonna have to remind that punk you’ve already got a boyfriend. The position has been filled.”

“That’s the thing, though,” you said, planting a kiss on his nose. “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, do I?”

Bucky’s face fell. “But I thought you said–”

“I’ve got myself a fiance.”

Bucky tightened his grip around you, drawing you even closer to his warmth. “Yeah, okay. I gotta admit I like the sound of that a lot better.”

Your entire relationship with Bucky Barnes might not have played out like a fairy tale, but in that moment, you were more sure than ever that you two would get your happily ever after.

[spacegyaru]

DON'T LOOK AT IT! PT. 3

your phone got lost for some reasons. the following day, the sex tape you made with your boyfriend (rin, isagi, chigiri) was all around the internet. how would they react?

cw: r18+, mdni! mentions of sex tape and implied sex. humiliation. mirror sex on chigiri’s part + angst. somewhat angst and comfort. a little bit toxic from rin’s part!

a/n: this is the last part!! unfortunately, i don’t have that much energy to continue this series further and might start writing for another idea 😭🥺i hope u guys understand!!

masterlist | part 1 (shidou, kaiser, bachira, & sae) | part 2 (reo, nagi, hiyori, otoya, and yukimiya)

rin itoshi:

sorry to tell you guys, but his gf has to be a little bratty and naughty enough to provoke him into making a sex tape. i imagine him doing it out of jealousy, he wanna make you moan his name loud while he takes you all-fours and biting your neck a little bit. all after seeing how isagi was being a little bit too friendly towards you.

and that's exactly what people saw on the video. you remember your phone being pickpocketed while you were out for a shopping. when it got lost, rin scolded you a little bit, and reminding you of the video you guys made. you were the one who insisted that he shouldn’t think too much cuz ya boi was overthinking. but his hunches and gut feeling prevailed. the next few days, your name was all over the news.

rin’s team worked on the damage control. he was hesitant to post a public apology, but he did anyways. unlike his brother who has a ‘idgaf’ attitude, rin cares a lot; he cares a lot about his image and your image too. it’s just plainly embarrassing for him.

when you started isolating yourself due to the humiliation you were going thru, rin tried to comfort you.he was never good with words and may have appeared harsh the way he said it, but you knew what he truly meant. you gave him a hug and a kiss due to his attempt to comfort you.

“babe, i know how much you hated it whenever i say ‘i told you so’ so i’ll try not to make you feel worse. but try not to worry about what other people say. don’t check your phone too much. it doesn't matter what they think. what matters most is what we think of each other .”

yoichi isagi:

fuck, even i am wondering. how did this guy have a sex tape? well, it was your idea, but you didn’t think that your bf, isagi, would be super into it. both of you ended up making two-three sex tapes together. at first, it was embarrassing for him. but then once he’s inside you, he gets all pussy drunk and hell breaks. all that can be heard in the background was the loud bed creaks, along with your moans and his groans. your legs are all over the place, while he held your thighs. the lights were a bit dim, but both of your faces were visible.

the following week, you lost your phone while you were sightseeing all alone. you didn’t think that much of it. but the following day, that very same video you created with isagi, was all over the internet. both of your names were mentioned in twitter and apparently, he was placed in trending.

although isagi was very much embarrassed by what happened, he never blamed you for it. he asked his team to focus on the damage control while he released a public apology, addressing what happened. he explained that you lost your phone while on a trip, and are now taking the proper measures to track whoever did spread the video. isagi couldn’t stop apologizing. everyone knew how harsh he speaks whenever he’s at football matches but this time, he seemed like a dorky apologetic machine.

when isagi realized how humiliated you seemed to be, he immediately prepared a romantic dinner for the both of you, buying some wine and steak for the both of you to enjoy. he also bought a bouquet of flowers for you. then he rented a private ship for the both of you, so you could spend time together and get things off your head for a while.

“love, you don’t have to blamed yourself for what happened, you know? sometimes, there are just things that are out of our control and this happens to be one of them. let’s get this off your mind for now, okay?”

hyoma chigiri:

okay so if you wanna do anything new with this guy, you should initiate it because he’s very much of a vanilla. that’s how you ended up having a sex tape with him. the crazy thing is, he was the one holding the camera. you were riding him in a cowgirl position, your ass was bouncing as you went up and down on him. your room was surrounded by mirrors, so chigiri was recording your reflection. his hands were shaking as he was feeling too much pleasure from your pussy. so far, he was able to record almost everything, but he ended up dropping the phone when he orgasmed.

one day, you lost your phone after a long day at work, but then again, you didn’t think anything of it. you just thought of buying a new one instead. but then few days later, you suddenly see your boyfriend’s name on twitter’s trending. when you clicked the link, that exact mirror sex videos were all over the internet. you just sighed upon seeing those. you never expected them to reach online but here they are.

given the situation, you didn’t even have that much space to comfort yourself because you just saw how down and embarrassed your boyfriend looked. he was able to release a public statement, and his pr team did the damage control. but he was so affected by people’s comments about his masculinity. well, the question about this didn’t really matter to him, but what affected him the most is how people would say how ‘hot’ you are and that you deserve someone more dominating and masculine. he was more affected on what people say about you, rather than what people say about him.

so your night with him ended up being a comfort-fest. both of you lay on the bed with hands holding together while you reassure him that what other people said isn’t true. that you only need him to satisfy you and no one else. you thought your night would be sweet and peaceful. until your small cuddle moment turned into a heated making-out session with chigiri hovering on top of you.

“babe, i love how hot you are whenever you're on top of me. i love how your body bounces and tell me how you make me feel good. but what about let me do the work tonight? i'll let you feel every part of me while i dominate you.”

[ckret2]

A leaked list of some of the exciting upcoming content from The Book of Bill:

The pyramids of Giza ranked from most to least sexy.

Winning lottery numbers. He does not say which game they're for.

Three pages of Bill practicing blackletter calligraphy so that he can write the fancy-looking "The Book of Bill" on the cover. (Meant to tear those pages out before submitting book to publisher.)

A section where he implies that all your headcanons about him are stupid. Yes, your headcanons specifically. If you compare your copy of the book to a friend's, these sections will have different text. He insults all headcanons equally, even the ones that contradict each other.

A long, rambling story about a funny thing that he saw at a party in the Nightmare Realm, but he keeps getting distracted gossiping about the embarrassing love affairs and crimes against reality the partygoers have committed. Not a single one of these characters has ever been mentioned before or ever will be again. He gets so distracted he never finishes the original funny story. He was clearly drunk when he wrote this section.

A pet care sheet on how to keep a pet axolotl. All of the information is extremely wrong.

Some of the other dimensions he's tried and failed to conquer. He keeps insisting that all the failures were somebody else's fault. It's extremely obvious that they're his fault.

A photograph of a vivisected elephant, for some reason.

A phone number written on a cocktail napkin that Bill insists would be really funny for all the readers to prank call. It leads to the desk phone of the director of the CIA. 

Bill claims he definitely totally knew that Stan was disguised as Ford the whole time, he only played along to trick the Pines back, and then he quickly changes the topic.

A page of Bill's original poetry. It's all unintelligible symbols. It will take 27 years for somebody to crack the code. They're all gory but juvenile limericks.

A cocktail recipe. It will kill you.

Bill's original version of the portal blueprints that he copied to give Ford, with Bill's handwritten annotations. One part of the blueprints is labeled "component that will accidentally destroy the universe. REMEMBER NOT TO INCLUDE THIS COMPONENT IN SIXER'S COPY!!" He underlined this twice. If this page is compared to the portal blueprints in Journal 3, it's clear that Bill included that component in Ford's copy.

A personality quiz to help you meet your ideal sleep paralysis demon.

Bill's baby pictures. He looks exactly the same, except his bow tie and top hat are too big.

Bill reveals that he thought the llama symbol on the zodiac wheel referred to that farmer guy on the edge of town, and he was super confused to see Pacifica there.

Multiple pages scattered through the book about Bill's amazing powers, his brilliant and fun plans for our dimension, and all the cool favors he's willing and able to do for his friends and followers. All these pages end with a passive-aggressive aside about how somebody would have to be REALLY stupid to turn down an invitation to join Bill's crew, Stanford Pines—

A page labeled "My loyal servants and slaves!" filled with several hideous, oozing, nightmare-inducing Lovecraftian monsters, and one Mickey Mouse.

A self-portrait depicting Bill riding a rocket ship playing an electric guitar while rainbow lightning flashes all around him and money rains down from the sky.

A cynical, sneering tirade about how love is evolution's idiotic way of tricking primitive species into reproducing and how only simple-minded mortals who can't separate their true thoughts from their hormones fall for it. In the margins he's drawn a heart around the words "Bill Cipher +" a scribbled-out blot. The blot is completely unreadable. Despite this, the fandom will spend years debating the name underneath based on the size of the blot.

Extremely stupid "explanations" about various unsolved mysteries and crimes. In six years the world will discover one of them is accidentally correct and Alex Hirsch will get investigated by the FBI.

The book will be divided into four sections. Each section will begin with a big illuminated letter. In order, the four illuminated letters spell "F" "U" "C" "K".

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I have to politely disagree with you saying that Malleus is destined to be in an arranged marriage, and I'm saying this as someone who isn't that much of a Yuu/Malleus shipper. If we were talking about a real life royal, I would totally agree that would be the case. However, there is one big factor you neglected that makes me hesitant to believe that any sort of traditional arranged marriage would even be an option for him in the first place.

We learn in Book 7 that in order for a dragon age to hatch, they need "true love". If Malleus was in a loveless arranged marriage, he and his partner would never be able to "bear fruit", so to speak, rendering it pointless. I don't think the council would ever dare to try that, since they know what happened with his mother and her constantly rebelling against her arranged marriage, expecting more of the same from Malleus if they did that to him.

If anything, I think a Princess Jasmine situation would be FAR more likely with him. You know, having his grandmother constantly throw "eligible fae noble ladies" at him for Malleus to resent it and rebel by falling in love with someone for love? I can easily see something like that happening if the game was able to mention romance.

[Referencing this post!]

Hey, I’m not sure where the Malleus x Yuu ship is coming from?? It was briefly mentioned in the disclaimer of my original post, but not in the actual body of discussion. And, as I’ve stated in that original post, nothing that I said there is meant to invalidate shippers, whether you ship Malleus with Yuu, an OC, another main cast member, or whoever else.

As I always stress, it’s okay (and it should be expected) to have different interpretations of the same content. I’m not going to fault you or anyone else for simply saying they don’t agree with my headcanons. However, I do also believe that there are a number of objective misunderstandings and extreme assumptions being made here and I’d like to address them.

Firstly, the claim that a dragon egg needs “true love” to hatch is not exactly true. This phrase is not immediately used (whether in EN or JP) to refer to the situation with Malleus’s egg. A similar phrase (“someone capable of truly loving you”) was, however, used to refer to the condition needed to break Silver’s sleeping blessing/curse. When describing how to hatch a dragon’s egg, it is said that you need “love and magical energy from their parents”. I think you may have gotten the two circumstances mixed up?

Lilia does later state that, “Dragon eggs can only be hatched by their parents' magic and affection—nothing less than true love!” but it seems that the “nothing less than true love” part is a tacked-on personal interpretation by Lilia; what is consistent in the prerequisites for hatching a dragon’s egg is the “parents’ magic and affection” portion.

I also think it’s… short sighted??? To imply that “true love” MUST explicitly refer to the romantic love that the parents have for one another. Even if you were to define “true love” that way (it’s a neutral take to have in a vacuum), love between the biological parents doesn’t even seem to be a prerequisite in the Twst world. In both Silver and Malleus’s cases, they flourished because of the platonic love provided to them by familial figures. It’s commonly speculated that Silver woke up because “someone capable of truly loving him” (ie Lilia) appeared. Malleus received love and magical energy from his grandmother, and eventually fully hatched thanks to Lilia’s sacrifice. In both cases, there is NO romantic partner or romantic feelings involved, and Silver and Malleus still turned out fine. You don’t need romantic love between the biological parents to hatch a dragon’s egg, just the platonic love of a willing parent or guardian. Lilia himself includes “parental affection” (both giving and receiving it) in his own definition of what “true love” is:

On the subject of dragon eggs, this proposal is running on the assumption that there would even BE an egg to hatch when… that’s not a guarantee???? Maleanor is a dragon fae, so naturally she laid an egg. This is how a dragon fae brings a child into the world. Depending on the race or fae subspecies of Malleus’s potential spouse, they may not produce an egg in the first place. No dragon’s egg means no need for vaguely defined love magic.

I also don’t think you even need to be in love to order to have a child. This (unfortunately) happens in real life too. It might be uncomfortable or awkward in the case of an arranged marriage, but it can be done. Were this to happen, it would still be possible to hatch a dragon’s egg. One parent, both parents, or even no parent (although the “some other third party” route would definitely get pushback from the senators) could provide their magic. Again, this is because romantic love between the biological parents is not a hard requirement, as we saw with the hatching of Malleus himself. You could still theoretically care for a child that isn’t one conceived from your romantic love with a partner.

It’s true that Maleanor “ruined the engagement talks […]” but Lilia’s wording (“that time”) implies this was a single occurrence and not a frequent or constant thing. It’s possible that Maleanor behaved for other engagement discussions (not mentioned), and it’s possible that engagement discussions altogether stopped after this one incident; we cannot know for sure.

Nothing is stopping the senators from attempting to push an arranged marriage for Malleus too, especially since they care so much about lineage, status, etc. Yes, he may very well react negatively—but the Draconias in general are temperamental and behave this way in several other situations. If the senators stopped doing everything that potentially angers Malleus, then there would be little that he would be allowed to do. (For example, Malleus has thrown several tantrums, including directing his magic at tutors that he believed were underestimating him or at servants when he was upset about his grandma not joining him for a promised meal. Does that mean the senators didn't dare to make Malleus have magic lessons again? Does that mean that Maleficia swore to never miss spending time with him again? Of course not.) As I mentioned before, I believe that an arranged marriage or at least a heavy vetting process would occur for Malleus. Lilia’s mention of a dragon flying halfway across the world for “engagement talks” already implies an arranged marriage for Maleanor. Furthermore, Ghost Marriage has Lilia specifying that Malleus cannot just “propose to a random ghost”, as it would “set off an international incident.” This implies to me that Malleus cannot go around expressing romantic feelings to whoever he wants (lie or not); there are rules and expectations in place, and he is expected to follow them regardless of his feelings.

Lastly, I don’t see Malleus as being the same rebel that Princess Jasmine is. Nothing in his personality or history as we know it shows us he is the type to go against the grain. He comes from a highly conservative, isolated country and has significant issues adjusting to change himself. In fact, his entire conflict in book 7 results from him trying to uphold the status quo and prevent change. Malleus typically does not rebel, at least not in significant ways; he normally observes ceremonies, traditions, and rules of social etiquette as he understands them. He's not a shit-stirrer like Leona, who disregards formalities, scoffs at royal expectations, and speaks and acts rudely.

You also can’t exactly make yourself fall in love in an act of rebellion?? Emotions just don’t work like that. Maybe you’d be more likely to go for someone that goes against the expectations others have for you, but 1) it’s not a definite scenario, and 2) again, you can’t force your feelings to be a certain way.

I think there’s definitely a discussion to be had on how Malleus would feel about being in an arranged marriage. This is the one thing I’m uncertain about. I personally interpret it as… well, Malleus can’t be so naive as to not realize this is a very real possibility for his future??? And he has mentioned before that he is aware of his responsibilities as a noble. He must know and be anticipating an arranged marriage somewhere down the line (though this doesn’t necessarily mean he’s excited for it). I get the impression he might be resigned to his responsibilities (since it's such a big thing he's expected to do; similar to how he respects invitation etiquette despite also wanting to join in on group activities). But he could also be very mad about it if he just doesn't vibe with whoever the arranged partner is (similar to his mom)?? Ultimately though, I would like to believe Malleus would have an understanding of what his role calls for and would have to put aside personal feelings to do what's best for his country. There are non-romantic cases of him acting on this behavior, like refraining from proposing to the Ghost Bride, insisting that Leona (someone who frequently picks fights with him) be apologized to in order to maintain amicable relationships between their nations, etc.

I think we’re also assuming a lot about Maleanor’s relationship with Raverne here. Yes, it’s clear she loves him very much. BUT we also assuming that Raverne is someone she fell in love with and married without the senators’ approval, and that Malleus will have the same freedom to choose. How do we know the senators didn’t approve of Raverne? How do we know that Maleanor and Raverne weren’t arranged and she just didn’t complain this time because she actually reciprocated?? How do we know they didn’t marry first and fall in love later??? None of this was covered in canon.

Based on my own understanding of the lore and Malleus’s character, this is the conclusion that I have reached. Although maybe I'm expecting (or hoping for) way too much maturity from him as he ages 💦

[wormfeeding]

indulge me.

part one, late night snack 𖦹:･ﾟ⋆. ࿐࿔

contents; sanji x reader, friends with benefits to lovers, f! reader implied, dom! reader, oral (f! receiving), p in v, sanji’s usual pet names, kitchen sex, reader smokes (sanji’s cigarettes), food language and mentions, no use of y/n, implied alcohol consumption, intentional lowercase.

desc; you and sanji have been fwb for a few weeks, starting after one afternoon alone on the ship. a midnight craving dragged you out of bed and into the kitchen.

a/n; this was just supposed to be kitchen sex, but then i started to get very intrigued by the idea of sex as consumption, nourishment, and fulfillment. let’s see how this plays out.

wc; 7k~

part 1/?

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you didn’t make it a habit. you were just, satisfying your cravings. tonight, you were getting a late night snack, that’s all.

you couldn’t fall asleep. between the constant noise outside of the girls’ room and an ache in your stomach, your brain was too distracted to drift off to sleep. you shift around in your bed, frustrated by how the two girls near you were sleeping so soundly. looking up to the ceiling, you sigh. your mind lost in your thoughts. after a silent decision, you throw your blankets off, leaving the room.

walking down the hall, you hear a sudden uproar of laughter and boos muffled through the wall. a small smile forms on your lips, walking the rest of the way to the kitchen.

when you enter the room, it’s surprisingly empty. as you walk around to the fridge, smells enveloped you. sweet and savory collided in the most delicious of ways, likely due to the prepped food for tomorrow. you opened the door to the fridge, eyeing something that pulled a quiet gasp from you. cherry pie! you licked your lips, grabbing the only slice left from the shelf and closed the door.

ever since you smelled the tangy air wafting around deck earlier, you couldn’t wait for a taste. before you could, though, luffy had ate all four pies in one bite at the conclusion of dinner, earning him several smacks on the head. you had frowned, but instantly forgave him anyway.

you often let luffy blame you for his own middle-of-the-night snack trips, allowing the cook’s anger to fizzle and offer to make more of whatever ‘you ate.’ it often granted you a sloppy, but endearing kiss on the cheek from your captain, a promise that he’ll do it again.

you didn’t care who this slice was meant for, it was yours now. digging out a fork from the cabinet, you dove in. the sweet, delectable mixture of butter, sugar, and cherries wrap around your tongue. you curse under your breath, not sure exactly at what.

you elbows lean down on the counter, hovering over your plate as you savor each bite, the flavors filling your senses. another round of loud voices and shouts come from down the hall as you lift the final bite to your lips. if you strained your ears enough, you could make out who was making them.

as you lean up from the counter, arms silently move to wrap around your waist, a familiar scent of cigarettes and cloves surround you. the man behind you hums, pressing his nose into the side of your hair and hips into your ass.

“what are you doing up, my sweet?” the smoke from his cigarette travels up in front of you, disappearing into the air. his voice is low and gruff, likely due to lack of sleep and chain smoking all night.

your lips spread into a smirk, like a moth to a flame. “just getting a snack,” you lean back in his arms slightly, resting your hands on the counter in front of you. “what are you doing up? Isn’t it like, 3 a.m.?”

sanji squeezes your waist lightly, lifting his hand to put his cigarette between his lips. he breathes in deeply, and blows out the other side of his mouth. “yeah, probably. luffy has us up with some stupid truth or dare game.”

“hm, got you feeling a bit competitive, huh?” you chuckle, pushing your empty plate to the side. you can smell the alcohol in his breath. apparently feeling a little handsy too. if there was anything sanji was willing to lose sleep over, a chance to one up his crew mates—especially zoro—was pretty high up on that list. the first one, being you.

“yeah,” he sighs. “It was mostly dares, as you could probably guess.” his nose presses further into your hair, his breath sends electricity down your neck. a few examples from the night include luffy daring zoro to balance barrels on wado in his mouth, sanji daring usopp to down a nasty drink concoction, and zoro daring brook to a bottle slashing contest.

you turn around, leaning your back against the counter, shaking off his touches and effectively putting a bit of space between you two.

what you and sanji had was a complicated game of give-and-take. you two agreed rather early on in your arrangement that it would be nothing more than casual sex, heated moments of tongues and sweat, hands desperately grabbing each other, and bodies pressed together when the other felt a craving that couldn’t go unsatiated.

nothing more, of course. just a harmless way to let off steam. what’s the worst thing that can come out of fucking your already love-sick crewmate, anyway, right?

“yeah? that sounds like something you would like, so why was it stupid?” your arms move to cross across your chest, eyeing the cigarette in his mouth.

sanji pauses, taking a step back and the opportunity to drink in your appearance. from your slightly messy, bedridden hair, to your loose tank top and pajama pants, you looked as delicious as the slice of pie he knows you just ate.

sex with sanji usually started like this. either you ran into him in the kitchen, or he finds you, begging and refusing to leave your side unless you tell him to fuck off. despite finishing the slice of pie, your craving wasn’t exactly satisfied.

while he’s seemingly lost in thought, you reach out and take the cigarette between his lips, putting it between your own and sucking in. his tired, downturned eyes gloss over for a moment as he watches you close distance between you two. his hands fidget at his sides.

in your normal day-to-day, sanji was his regular old, heart-eyed, pervert self. that is to say, even after you started fucking him, he didn’t treat you any different than your other female crew mates. that’s the way you wanted it, right?

everything started one day when you two were guarding the ship together.

sanji was rambling on about the newest dish he was going to make with the ingredients your crew mates were bringing back, excited to finally have fresh produce. the afternoon sun bounced off his face, his smile beaming against the ripples of water. he talked a bunch with his hands when he was excited, waving smoke around between you.

leaned back against the railing, he was wearing a light blue dress shirt and black slacks, neatly pressed and tucked in their respective places, sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off his toned forearms.

he looked good. too good. maybe because you were out at sea for too long and were stuck with him instead of getting a reprieve from the ship. maybe, just maybe because his lips were the only meal you thought about for weeks, and now, the only thing you wanted to think about tasting right now.

you never denied that sanji was a handsome, nice looking man, though you’ve never acknowledged it out loud. you weren’t about to do it now, either, even as your eyes trailed down his neck, his slender chest, and followed the curve of his thighs. he, on the other hand, told you everyday how much he cherished you, how beautiful you were, and how he delighted in your presence.

“sanji-kun,” you softly interrupted him, taking a few steps toward him. his attention turns to you, his mouth snaps shut, his hands still.

you leaned up in his space. “can I indulge in you for a moment?” your usual sharp words turned sincere, with a tinge of want. your voice has a teeth rotting sweetness in it. he thought he heard you wrong. his eyes grew wide.

“uh-hh,” he stutters, hearing your question repeat a few times in his head. nervous from the sudden close proximity of you, his cheeks bloom crimson. “of course, darling, what do you have in mind?”

blowing the smoke out your nose, you raise your eyebrows at him, encouraging him to answer. his cigarette hangs between your index and middle finger now, your elbow resting on your other arm.

sanji visibly makes a feeble attempt to collect himself, sobbering himself up and swallowing so hard it makes his adams apple bob. running a hand through his hair, he exhales through his nose harshly.

you both swore up and down it was casual, even when sanji felt held captive by your smile, when his sanity hung on to your every word when complimenting one of his dishes. even when the electricity of his fingers brushing against yours in handing you a freshly made drink rose goosebumps on your skin, or when his rare laughter started to grip your chest.

nevermind all the times you would help him prepare a meal, his fingers lingering on your back as he moves past you, or yours after tying an apron behind his back. or, the other times when you’d purposably walk next to him to hear what he thought of the town you were visiting, or when he’d trail behind you through the open door of a shop.

but, of course, it wasnt anything serious. just a casual, no strings attached, sometimes drunken, sex. most of the crew didnt even know, the only thing close to intimate you did in front of them was share a cigarette, right?

he finds his voice. “it was-s stupid because you weren’t there,” the confidence in his voice faltering. he clears his throat, watching the smoke leave your lips. you chuckle internally. you wondered if he was disguising a white lie behind something charming sounding, or not. either way, you were intrigued.

“oh yeah?” you take another drag of his cigarette, narrowing your eyes at him. “what would you ask if I was there?” he watches your lips and the smoke moving past them. with nothing to do with his hands, his shoves them into his pockets.

he shrugs, “truth or dare?”

you grin, flicking the butt of the cigarette on your empty plate, thinking. either of these choices could lead to a trap, so you choose the safer option. “truth.”

without another beat, he asks, as if he’s been thinking the question all night, “tell me something, sweetheart.” his voice is dripping with honey, taking a small step forward, his hands rest on the counter on either side of you.

“hm?” your eyes watch the blonde mess of hair get closer, the cigarette at your lips again.

“why do you put up with me?” his seemingly confident gaze is hidden behind true fear. though, he was an expert in hiding that type of thing.

it was a great question. one that you try not to entertain often. you’re not exactly sure. was it the attention? his delicate touches? his charm? his warm heart? his devotion? no, none of those really. it was probably how he devoured your pussy every time he had the chance. or the way he let you milk his cock whenever you wanted. but you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, or at least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

smoke blows out your nose. “I made a bet with nami to see how long I could hold out.”

it wasn’t exactly a lie, but not the whole truth either. said bet was progressing smoothly, created after her and robin had caught you returning to the shared room one night while wearing one of sanji’s shirts, your hair messy, and bite marks on your thighs. in your embarrassment, you had defended yourself and agreed to her conditions. however, bets with nami were notoriously hard to win. she knew the boys better than you and any bets between the two of you have left your pockets empty. in the moment, you were willing to agree to anything to get their, well, mostly nami's, teasing to stop.

“how fun,” sanji doubles over in laughter, teeth flashing and hand coming to rest on his chest. “two of my favorite girls betting against themselves at my sake.”

of course he would find that amusing. you lean into his space, putting the cigarette back between his lips, waiting expectedly for him to take it and breathe in. you lock eyes with him as he captures the burning paper between his lips.

“anyway, I should be getting to bed. thanks for the cig,” you move to turn toward the door.

smoke empties out his nose, his hand reaching to clasp around your wrist, trailing up to intertwine his fingers with yours before you can put it down at your side. at the same time, the bud of the cigarette is put out beside you.

“darling, what must I do to stay in the presence of your beauty for a little longer?” his lips find their favorite place along your knuckles, smiling, lingering a bit longer than necessary. your eyes roll as you allow his lips to trail up your hand.

shaking your head, “sanji, it’s late. I want to go back to bed.” his delicate kisses continue their trail up your arm, your lack of movement contradicting your words.

“and I want you,” his eyes flicker up to yours, his fingers still holding a featherlight touch to yours, expecting you to pull away at any moment. despite a yawn clawing at your throat, the brush of his stubble sends goosebumps up your arm. “please? I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

you scoff, “why? because we’re not docked on an island where you can feel up some random local?” despite the bark in your tone, your fingers stay laced in his. the warmth from his kisses leave you waiting for the next one.

“ouch, that stings,” you can feel his lips curl up in a smile against your skin, continuing in their journey, nose brushing you with each decent. “how can you say that when you know your beauty is all I can ever think about.”

you watch him, holding back a snort. that’s an easy one. “because you’re a pathetic, pussy-starved man.”

sanji pauses, his nose threatening to leave drops of blood along your skin. something about your deadpan tone sends blood rushing to his dick as well. his eyes flicker up at you again, your expression mixed with annoyance and playfulness. something grumbles low in his throat. you insult him like this, even with the knowledge that it edges him on further.

“maybe so,” he affirms. returning his gaze to your skin, he lifts your arm and releases his grip for it to slide over his shoulder. you allow him to pull you towards him, your resolve to return to your bed crumbling. your fingers find the nape of his neck, toying with the short hairs there. emboldened by your touch, his hands find your waist, thumbs rubbing circles, as his lips continue in their trail up your raised arm.

“by the way, who’s in the lead for your little bet?”

his tongue makes its appearance, trailing up your neck. before his mouth makes it too far, your thumb and index move to wrap around his jaw, forcing his attention upward to you.

sure, maybe sanji daydreamed about your taste. maybe he knew each and every place you liked to be touched. and, maybe he spent hours thinking about your cunt around his cock, like you were the only one that could bring him relief, like he couldnt finish without imagining your touch, your sweet scent on his skin. because nothing compared to you, no matter how many times he fucked his fist or daydreamed about other women, it wasnt the same as you.

but that was fine …right?

“me.” your breath tickles his face, his lips puffy and red, parted slightly as he looks up at you.

despite it all, you couldn’t deny the way his groveling made you feel. you had one of the wings of the future pirate king occasionally begging at your feet. you could make him fall to his knees so hard they’d bleed, whenever you wanted him to.

leaning down, you meet your lips with his, earning a satisfied hum in your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes and expensive wine. you press your tongue through his lips, getting a deeper taste. he pulls you lightly by the waist toward him, your hands move to his collar, running down to the first button, fingers following a practiced motion down his shirt. smooth muscles ripple under your touch.

“got anymore of that wine? tastes good,” you move your tongue against his, winning the battle over his mouth. sanji melts underneath you, his face flushed from the sudden intensity. heat prickles out from his cheeks at the thought of you analyzing his spit.

“sorry my love, brook and I drank it all.” he’s quick to add, “I’ll pick you up some more at our next stop.”

you, on the other hand taste like cherries. he’s quick to identify what led you to the kitchen in the first place: a certain missing slice of pie that had your name on it.

you break from his lips, pushing him away lightly on the chest. “you jerks,” your lips turn down in a pout. "the good merlot? robin and I were gonna drink that tomorrow."

his lips match yours, pouting. “awe, angel, i'm sorry, I didn't know that. let me make it up to you,” his hands curve around your back, curving over the swell of your ass and to the backs of your thighs. he leans up in attempt to capture your lips, chasing the sweetness he tasted in your mouth before. you pull back, running your tongue over your lips.

he bites his lip. “what can I do for you? anything your sweet, forgiving heart desires.” he pleads, his hands squeezing your thighs, respecting the distance you created.

“hm,” you lean your head back further from his, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair. you think for a moment, an idea making your lips pull into a smug grin. “when you ask nami for the extra wine money, you have to say it’s to buy us all panties.”

his curly eyebrows raise at the thought, throat bobbing in a harsh gulp. a rerun of nami slapping him across the face plays in his mind. “if… that’s what you want.” his tone hesitant. you could ask him to do anything, and you wanted him to humiliate himself. hot.

“well, I want you to fuck me against this counter,” you lean in close to his ear, your voice low. “the former was not a request.”

shivers travel his spine. there they were, the three words that made his head spin every time he heard you say them. with your needs voiced, he doesn’t hesitate.

“it would be my pleasure, my sweet,” sanji gives your thighs another squeeze, your neck a final kiss before sitting you down at the edge of the counter. your hands unclasp from his neck, moving beneath the hem of his shirt and pushing the fabric from his shoulders. the button-up discarded to the side.

hands are moved to cup your cheeks, your face cradled and leaned up as he presses his lips to yours. his movements are slow, his lips soft and warm, making yours melt against them. the counter creaks under your weight as you move to lean back on it, sanji following you. his slender legs move up onto the surface he disinfected just a few hours ago. one of his hands move to the back of your head to cushion it from the hardness of the counter, his fingers curling in your hair. your cheeks burn at the intimacy of the movement, your hands stuttering in their trail down his back.

his tongue moves in your mouth, finally exploring for what he tasted earlier, his lips slow, deliberate. his fingers angle your chin up, allowing further access.

“your lips are a dream, darling,” he mumbles into your lips. “every time I get to feel them against mine I feel one step closer to heaven.”

you hum into his mouth, your lips turning up in a light smile against his. your fingers move up and down his back, feeling the space between his muscles and thumbing over the small of his back. his body moves into your every touch.

in need of a breath, you break the kiss. his lips move to make a trail to your neck, kissing your cheek, your jaw, the space below your ear. catching your breath, you watch as his lips trail down to your sternum, fingers moving over your nipples through the thinness of the fabric. his tongue darts out, licking down to the neckline of your tank top.

he pushes up your tank top to pool below your breast, his legs moving off the counter. his lips cover your stomach with kisses, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pants, pulling them down slowly around your knees, then allowing them to fall to the floor.

his fingers move across your clothed sex, making your hips moving involuntarily. if sanji has any thoughts about you already being wet for him, he doesn’t say them about loud. but he does start drooling down his chin. eager as always, he lifts your hips to pull your panties down, his hands caressing and squeezing your skin. after your panties are discarded, his hand trails down your leg, feeling the curve of your calf, down your knee and to your thigh, hoisting it up to smoothly slide over his shoulder where your arm had laid not too long ago.

you watch him as he licks his lips, bends his knees to rest on the ground, and hands cradle your hips. not wasting any more time, he pulls your core to his lips.

sanji cherishes any time he can spend beneath you, at your feet. he’d gladly spend the rest of his life on his knees for you, especially if that time is between your legs, his tongue whispering prayers into your cunt.

you groan behind your bitten lip, your hips curving into his mouth at the contact. your hand finds his hair, gripping it, eliciting a moan from him. with his mouth full with your essence, his senses were overwhelmed. “gods, I missed you. you taste delicious.”

running his tongue along, he licks long strips up and down your slit. he glances up at you, analyzing your closed lips. his fingers press into the meat of your thighs like you’ll disappear at any moment.

“please let me hear you, beautiful. I don’t think anyone will bother us.”

the straw hat’s kitchen at almost three in the morning? fat chance that you’ll get away with messing around in there without getting interrupted. but since half the crew—the half that made midnight snack runs—were up all night drinking and expending energy, the odds were in your favor. you release your teeth from your lip, pulling his face harder into your cunt.

“sanji, I need more.” you huff, fingers curling in his hair. your noises are starting to make him think he can cum untouched. It wouldn’t be the first time—the last time being after he secretly watched you workout on deck, your clothing holding your figure tightly and muscles flexing.

“fuck,” he groans, “of course angel,” his presses his tongue into your pulsing cunt, earning a breathy moan from you. his hips dig into the counter in front of him, the friction allowing him some relief.

sanji swirls his tongue around, ravenously licking and tasting you throughly, your slick spreading across his mouth. pulling his tongue out in search upwards of your buzzing clit, you felt his lips wrap around it and apply suction on it. the tip of his tongue poked through his mouth and flicked at your bud.

you moan at the new sensation, hips bucking against his chin. his eyes lock onto yours from between your thighs as he inserts two fingers and works you open. he scissors his fingers inside of you, curling them upwards to hit your g-spot, smirking when your back arches off the counter in response.

while you moan and shift under him, sanji’s lips suck at your clit, his fingers expertly moving inside you. a hitch in his breath tells you that one of his hands found his crotch and is feeling himself over his pants. the pressure in his pants became more than he can handle.

“you’re so needy,” you pant, your thumb brushing hair away from his eyes. your core pulsing as he swirls circles into your clit, his doe eyes flicker up to you in attention. “but get yourself ready for me, will you?” your tone ends in a slight whine, the coil in your stomach squeezing you.

he presses his palm into his bulge harder, humming. “always, darling.”

you moan, the vibration from his lips sends shockwaves up your body, your legs twitching in response. you hear as he expertly undoes his belt and pants one-handed, his mouth continued in it’s worship on your clit. shoving his hand into his boxers, he exhales a soft sigh as his fingers wrap around himself. your mouth waters at the thought of his hardness against the counter.

his eyes still trained on you, he starts pumping his cock in slow, lazy strokes. the slick of his pre easing his movements. “let go for me, sweetheart,” his voice is heavy with lack of breath.

sanji’s fingers continue in their work simultaneously undoing you and working you open, curling and applying pressure in appropriate areas. you were clenching around them, a telltale sign you were close. your sweet sounds increased in number and sound, mumbled versions of his name spilling out the side of your mouth. listening to the symphony of your voice, with your clit between his lips, he sucks more eagerly, sucking harder and flicking harsher as you reach your end.

you whimpered from the pressure. gripping his hair like your life depended on it, you came with a gasp, spilling out over his fingers and the counter. as you gush around his fingers, his hand tightens around his cock.

“so beautiful.” he looks at you in awe, his erection throbbing dangerously in his hand.

removing his fingers, he gently lapped at your cunt, swallowing the salty liquid down his throat, careful not to overstimulate you. he looks up at you, licking his lips. your mouth is parted and panting, your chest red and heaving.

he grins, turning his cheek to kiss the inside of your thigh. he reiterates, “you’re so beautiful right now, just for me,” his gaze lingers on you, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on your hip.

you’re overwhelmed, the tips of your your ears red, hidden behind your hair. though, his fingers are doing brilliant work to calm the spasms in your core. right now, you can’t help but think about the hardness of his cock, hiding just below the edge of the counter. a trail of blonde hair is peeking up his stomach as he stands up, face covered in your cum, fist wrapped around his blushing cock.

you come down from your high, sitting up on the counter. feeling a wetness around your ass, you smirk. “you’ll need to clean the counter again.”

“not a problem.” obedient to you as ever, he looks between you and the counter. he leans down to your sex again, tongue darting out to lick the counter space between your legs. as his mouth captures the slickness there, a groan escapes from his lips. you already want to shove his face back into your cunt, to feel his lips on you again. instead, you lift his face up in your hands and guide him away from the counter, enough to slide off the counter and plant your feet on the ground.

you reach down, pushing his pants and underwear down the rest of the way, allowing his cock to spring out. he inhales sharply when your fingers wrapping around it.

you hold him firmly, pumping him a few times. he almost comes undone immediately, the coil in his stomach pulling at his guts. his head falls to your shoulder, gasping. “my sweet,” he groans, his tone mixed with a whine, “please.”

you trail a finger along a vein on the underside of his dick, your thumb swipes over his tip. he whimpers your name as you spit into your hand, smearing it over his head and pumping him a few more times before slowly releasing him. fingers rolling his velvety skin backwards and forwards along his ever-swelling shaft.

sanji, close to squirting across your stomach, let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, mumbling praise and appreciation into your neck. just the thought your soft hands doing any work to unravel him made his mind combust immediately.

“hmm, better. you did a shitty job,” you release him, leaving his length to press against your stomach.

in an feeble attempt to regain his composure, he reaches down, hooking his shaking fingers under your knee, hiking it up and to the side. you allow him, of course. your other leg planted firmly on the ground, brushing against his.

“hold on to me, my dear,” his sweet voice is replaced with one laced with lust, his tone low and sultry. your hand finds the nape of his neck again, bicep resting on his shoulder while you turn his head to face yours. the muscles of his neck flex with the movement.

fuck. you wanted to beg him to fuck the shit out of you, to take everything he wanted, to make a mess out of you, to devour you whole. but, you don’t. your eyes, regrettably, do all the talking instead.

his mouth curls in a shit-eating grin, teeth wrapped around his lips, regaining his confidence. sanji leans his forehead against yours, looking into his eyes, you can feel the electricity of the shared anticipation.

“ready, angel?”

you hum, nodding your head lightly. sanji captures your lips, pushing past your folds slowly, angling your raised hip to open you further. your back presses against the counter, your unused hand gripping the muscle of his back to steady you both.

he moans into your lips, his hips momentarily stuttering but not failing to fill you completely. his fullness overwhelms you, the foreign angle of your hips together creating a delicious pressure.

“you feel s-so good, fuck,” his hips pause at the hilt, waiting for his cue from your body to continue, whispering praises into your parted lips. your core relaxes around his length, your held breath released. he kisses your lips in a quick, honeyed movement.

he pulls himself out slowly, reentering a little faster, and faster, increasing his speed into you until he’s relentlessly pounding his cock into you, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. his hips set a steady rhythm, the angle making your knees weak from the pleasure. your face falls onto his shoulder, panting hot breaths and moans into his neck.

“you’re taking me so well, angel.” he mumbles endless praise into the side of your face, occasionally pressing kisses against your jawline. you hear a mixture of sweetheart, perfect, tight, and lovely. the kitchen is filled with sounds of praise and for you that gets lost between slapping of skin and both of your moans.

his pace stays consistant, unrelenting and heavy with desire, his tip bullying your cervix from time to time. your core squeezed you tight as he kept hitting dangerously deep inside of you.

“look at me, darling,” he says between breaths, his grip on you tightens, his pace slows.

you do, willing your head to lift from his shoulder, you face him. his fingers brush your cheek, tucking a stray sweaty piece of hair behind your ear. damn sweet bastard. gods, if you weren’t careful, he would start to really get underneath your skin.

you blush, “would yo-” cut short by a new pressure on your clit, bolts of electricity serge throughout your body. “oh-hh, fuck sanji” you stutter, your hand grips his shoulder. he feels you pulse around him.

your reaction fills him with an intense satisfaction. “there she is,” he moans, his pace on your clit picks up, hips going flush against yours with every thrust. “come for me, sweetheart.”

the strength of your grip turns your knuckles white, the pressure building with every rotation of his fingers. your whimpers and cries call out to him, your muscles clenching around him as your second orgasm of the night hits you harder than the first. your body moves flush against him, your chest heaving.

he watches as you come undone in front of him, his hips slowing in their pace. he gulps, feeling his body react, and almost let go, in response. his fingers remove from your clit to hold your waist again.

“m’close, ssshit, so close,” he huffs, his fingers twitching. "where do you want me, angel?" he wills himself to slow to a pause with his full length inside you.

you whimper, your breath hot on his neck. “don’t stop,” you gasp, pulling him impossibly closer. "want you inside," your nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders. with tears prickle your lash line, you savor in the fullness, the overstimulation.

your arms pull his face into your neck and his lips cling to your skin. sanji inhales your scent. "fuck, thank you, thank you,” he breathes out. he wanted to fill you, so, so, desperately. fill you in a way that his cooking couldn’t, give you everything he can while maintaining the boundary you two agreed on. cumming inside you just happens to be one of them.

his pace starts again, fast, but deeper, his impending orgasm controlling his movements. it’s not long until his cock twitches, plunging deep inside you and filling you with warmth. he stays inside of you, his hands coming up to rest on your cheek. the sounds in the room still, save for your collected heaving breaths, your grip on him gradually softening.

“you were-“ he attempts to steady his breathing, his thoughts racing. “perfect,” his thumb rubs circles into the side of your knee, the strength of his arm not faltering in its hold. the intense ache in your leg subsides slightly, your hand reaches down to run your fingers along his bicep, encouraging him to release your leg. he does, also pulling out of you slowly.

you hum, overwhelmed by the impact of the orgasm. you lean back into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your back released from the torture of the counter. “not bad yourself.” your cunt tells you to praise him more, tell him how good you felt, to lean down and take his dick in your mouth and show him your true appreciation. that’s normal, right?

sanji grins, arms resting around your waist. his sweaty forehead leans against yours, messy hair hanging between you. “sleep with me?” with his lips an inch from yours, you smirk at the irony. with your cravings subsided, his sweet voice reaches the depths of your stomach, your already low defenses shattering.

rolling your eyes, you give in. “lead the way.”

the next morning ✶࿐

you yawn, stretching your arms as you make your way to the kitchen in the direction from the boys' room. walking through the door, you look around, not surprised to see some of the crew up already: nami, chopper, zoro, and usopp. well, someone’s sleeping, leaning against the wall, but present.

you trail around behind the counter, as if by habit, motivated by scent of coffee wafting in the air. you see him watching your approach out of the counter of your eye. “good morning sanji-kun.”

he smiles at you, his head turning to follow you as you round the corner of the island, his hands continuing to work in front of him.

“good morning my love, can I get you something?”

no dramatic greeting? no grand gesture? oh, you had him right where you wanted him. or, was it the other way around?

“no, im alright, sanji,” you grant him a gentle smile. you reach up in the cabinet for a clean mug to fill with coffee.

he nods, looking back at his work, taking note of small bruises that covered space on your neck. you pour coffee from the pot, returning it to warm as you take a long drink from the cup. the crew’s current conversation filters through your ears.

“huhhhh? really usopp?!!” chopper exclaims, leaned up with his hooves on the table, beaming at his friend.

“that’s right, the great captain usopp took down an army of 200 marines before nightfall,” he flexes his muscles, posing. nami mumbles something, reading the newspaper in her hands, sipping on her drink.

“all by yourself?? soooo cool!!! how did you do it??”

you set down your cup, reaching into his shirt pocket, knowing you’d find his pack of cigarettes and lighter there, pulling out both. “sleep well?” he asks, almost hesitantly. the sizzling of the pan in front of him adds more noise to the room.

you put a stick between your lips, flick the flint of his lighter and breathe in deep. the last thing you were willing to admit at 8 in the morning is that you enjoyed being pressed against him, your face in the crook of his neck while you slept. you replace what you stole from his pocket, smoke blowing out the side of your mouth. you lean against the counter, your back facing the crew. you decide it was too early to keep up the facade.

“yeah, you?”

he notices the relaxed nature of your presence, smiling. he flips the pan in his hand, his eyes moving between that and you.

“like a baby, especially in your-“

“I’m HUNGRY!”

luffy stands in the doorway of the kitchen, after having kicked it open. “sanji, is breakfast ready yet!?” he demands, dragging his feet as he made his way in his and yours’ direction. you click your tongue, wonderful timing as always, captain. grumbles of “quiet down you idiot” fly in his direction.

sanji’s face immediately turns down in a scowl. putting a hand up in protest, he halted luffy’s approach. “no. now go wait with the others. you should have to wait longer because you kept us up all night with your insistent dares.” your lips curve up in a light smile, listening to the interaction, taking another drag of the burning paper between your fingers.

“but sanjjiiiii,” luffy whines, a large pout hangs on his lips.

“luffy! come listen to usopp’s story with me!!” chopper’s eyes are turned into stars, his mouth wide. “he’s telling me about the time he took down a whole navy base all by himself!”

“whaaaaaat?!?” luffy runs over to the table slamming his hands on the table. his attention effectively diverted.

sanji’s expression returns to normal. his eyebrows lower, his jaw unclenches, mumbling something to the tune of ‘impatient idiot’ under his breath.

you uncross your arms, taking a final drag of the cigarette before reaching out to him. his attention turns back to you, looking between you and the cigarette offering in your fingers. the repeated motion of your offering makes several moments of last night replay in his head.

you chuckle, affectionately. your hand brushing against his arm as you pull away, having placed the cigarette between his lips. you pick up your coffee mug, making your way around the island and to the table with your friends.

he watches as you walk away. the remnants of your lips on the cigarette now between his, a silent thanks for fucking your brains out, sends shivers down sanji’s spine.

nami mocks the stupid smirk on you have on your face as you walk over to the table to join the others. setting your coffee down, you take a seat at the table next to chopper to join in on hearing the story.

when sanji places your breakfast plate down in front of you, you realize you’re awfully full already.

𖦹:･ﾟ⋆. ࿐࿔

a/n; this series was heavily inspired by the song, "cherry pie (i think i love you)" by déyyess.

part two coming soon.

[ven0moir]

tw; rant. Once again here to remind everyone that byler not being endgame is, at best, negligent queerbaiting

this is the show where one of the producers said "the UD mythos is important but the heart of the show are its characters and their interconnectedness/family dynamics" or something along those lines AND also said that "very few things are coincidences in this show."

i'd have been ( and i bet a lot of other bylers too ) COMPLETELY FINE without byler even being a possible card on the table. i'd HAVE STILL BEEN A FAN OF THE SHOW without byler! in fact, i WAS--i cared more about el and hopper's rs than i did mike and will's. it wasn't until S4 that i REALLY got invested in the show bc of the promise of will's arc, WHICH INCLUDES MIKE. the way they handled the painting arc, if byler isn't endgame, is literally the most underwhelming thing i've seen.

the only difference that byler makes in my case is that if it hadn't come across as a real possibility, then i would've remained a casual viewer and not think about the show again until it came out, like yknow, most people. so this whole "will they won't they" thing going on makes it feel like a marketing technique to keep people who enjoy byler hooked at the promise of something significant developing there.

this isn't about "oh your ship didn't become canon? tough luck" it's legit that they would ruin their show for me FOR. NO. REASONNNNNN. I WAS ALREADY A FAN!!! I HAD NO BYLER EXPECTATIONS!!! not to mention how shitty it is on the lgbt community. and also, the mass hate bylers would get.

and before you say "its ur own fault for being delusional, they didn't queerbait--" I'm sorry but what Noah is doing IS QUEERBAIT even if he doesn't mean to and the duffers should tell him to stop hinting at byler until post s5 or whatever

im not even going to talk about the show IMPLYING BYLER for ages. for example; dustin telling lucas that he saw him and max holding hands and that meant there were feelings between them even if lucas denied it/said she was just scared vs mike holding will's hand AN EPISODE PRIOR

or the song "on the bus" playing during a lumax scene where they connected vs it playing on a byler scene in s4 using very similar phrasing it's like they're subtly winking at the audience.

the shitty way that mileven finally got their 'i love you' like im sorry it feels so rushed and awkward if this was supposed to be the culmination of mike's arc

i could literally go on and on and on and other bylers could as well so yeah. ugh im sorry for the negativity in the tag but i just REALLY need that to be very clear that byler vs mileven isn't an argument that is ocurring on equal ground and that byler isn't 'just a ship that people analyze too much'

if it was never going to be canon, THERE WAS NO NEED TO HINT AT IT **AT ALL** and THAT is what really grinds my gears. most bylers would still love ST bc our favorite character is WILL. we would've been fine if will's whole thing was telling his best friend he was gay and that's it. like, the bar is on the FLOOR ... me personally? i'll be satisfied with will getting a completed arc in the supernatural and having his moment to shine and bringing the story full circle like WE WERE PROMISED ( unless yknow, people want to call us stupid and delusional for expecting will to be important at all )

what i will NOT tolerate is people being mean to bylers for being upset about byler not being endgame in the end bc WE HAVE A RIGHT TO BE. and if you're one of those people sincerely: FUCK YOU. i wish you get exactly what you deserve. thank you for reading and that's it from me

[saintsenara]

Why Harry being short and frail (or even petite and delicate) past puberty is such a popular take these days? Sure, he is not bulky, but don't we know from Voldemort himself that James was tall and don't we know that Harry was exactly the same height as James during the final battle? Don't we know that Harry works out 3 times a week and is generally athletic? Is it the same thing that is happening with fanon Sirius or is it something different? Is it because he was short as a child and grew up in a cupboard, thus unlikely to end up like he did at the end of the series? What do you think about it? How likely is it? I keep seeing it in many slash ships and I am genuinely baffled. Is it me who has it backwards? Please solve this mystery, dear Asenora!

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i think several things are at play, tbh - some of which are more understandable than others.

the first is that daniel radcliffe genuinely is short [for a british man, at least] - his height is given online as 165cm [or 5'5], but looking at pictures of him leads me to suspect that's an exaggeration - and was, unsurprisingly, even shorter when he was a teenager. many of the other actors in the films are much, much taller than him - especially people like alan rickman and david thewlis, both of whom were over six foot - and since the films inevitably influence how people picture the characters physically, the height differences we see on screen end up becoming part of that.

the second is that, while harry is described as "tall" in canon, that term appears to be doing a fair amount of heavy-lifting. numerous male characters are described as taller than him in both half-blood prince and deathly hallows - with the example which always stands out to me being the fact that fred and george weasley are said to "shrink" when they polyjuice into harry before the seven potters chase. fred and george - like charlie - are described in canon as being noticeably shorter and stockier in build than bill, percy, and ron. unless ron et al. are so tall that it would be thought of as really unusual - let's say above 6'6/198cm - harry probably isn't over 6'0/182cm tall.

thirdly, it's worth saying that what is meant by "tall" is culturally contingent. i've said that daniel radcliffe is shorter than average for a british man - and that's true - but his height isn't going to be thought of in that way in different parts of the world. similarly, there are parts of the world where describing a man who was, say, 5'10/178cm as "tall" would be considered quite strange - but i don't think the uk [where the average male height in 1998 was just over 5'8/174cm] is one of them. certainly, i picture harry as around that height [allowing characters like ron, sirius, dumbledore, and voldemort - who are all described as such - to be noticeably taller than him, but not so tall that their height would be considered abnormal], and i don't think it precludes him still being thought of as "tall" within the context in which he lives. but an author from, for example, the netherlands - where the average male height is 6'0.5/183cm - would probably think differently.

[there's a point about cultural contingency in the quip he makes about being short because of the cupboard too: i would read that as a dark joke which he doesn't actually think has any truth behind it specifically when it comes to his height, but which nonetheless expresses that the dursleys abuse him generally and this abuse has had a long-term impact upon him; readers from other parts of the world take it more literally.]

and finally, harry is definitely physically fit and - of course - works out a lot as part of playing quidditch, but both he and james are emphasised in canon as having slender builds - and it's also implied in the text that seekers are generally slim. harry doesn't need to be seen as any less sporty if we presume that he has the physique of a distance runner or triathlete rather than that of a sprinter.

however, there are definitely some aspects to the tendency for harry to be written as short and slender which do bother me a fair amount - and i do think that these have something in common with what we see with fanon sirius.

that is, that harry and sirius aren't written as short and slender because the author wants them to just happen to be short and slender. they're written as short and slender because the author wants them to be passive. their height/build is emphasised in the story in order to hammer this home - and it's often accompanied by them being assigned other aspects of physical appearance, personality, dress, or manner [especially ones which might be considered as "effeminate"] which, once again, aren't intended to communicate anything other than this passivity.

and - of course - in the writing of vast amounts of slash, any indication of passivity, submissiveness, or femininity - and the physical traits which end up equated with them - is taken as an indication that the character in question would be an exclusive - and submissive - bottom, who defers to the whims of their partner, an exclusive - and dominant - top.

and - unsurprisingly - topping ends up being associated with masculinity - and the personality traits and physical characteristics - above all a tall, muscular build - which are equated with that.

frail!harry seems to be most prominent - in my experience - in ships like tomarrymort, not so much because people really care about the implications of harry's characterisation, but because they're hugely opposed to the suggestion that characters like tom riddle would ever bottom [since - of course - they associate the act of being penetrated with femininity and femininity with weakness...]. great lengths have to be gone to, then, to emphasise that voldemort - or whoever else - is powerful and proud and authoritative and masculine and tall. and, for some reason, this is apparently incompatible with the idea that he might also like to get railed... which means that harry has to make sure nobody is in any doubt about who's the woman bottom by becoming as teeny tiny as he possibly can...

[oneslimybastard]

mouthwashing spoilers ig bewaaare it's so fascinating just How Much people hate Jimmy Mouthwashing, despite that when it comes to Evil Deeds he actually lags behind a lot of other horror characters.

He's not a serial killer. He's not even really a killer (the only person he hands-on murders is Swansea in implied self defense). He's bitter, entitled, emotionally immature, impulsive, misogynistic, a rapist and enabled by Terminal Nice Guy Curly. Aka, a guy you've worked with, or a pissy uncle that keeps getting invited to christmas out of enforced politeness, your boyfriend's friend who keeps making you uncomfortable and you keep being told that he's a "good guy" deep down. A scumbag of which there are a dime a dozen of.

Any readings that he was a machivallian evil mastermind to me feels like huffing cope. Because the entire game is just Jimmy fuckign, floudering, as his actions suddenly have a lot of consequences that he wasn't emotionally equipped for. He thinks he can fix things, and that it's not really his fault, sure he assaulted Anya but she wasn't supposed to get pregnant from it, sure he crashed the ship in a temper tantrum but he didn't think Curly would get meatified from it. He sends Daisuke into the hutch because he's too much of a coward to do it himself, but he wasn't supposed to get injured from it. Yeah he's treated Anya like shit but she wasn't supposed to kill herself. Swansea comes after him with an axe — that wasn't supposed to happen either. And at the very end, Jimmy martyrs himself to "save" Curly (how saved he gets from being turned into a cryofrozen treat is debatable but I like to think it does ensure his survival, for the themes), so he can have some fucking solace that he managed to set things right before he kills himself — when in actuality all he did was ensure that he will run from taking responsibility for the rest of time.

After all, no one can hold you accountable if you're dead.

Jimmy isn't evil, you the player would be much more comfortable with his character if he WAS evil. He's just pathetic, making excuses, and emotionally lashing out, lashing out over the trauma he inflicted on someone else having consequences for him he sees no obvious escape from for once. Curly can't nepo him outa this one, lads. And all it takes is a few button presses to doom the entire ship.

Then he doesn't even have the guts to own it. He doesn't have the guts to own what a shitty person he is, called out directly in-text by Swansea who like we stan Swansea but I would not be surprised if his list of crimes (minus ship-crashing) looked exactly like Jimmy's, sexual assault included.

And that's the whole point of Mouthwashing innit. The worst guys you know will be some dick who refuses to own up to his own scumbaggery because he can't stand to look himself in the mirror if he does, and the people who cover for him. Evil doesn't exist (the contexts for where I think it does is a different and politically loaded conversation), usually it's just Some Fucking Guy who thought he was too good for therapy and magikarp splashed his path of carnage through other people's lives because of it.

Jimmy could have set things right, but that meant grappling with what a shitbag he is and the damage he caused Anya, and for certain people embittered by their own mediocrity, Armageddon is just the much more glamorous option.

And when he's forced to pick up the pieces and take responsibility, he breaks. Despite how much we hate it, it's very easy in this world to become a Jimmy, to fuck up and hurt people and then just go nuh-uh-nuh-uh until we've convinced ourselves we really did nothing wrong; to brainwash ourselves into thinking running away from accountability is the noble action. Even easier to become a Curly, with a pet Jimmy scrambling around that you can't be fucked to hold accountable because that's like, so messy, and a bother, it's fine, he's just a little grouchy you guys. Yes yes Anya I hear your concerns but like... I dunno, this puts me in a really complicated situation, you understand?

People know this instinctively, and that's why they feel like they have to parade Jimmy around like the Worst Guy Ever, to wash their hands of him, since that's more soothing than thinking about how much of a Boring Regular Guy he actually is. A Boring Regular Guy you've got in your life right now who kind of puts you off but nobody is actively dealing with. You included.

That's probably a large part of why this game haunts people, and why Jimmy just gets under their skin so bad to call him like the most irredeemable guy ever. In a genre he shares with like the Mad Father himself and Sachiko the torture ghost from Corpse Party, or the lady from the Amnesia DLC, etc. etc. (Astarion BG3 is also Objectively a shittier guy than Jimmy Mouthwashing, which isn't a fair comparison because different genres with different stakes, but it is a funny one.)

also he's in yaoi with curly soooooorry it's in the text as he cradles that meated up bod and stares straight into curly's bulging eyeball and forcefeeds him pills. and then his own leg. his love language is just complicated ok dont judge.

[skywalkr-nberrie]

One of the biggest arguments I’ve seen used by the Ob*d*l*s against Anidala, is that scene in the ROTS novel where Padmé says she could trust OW with the secret of the rebellion and was hesitant to tell Anakin and I just wanna say:

Padmé wasn't an idiot. She was an extremely intelligent and competent woman, perfectly able to understand that loving Anakin and thinking that he could be trusted with a certain politic-related matter were two very different things and reducing her choice regarding who to trust with an important political matter only on the basis of her feelings of romantic love diminishes her professionalism, and this is why I say y'all could never understand her.

Padmé didn’t have to "love" OW or even like him at all to know he was the perfect Jedi to ask for help in a secret political matter.

That's the point being made in the novel, she’s hit with the realization that Anakin in this particular moment could not be told this piece of info because of his relationship with Palpatine, and Padmé specifically mentions in the Junior ROTS novel that she didn't want to make Anakin “keep a secret” if he didn’t agree with their stance because it’d be “unfair.” So this also played a part in why Padmé didn’t think it best to inform Anakin about the Rebellion. It honestly had little to do with her actually lacking trust in him, and more to do with the circumstances she was in not allowing her to be open with her husband and her not wanting to make him choose between his wife and his “father figure.”

However, Padmé knows OW’s political ideas aren't tied to ONE particular person but to a philosophy, one which is closer to her own, at that point. None of this was ever meant to be hinted as “romantic” or even remotely insinuated as romantic. It’s strictly professional and even the tone of the scene makes that so abundantly clear.

All I’m saying is that, some of these proshippers are doing the most out here to try and prove their ship, like my loves? You forgot a very important thing called ✨ context ✨ and regardless of her rational thinking, Padmé still went out of her way to try and talk out all of this Rebellion secrecy stuff with Anakin when she confronted him in the scene where she asks if he ever thought they were “fighting on the wrong side.” Padmé didn’t trust OW in the same way she trusted Anakin (with her entire self and being) she had the level of trust and love for Anakin that was only meant for him.

Mixing up her unwavering faith in Anakin as her husband with her trust in OW’s devotion to duty as her comrade/ally is purposely deluding yourself, because the two aren’t the same and therefore can’t be compared. An example of this is: Padmé constantly putting more value to Anakin’s words over OW’s in the end of ROTS when he came to tell her of Anakin’s “crimes”. She completely disregarded what OW had claimed about her husband and instead made her way to where Anakin was herself, to ask him directly. Despite what the truth was, this is proof of her trusting Anakin unconditionally, and I didn’t even think I had to spell that out because it’s as clear as day.

In conclusion, Padmé didn’t trust OW more than Anakin, she just knew the circumstances she was in didn’t exactly make it easy for her to openly talk with her husband about these matters and that’s part of what played into the issues they had in ROTS, it’s exactly what Sidious wanted. This scene in the novel doesn’t exist to imply some hidden romantic undertone that George was intending all along. No, far from that. George was always an “open, , clear and easy to understand” type of storyteller, so if the former was the case, this scene wouldn’t be any different if there was some hidden message or subtext the reader should be made aware of, George would make it obvious. Fact of the matter is, the one and only reason for this scene in the novel to exist is only to show to us as the “reader” that the narrative is tearing apart the Star-Crossed-lovers (Anakin and Padmé.) and visibly putting the two of them on different sides in the story because the consequences of this narrative choice is what will foreshadow and play into the inevitable and great fall of the couple and character in the future. Even the novel makes a very purposeful and clear distinction between “love and trust” in this chapter where all this occurs. Padmé loves Anakin, but knew she had to trust OW with the situation at hand. And if you want to talk “narratively” Padmé needed a reason to keep the Rebellion a secret from Anakin, thus leading to Palpatine to sense “betrayal” in Padmé later on, and using that to his advantage to manipulate Anakin even more into getting him to “suspect” her. It’s all spelt out for us and it’s not hard to miss. All it takes is a little media literacy and understanding context.

(Mind you, hypothetically, if this scene existed for literally any other reason, it would’ve been brought up again, but it wasn’t. It’s only mentioned once and exists for only one moment which was meant to serve a certain narrative and then it was done. There’s not much to make of it since the context of the scene is so clear.)

[ms-cartoon]

Warning: This post will contain mentions of assault or anything along the lines of it. You get the idea.

My review for HH ep 2 was supposed to be out by now, but there are some things I have to say first. My reasoning for sticking around for Hazbin Hotel is all gone except for Vox right now. I love Husk too, but they really just kinda ruined him for me in ep 4. I'm probably being dramatic but that's just how I feel. If he's supposed to be this wise bartender who's meant to make people feel better and help reach an understanding of some sort, he really just failed at that.

EP 4 of Hazbin Hotel is probably the worst one out of all the eps released so far. There are PLENTY of flaws to point out, but they can be said for some other posts I'll upload soon. What I'm mainly concerned with as of now is that "Loser Baby" song sung by HuskerDust.

So it's revealed that Husk was once an overlord and was always gambling. He betted his status and powers when playing against Alastor and lost. Now I guess he's forced to do whatever Alastor wants such as being a bartender. . . .

Sorry to get off topic here but. . . . Husk was an overlord??? I don't like how they just suddenly reveal that. It caught me off guard. I know they sorta foreshadowed it in the pilot, but they should've given most newcomers to the show a hint or something. It honestly feels like the writers just pulled that revelation out their asses just to add some positivity and similarity between Angel and Husk's relationship (because Viv and the fans just love idea of this ship oh so much)

Also, since he was previously an overlord, how come nobody's heard of him??? Everybody will get shocked when they hear or see Alastor or recognize him by his radio shows. Everybody knows the Three Vs, Camilla, etc. but not a Husk??? The Overlord with a gambling addiction?? Charlie and Vaggie will get shocked when Alastor comes in the picture but look at Husk like he's some random dude that just popped outta nowhere?

Plus, Alastor didn't force Husk to work as a bartender. In the pilot, he was easily convinced with cheap booze.

Speaking of his gambling addiction; well we all know he likes to gamble judging by his appearance. But gambling being his addiction?? Since when was that implied?

Anyway . . . . At this point, I don't get what the idea of that song is or what Husk meant by it. Maybe I am overlooking it, but its pretty hard not to believe knowing how Viv screws up her writing skills and how she went about it. According to all the Viv defenders, the song was meant to say Angel isn't alone in being stuck in a situation he feels he can't get out of and that Husk can understand where he's coming from and what he's going through. Well sorry to burst y'all's bubble, but even if that was, they just did wrong ENTIRELY. (Sidenote: If you Hazbin lovers wanna see it how u see it, then fine. But Imma stick with what I believe and there's nothing that could be said to change my mind, so don't bother trying to correct me.)

Husk makes it seem like he knows exactly what it's like being in Angel's shoes; signing a contract and being forced to do something against his will. That part seems to be the only thing they have similar. Except what happened with Husk in the past should NOT count as a similarity!

Husk: Loses a bet against Alastor, costing his soul and status as an overlord. Agrees to commit to Alastor's biddings apparently, including being a bartender for a hotel (which he wasn't really forced to do. He doesn't seem to be afraid in refusing Alastor's requests. I partially don't even believe it was apart of the deal to do what Alastor wanted)

Angel: Is a pornstar. Forced to be a pornstar and do whatever Val wants him to do. Including submitting to him and his sexual needs, getting beaten, r8ped, assaulted (sexually even), exploited, drugged, etc.

What part of Angel's problem should Husk be understanding? Alastor doesn't beat or r8pe Husk! It's never even revealed what Husk goes through with Alastor. I doubt it's anything bad on his part, since he clearly isn't afraid to talk smack to the powerful radio demon who could kill him in an instant. They just . . . had that past and now Husk is doing him a permanant favor. What Husk is doing now isn't even anything bad. He's working as a bartender for a hotel and is being paid to do it. He may not like, but it's nothing bad. What ANGEL is going through on the other hand?? The word "bad" doesn't even begin to cover it.

Husk may not know what Angel goes through (though he should connect the dots since Angel hinted at him when he revealed he gets drugged all the time) but Angel just full on agreeing with him and accepting that he's a loser for what he goes through and having to embrace his situation????

Ummm . . . . NO!

Bro! You just saw Angel about to get drugged!! He should NOT have to accept that!!

[blueikeproductions]

Onyx Prime is one I have a semi complicated feeling towards.

The Prime of Beasts, and borrowing his name from an obscure Beast Wars character, he’s meant to explain why some Transformers have Beast Modes. It’s not … super clear if this includes the various Mechanimals like Laserbeak and Ravage, or Cyberverse’s various menagerie.

But presumably it does, as that would mean the deer bots seen in ONE are related to Onyx too, as they’re the only non Prime Beast Moded robot. ONE Airachnid’s toy gives her a space spider Beast Mode, but she only turns into a space helicopter Vehicle Mode in the film, so it’s unknown if she’s a Triple Changer or if her Beast Mode was an early script idea.

ONE Onyx, like Alchemist, Quintus, Micronus, Vector, Nexus, Prima, & Solus, doesn’t really get to do anything except die by the hands of Sentinel & the Quints. His Cog is donated to the main heroes, but who got it isn’t clear. I think Megatron did because of his beastly nature at that point, but I also think it fits Elita pretty well.

His design is a hybrid of his IDW and Aligned designs, taking more from the IDW design with the colors and beast kibble.

An interesting quirk is the ONE design borrows heavily from the semi confusion of his IDW design. Oynx is supposed to be a centaur, but IDW artists opted to have him stand on his hind legs, with his fore legs dangling awkwardly.

This would be turned into foreshadowing, to imply Oynx wasn’t what he seemed, revealing that he was actually Shockwave due to comic book time paradox reasons.

The awkward posture was due to Shockwave wearing Onyx’s corpse like a Pretender Shell, being unable to copy the original centaur look. Hilariously the ONE design foregoes the centaur look altogether, but nothing has clarified on if the centaur is his actual Beast Mode, or if he turns into a different creature in a BM Savage Noble fashion… His TFONE model implies he might Transform into a space dragon, or if we want to meet half way on the centaur idea, a space griffin.

As such, Onyx’s only major role has been IDW, and it technically wasn’t even him. The actual IDW Onyx was a kind shepherd who Shockwave killed after landing on prehistoric Cybertron following his failed Dark Cybertron scheme.

Pretending to be Onyx, Shockwave guaranteed events on Cybertron played out as he knew them to, as well as raising a Beast army (from all the Beast Wars characters in their most unflattering role) and securing the mysterious magical Talisman as part of a new scheme involving Unicron.

It’s always bothered me though that the one place Onyx would’ve fit well as a central antagonist would’ve been RiD15 because of it’s heavy use of animal type Decepticons. It would’ve made more sense if Oynx was the one orchestrating the crash of the prison ship, but Steeljaw makes Oynx’s mission his own: to turn Earth into a home world for Decepticons, rather than beast bots. Oynx isn’t exactly nice here either, causing problems for the Autobots, because he has a chip on his shoulder over vehicle type Transformers due to problems from his past. Something like that might’ve been better than hyping up The Fallen, causing the same problem TFP had by using Unicron too soon.

With the upcoming CyberWorld possibly returning to a RiD15 Beast theme with its Decepticons (while the Autobots remember they have more Dinobots besides Grimlock), maybe Onyx Prime has a role there?

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Through Night Shade Peering

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

CW: Nonhuman whumpee, captivity, magical whump, vague noncon (not exactly implied but not super explicit either), blood, biting, sadistic whumper

-

Fifty-three years after Guilford Wentworth found a siren

-

They spent a month by the sea.

Neandra Wentworth’s lungs were failing her - the siren could hear the crackling when she breathed, as if each inhale pulled in water from the air around her but could not force it back out. Each time she was taken with a fit of coughing, it seemed to last longer and longer, leaving her wheezing and with blue-tinged fingertips pressing her slip of a handkerchief to her mouth to hide the drops of red that the siren could smell, even so. 

She hadn’t left the upstairs bedroom in the past week. 

Guilford Wentworth had expressed certainty that the sea air would revive her, packed up their worried children and the servants and moved them to this grand white home on a hill overlooking the ocean, with a view of the merchant ships that came and went from a nearby bay. 

The siren doubted Neandra would ever leave this house alive.

He also knew that his captor did not care.

The siren avoided the humans in the home. Every day before sunrise, long before any of the Wentworths were awake, he found his way down to the shore, picking along the rocks and stiff, strong beach grasses that waved in the sea salt stinging breeze. Today, he ignored the set of steps made from stone that someone had placed long ago, and turned his eyes away from the unnatural scar they seemed to slice through the hill. 

The humans ruined the world everywhere they touched it. 

They built stone buildings over beautiful meadows and chipped faces into rocks, they sailed on big ships that tore through waters they had never been meant to see. They stole the creatures who lived wild and made them playthings and puppets and put them in zoos, locked behind bars for their sticky-fingered children to point out and exclaim over. 

They kept the wild things. They broke their wildness and then pretended to sorrow over the loss. They called them pets. 

His captor called a pet, sometimes. His captor called him so many things.

Areyto shuddered. He kept ihs eyes on the waves, pausing in his slow approach to watch them break against the shore. The air here held a chill that he loathed, nothing like the island he has been born on, it was still the ocean. He could still see the tide that came in and went out, the white-capped waves in the distance, dark clouds with the promise of rain.

Areyto’s feet had gone soft, trapped inside his captor’s homes, walking on wood and rugs. They ached now when the sharper points of the rocks pressed along the underside. The siren only ground his teeth against the pain and kept moving, pulling the silk of his robe more tightly around himself to guard against the whipping wind.

He could just see the white sails of a ship, far in the distance.

His hate boiled up inside of him at the sight of it. A ship like that had stolen him from the waters and kept him tied up and locked away in darkness, seeing no sun until his captor had had him marked for obedience and been the thief of his entire life. 

Areyto’s eyes scanned the horizon, watching the dark smear move, knowing what was likely on it. More human men, maybe women, too. Maybe captive animals or sea serpents, wild creatures being sent to fates worse than death for the pleasure of humans. Maybe the storm would break over their heads, and captives and captors alike could become meals to be torn asunder and dragged down to the depths, gifts for the ocean to feed her children. 

“Kill them,” he whispered, a prayer to the moon that hid behind the daylight and the clouds, a prayer to the ocean itself. “Kill the humans, all of them, and set me free.”

There was no answer.

There was never any answer.

His curse made sure the moon never saw him any longer, could not hear his voice even when he cried for her. Only his captor heard him, and his captor called the screams a song. 

Marked as he was, spelled to give his immortality and his obedience to his captor, he was just another tamed wild animal. He felt it more than ever today, with the painted symbols all down his left side newly relaid and throbbing with the echo of two days of endless agonies. 

His captor had found a new magician to come by each decade to repaint them. The new one always had a smile twisting her face too wide, one that dug under Areyto’s skin. Areyto had found himself missing Atabei, who had at least looked guilty, who had offered him small pieces of mercy. No, he did not miss her. 

It was all her fault, in the end.

She’d been the one to begin it all. 

He did not pity her her fate, her last days alone and locked up surrounded by stone, with men called doctors declaring her mad.

He did not think of the conversations they had had, some nights, when Atabei could not sleep and came searching for him. He did not allow himself to recall the graying silver that was more visible in her hair with every passing year, the wrinkles that began to show at her eyes when she smiled. He did not remember the warmth of a kind touch, a hand through his dark hair just before she began the ritual that would leave him screaming, the soft whispered praise when he survived it, as he always did, because Guilford Wentworth would never allow him to die. He would not think of the way she came more and more often in the dark of the night to sit beside him, as time stretched on.

He did not think of the way she had called herself his friend, and how at some point he had stopped denying it. Whatever she called herself, though, she still wrote his curse in ink anew every time it began to fade. However many regrets she had, she still hurt him, again and again. Her low-pitched, husky alto song harmonizing with his was simply painting over the truth of the pain. 

He did not remember her hand in his, asking him to forgive her after the first wife died but before his captor had sent Atabei herself to die in an asylum. He could not even now feel the warmth of her touch. 

She had been the reason for his captivity, even if she was a captive, too.

He did not miss her.

He did not miss her.

The water ran just up to his toes, and Areyto closed his eyes, lifting his chin. He let the breeze lick around his neck like a lover might, if he’d ever had one. He felt the sand give way beneath his feet, felt himself sink deeper and deeper, bit by bit. His toes wriggled, spreading as wide as they could. 

Finally, he sank to his knees. Sand ground against them, stuck to the palms of his hands as he reached out and ran his fingertips over the curve of a white shell just peeking up above the grains. The water came in, washing his hands clean, and he dug the shell out. He watched the saltwater fill the hole left behind, sand swirling in until it vanished.

Just like the shell, he thought, his place in the world disappeared as soon as he was taken from it. If he laid here, unmoving, would he eventually become buried, too? Would the saltwater toss and turn his bones, break them down to sand to be washed up on a beach across the far waters? 

His lips twitched, the shadow of a smile.

It might be nice, to be nothing.

“Look at you,” His captor’s voice rang out, and Areyto’s breath caught. Despair threatened to push him under, and he thought - for just one moment - that he wished he were able to drown. He would have thrown himself to the ocean’s mercy if he could. Instead, he made himself perfectly still, and waited. .

Behind him, Guilford Wentworth made his slow way down the hideous, ugly step-scars. Areyto could hear his heavy breathing, the crunch of his boots against rock and then the scrape when he found sand. He came up behind Areyto and stood too close, leaning over to slide a hand along his spine and watch him shiver. 

“All dark skin and hair and white silk,” His captor said, voice low, pitched not to carry any further than his prisoner’s ears. “You look like a ghost, a spirit of some dead maiden.”

“I am a ghost,,” Areyto replied, voice flat, barely moving his own mouth. He refused to flinch from Wentworth’s touch, even when those fingertips burned against the nape of his neck, tracing the painted marks that peeked out from the neckline of his robe. Heavy hands wearing many rings twisted into his dark hair, pulling at it just a little, never letting him forget who held his leash. “What I was is dead.”

“You were a monster,” Guilford countered. “You still are. Monsters need to be tamed. To be kept.” He chuckled, voice low, and pulled harder, steadily forcing Areyto to lift his chin. Areyto’s hands closed slowly into fists around sand and shell, until the edge of the shell cut deeply in, the pain keeping his mind clear. There was no point in the disgust he felt at Wentworth’s touch, so why couldn’t he stop?

Wentworth cleared his throat, straightening back up and forcing Areyto backwards using the hand in his hair, until he was standing on his knees, spine straight. His markings ached, his skin boiled with the need to tear his captor apart. “My wife is dying.”

“That is what your wives seem crafted to do.” He couldn’t quite keep the edge from his voice. When Wentworth’s heavy hand began to pet through his hair like a man might pet a dog, he let his eyes close against the burn he refused to admit had nothing to do with the salty ocean air. 

His stomach dipped, and all his markings burned like new. He couldn’t do anything but obey. The magic bound him like a fisherman’s net. 

Wentworth sighed, reading the distress Areyto tried not to show. His fingers kept catching in tangled curls, jerking Areyto’s head this way and that. “Wives do die, in their time. In any case, I thought the air here would help her-”

“No, you didn’t.”

“What?” Wentworth jerked him backwards, throwing Areyto until he landed on his back in the soft sand, staring up at his captor. Wentworth’s face was shadowed by the weak sun fighting through the threatening clouds. The tide surged up to Areyto’s thighs, soaking the hem of his silk robe and leaving him half-bared to that horrible heavy gaze. “What did you say?”

Areyto set his jaw, and stared past Wentworth at the waters that had once been home. “You knew the air here would be cold and damp.You knew it would make her worse. You are done with this wife and ready for a new one. Why bother to lie to me? It’s me who you will have sing the new one into your bed soon enough-”

“Be quiet.” Wentworth’s hiss sent a sparking of pain along the painted marks of his curse, and Areyto bit down on his lower lip. Wentworth’s eyes moved from left to right, taking in the empty sands on either side of them, the house far enough away that you couldn’t see it from here. Or be seen by anyone inside it, even if any of them were awake.

His captor’s smile stretched as wide as a slick of oil still spilling from deep earth as he unbuttoned his own shirt without taking it off, shifting down onto his knees to straddle his captive siren, weighing him down.

It felt like a stone tied to his ankle, dragging Areyto into the dark.

One of Wentworth’s hands went around his throat, thumb pressing against the thrum of Areyto’s pulse just under his jaw. The other went into his hair, pulling hard. 

“Open your mouth,” Wentworth commanded.

Areyto’s body, as always, obeyed.

The water surged again, as if the ocean tried to pull him back home. It lapped along his legs, caressed his calves as it pulled back away, just brushed the bottoms of his feet. The sand beneath him was soaked and he sank into it as his head was forced back, as his throat was filled and he had to breathe in quick gasps whenever Wentworth pulled back, and relaxed his hand enough to allow it.

Areyto added his own saltwater tears to what soaked the sand beneath his body, a dizzy lack of air making the world seem to spin, as if his misery were the center of the earth.

“Why aren’t you making any noises?” Wentworth asked, his voice a series of harsh grunts as his hips moved, snapping too far forward, pulling too far back. Areyto’s jaw ached, his neck hurt from being bent strangely to accommodate Wentworth’s will. Sand dried and itched and stuck to him. The waves kept breaking just a little higher each time, until they teased at Areyto’s hips, his waist. 

He kept the shell closed tightly in one hand.

“Oh. Right.” Each word was a thrust, and Areyto wasn’t breathing. Couldn’t breathe. His eyes opened now, black and white spots dancing around the edges and finally into the middle. Wentworth stared back down at him. Their eyes met, and for all that Areyto knew his burned with hate, Wentworth’s sparkled with a perfect joy. “I gave you an order, didn’t I? Well, I take it back. Make all the noise your body wants, Areyto. Make as much noise as you can.”

This order was worse than the silence.

Now, he couldn’t stop himself - the siren whined, whimpered at the pain as his throat was bruised, gasped and cried out only for the winds to whip the sound away faster than he could even hear himself making it. He begged, maybe - he couldn’t have said.

Things had gotten so far away, in his mind. 

Too far away to be sure any longer.

Wentworth pulled back, all at once, but it was only a second before he grabbed the siren by one shoulder and threw him onto his stomach, hand pressing hard into his back while his knees kicked the siren’s legs apart. He shoved the sodden silk robe up to bare Areyto to his heavy, wanting gaze. Water rushed in, and Areyto's forehead pressed into the sand as he hitched in a sob.

Why did he still bother to weep?

“Beg,” Wentworth commanded, leaning down to press a kiss against Areyto’s hair. The siren’s stomach threatened to heave itself empty at the mockery of intimacy. “Beg me not to do this now, beg me not to bed you right here next to the water. Beg me not to.”

“Please,” Areyto gasped, voice hoarse and broken. He wanted to stay silent out of spite, but the markings were perfect and fresh and instead obedience was pulled from him faster than he could even think to defy him. “Please, not like this-... don’t do this-... not here-”

Wentworth bit down, flat human teeth burying themselves into Areyto’s shoulder as he forced himself inside, inch by inch. The siren threw his head back and screamed, a broken sound that only seemed to make Wentworth’s own desire rise higher.

Blood ran to soak the sand beneath the siren’s shoulder and between his legs. 

One of Wentworth’s hands found his hair again, holding tight to keep Areyto’s head pressed to his shoulder. The other reached out over the top of Areyto’s hand, closing fingers around his and pressing him more deeply into the sand. The siren’s back was forced to arch as his captor ground skin between teeth until it tore. He licked at Areyto’s blood and groaned with satisfaction as his hips rocked, the way made slick by blood and his lust fed by the pain of his imprisoned monster. 

Areyto’s eyes were wide and sightless - he could not see or feel or think past the way he was torn apart, in too many places. His free hand held tight to the shell he had found, as if it could save him. 

At some point his grip was so strong it broke the skin, and he bled there, too.

The tide surged, and added salt to the fresh wounds. He screamed again, and Wentworth’s voice was in his ear telling him to move, and so he did, and it made the pain rise ever higher. The sounds the siren made bounced off the hills ahead of them, they were stolen by the breeze to be blown out to the sea. 

The tide soaked the blood into the sand, pulled it back to the waters. It dissolved in spirals and tendrils that came together and broke apart, until it faded away into the enormity of the waters. Until all there was was the sand, and the pain, and Guilford Wentworth buried inside him giving commands in a whisper that he had to obey.

“Mine,” His captor groaned as he finished inside him, went still, a heavy weight that pressed the air from the siren’s lungs. “Forever. Say it.”

Areyto stared at a bit of sea grass fighting its way through the suffocation of sand, surviving where no other plants did. 

“Yours,” He whispered. Wentworth pulled away. “Forever.”

“Forever…?” Wentworth was doing up his buttons again, even though his own clothes were soaked through. The siren didn’t look up. He kept his eyes on the grass. “You know what to say, don’t you?”

The siren swallowed back the screaming hatred that threatened to burn him up from inside, and only whispered, “Yours forever… master.”

Wentworth chuckled again. He turned and walked away, making his painstaking, clumsy way up those stupid rock stairs.

The tide rushed in, all the way up to the siren’s mid-back now, moving further and further up towards his shoulders. He didn’t move - it felt like a bath, like the gentle lapping of a mother cat to a kitten. It felt like the ocean was trying to clean him of the filth that Wentworth had left on him, inside of him. 

“Kill him,” The siren prayed. “Kill him and set me free. Please, please… kill him. Just... kill us both.”

As always...

No one answered.

-

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee @angelsproject @starsick1979

[thebiggestfuckgiven]

Ectoberweek 25: Graveyard Shift

Rating: T

Warnings: Descriptions of gore, mentions of experimentation (implied narratively and in the gore as well), mentions of loss (it still counts if its yourself/a version of you), horror, and dissociation-ish

A/N: okay I accidentally used the prompt of the same day I used last year, but maybe i’ll do it on purpose next time and invent a new tradition for myself. Danny, as usual, suffers ✨ I’m very happy I got to do a little something for Ectober this year. I was afraid I wouldn’t get the chance to. Please enjoy <3

-💜-

The night sky was startlingly clear. There were no stars, only that faint indistinguishable hue of air pollution, but it was still an amazing view. Then again, when you’ve been kept captive indoors for months on end, any view of the outside world is beautiful. Even if that view is a polluted star-less sky in a grimy, smelly city.

The cemetery he was in was no less of a spectacle, grim as it was. It had no wrought iron fence or any kind of enclosure, instead having been left open on all sides for all to come and go.

Truth be told, Danny had no idea where he was. They never told him where they were taking him when it was time to ship him to a new facility. He thought that was pointless. Who was he going to tell, really? They probably liked keeping him in the dark. Better to control that way. Whatever. The joke, now, was on both of them.

About ten or fifteen blocks away, sirens blared faintly from a scarce street. Firefighters, ambulances, police— the whole bunch of them gathered around an unmarked containment truck flipped on its side. The drivers could still be alive, if the group who had attacked them wasn’t cruel enough to change that.

Danny assumed they thought they’d find expensive tech and cutting edge resources, and they did. Sort of. What they hadn’t expected was to find Danny. The crash had made his container malfunction, and those doors opened… well, he wasn’t about to let that opportunity pass him by.

All he took with him was himself, and he left the daring group alive. They wouldn’t have known what to do with him, anyways.

He flew as fast as he could until he found this cemetery. They would start looking for him in a few hours, and if he wanted to get away, he’d have to find a hiding spot first. One of these, he figured, must be empty. Graves weren’t just for bodies, after all. Sometimes, they were for the idea of one. A body never recovered, or completely destroyed. Graves were for people, too.

He hovered over one in particular. It gave the impression that it was empty. How he knew was a mystery to him, but he was grateful for it.

The headstone read,

Stephanie Brown

Beloved Daughter, Sister, and Friend.

Your smile will always live in our hearts.

xxx xx, xxxx - xxx xx, xxx

The stone wasn’t worn or aged. She’d been “buried” recently. Hand resting gently on the headstone, he wondered what could have happened to her that she had to be buried without herself.

Far away, the sirens died down.

Maybe the answer will reveal itself to him eventually. He knelt on the soft grass and sunk a hand through the ground.

“Uh, can I help you?”

Danny froze up. That was one thing he forgot about cemeteries. Like graves, they weren’t just for the dead, either. He yanked his hand out of the ground and slowly glanced over his shoulder.

Behind him stood a young woman. The first thing he noticed were the clothes. She wore a purple beanie and a thick black jacket with a purple shirt underneath. The second thing was her hair, blonde and wavy, because it was curled around her neck like a makeshift scarf.

Glancing upwards, he saw no clouds. No snow… it was autumn already, then. But that… that meant he was gone for more than a few months. It meant he missed the whole school year. He was supposed to graduate high school in the summer.

“Are you okay? You don’t exactly look… all there.”

He faced the young woman again. The way she said it made it sound like it had a hidden meaning, which he quickly caught on to.

“I— sorry, I’ll get out of your way,” he muttered, pushing himself up to his feet, though unnecessarily so when he could’ve floated away.

“It’s all good,” she replied, watching him carefully. “Did you know her?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean Stephanie? Um, not really. I was just… paying my respects.” The lie felt misshapen in his mouth. She looked at him confused. He kept talking to steer her away from any questions. “Did you? Know her, I mean.”

“I used to,” was all she said to that. He didn’t like the way she was looking at him. He wanted to leave. “Do you live here?”

“No? What kind of person lives in a graveyard?”

Her hand still in her jacket pocket, she gestured towards all of Danny with a tilt of her head.

“Your kind of person, I’m pretty sure. Shit, unless you aren’t self-aware and I just ruined that.” Her eyes widened with genuine concern, making the reminder click in Danny’s head that he looked decidedly not-human under the night sky. That, and surrounded by well-meaning headstones, anyone would’ve walked the other way at the sight of him.

Almost anyone.

“Ah,” he said simply, looking down at his glowing, translucent self. “That. And you’re not, I dunno, shocked? Horrified?”

She shrugged. “It’s October in Gotham. I’ve seen worse.”

The statement sent a shiver like lightning right through him. A whole year… and Gotham was far but not it was still the Eastern area of the States. He could easily fly back home.

Maybe not.

How can he go back like this?

“Listen,” the blonde woman said, interrupting his thoughts. “You look a little out of it for a ghost. What brings you to this cemetery and m- Stephanie’s grave?”

“Um…” Danny glanced behind the wide headstone, where he saw himself. Danny Fenton lay lifeless and disfigured, his left leg missing and the skin of his right arm cut and held open by two tiny metal clamps attached to a single, wrap-around wire. There was muscle tissue and veins missing. The other arm was charred into an indistinguishable stump, melted skin folded over itself horrifically in too many layers, melded by heat-raised bubbles that were long solidified.

Where his left eye once was, there was now a vacant void. A window into his true self: a perfectly preserved brain thrumming with unnatural green light. Dead, and impossibly present. His other eye was still there, but just as vacant. Black hair glistened with remnants of the ectoplasmic waste they used to keep Danny Fenton fresh.

It was a quick glance. He fought not to throw up, ghostly body functioning now on memory alone.

“I thought…” that no one would see me “I’d check the place out. I paid my respects to some of the other graves.” He hesitated. He shouldn’t ask. He doesn’t want to know about Stephanie Brown, about the resting place he’ll be desecrating with the thing he became. “Hers is… empty. Can I ask what happened to her?”

The blonde woman’s reaction was small. A brief raise of the eyebrows, eyes widening for a second before going back to their watchful gaze.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you know it’s empty,” she said with a hint of a smile. “I can’t really go into any details, but let’s just say that the girl they buried there doesn’t exist anymore.”

He had no idea what that meant.

“Why do you… still visit her?”

She seemed to think this over, looking out onto the street far away from where they were.

“That girl, she was so,” the blonde woman sighed, “naive and hotheaded. She would try so hard to be something without caring to think of what it would take and in the end, it’s what did her in. But I still cared about her, and I guess I still miss her sometimes.”

The sincerity caught Danny off guard. He couldn’t help the way he stared at her, wondering if anyone talked about him like that. Did they make him a grave, or did they just… discard his memory? Would he ever get to stand over his own headstone and think of all the things he used to be, loving and missing that person?

He frowned a little, and watched the blonde woman.

She smiled fondly, a sort of bittersweetness in her expression, at the headstone. Then she took a breath, blinked a few times, and redirected her smile to Danny.

“Your turn. What are you really doing here? Looking for real estate opportunities,” she joked, eyes twinkling. Danny refrained from stepping away and turning tail. He looked at her closely.

She didn’t seem familiar, but the GIW were growing larger and there were plenty of operatives that Danny has never met. Her jacket was big enough to hide a blaster… but they couldn’t have found him so quickly. No, besides, no self-respecting operative would wear such expressive colors.

“Something like that,” he blurted out before he could even think. “I mean, not like that. I don’t… I don’t know anymore.” His voice was a soft whisper and he stared at himself where he lay crumpled. “I don’t think I can go back home anymore. I don’t… I don’t know who I am. What I am. People aren’t supposed to… live through things like these, aren’t they? Die through, or whatever.”

“What things?” The question was tentative. “Are you— what are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” he said with bitter conviction. “Absolutely nothing. I was going to hide it in your coffin.”

“How did you—? wait, hide what?” Her voice changed from its friendly, wistful tone to a razor-sharp serious one. She stepped closer to him, trying to meet his gaze.

“Got a feeling. Like I might do the same one day, if I had one.”

Danny didn’t stop her when she got too close to her own headstone. When she followed the direction of his gaze to the twisted, hollow thing that ate up the surrounding shadows like this blacker than black void that was trying to grow into a walking, lifeless monster made up of clinical pain and suffering.

Stephanie did not scream or gasp. She held the headstone in a brutal grip, short nails painfully scraping against it. Her mouth gaped wordlessly, jaw trembling with shaky and uneven breaths. The lines of her face contorted into themselves in their attempt to make sense of the thing they were seeing. Eyes glistened even in the shadows, their pupils a disappearing pinprick.

Stephanie’s horror was a silent one.

“What— wh-who is that? Is that—?”

“Me,” he said flatly. “I thought I’d be able to escape. That I would last longer than their curiosity and hate.” He clenched his fists. “I saw a glimpse of snow the day it happened. I” —his voice cracked— “I didn’t even make it three months.”

Stephanie stared at him, transfixed. At the Danny Fenton that would never again be.

“Wh-what happened to you?” Her voice trembled, barely a breeze-like whisper.

“Don’t ask me that,” he said, strained and holding back suffocating memories. “P-please don’t— just, don’t.” He took a gasping breath, eyes snapping wildly towards the sound of screeching tires in the distance. A big car headed their way. “Hey, listen. Hey— Stephanie.”

A creaking slingshot, her wide stare shot back towards him. Her mouth had been snapped shut, and loud, shallow breaths tried to push themselves in and out of her nose.

“Take care of him, please,” he begged, bright, opalescent tears falling freely down his face. “They can’t find him again. The pain will never end again. Just— I, I don’t know, get him a coffin or anything, but don’t bury him yet. I’ll find him again, but I can’t stay. I can’t, they can’t find us again. Promise me, please?”

This was a complete stranger in front of him. But she had her own grave, and she stood over it alive and well. He had to trust her with the only thing he had left. She would understand that. She had to.

“Stephanie, please,” he pleaded once more when she said nothing. The loud engine of that big car became louder. The downward rush of a thick, heavy axe.

She nodded, shakily.

“I-I promise, yeah.” She cleared her throat, pulling herself from the edge and regaining clarity. “Yes. I will. Go, I’ll- I’ll take care of it. Whatever it is.”

Danny cried. An urgency was overtaking him, thrusting him into that day they hunted him down.

“Thank you,” he managed to whisper before shooting off into the clear night sky, leaving behind a faint comet-green streak. He disappeared in seconds, leaving Stephanie Brown alone with the horrifyingly disfigured corpse of a teenager and her clattering thoughts.

She pulled out her phone in a shaky flash, going straight to the Favorites in her Contacts.

The call connected after the third ring.

“I need your help hiding a body.”

[epickiya722]

As a bkdk artist who's been in the fandom since 2018, one thing that always annoyed me about antis is when I (and other bkdks) posted bkdk art back then, I'd see ATLEAST one comment saying "your artsyle is cute, but bakudeku is a terrible ship" or "I don't like bkdk but your art is so good. Maybe you could try drawing krbk next?" Or even "how could you even like this ship. Hori himself said that izch is canon."

The "your art is good but this ship sucks, draw something else" comments sounded like backhanded compliments. Like I'm passionate about the ship so I'll draw what I want? Thank you very much?!

It was so cool to hate on bkdk back then, they really acted like it was some illegal ship. I also had people say stuff like I didn't understand how bullied people feel or abuse victims like seriously what 😑

I feel your annoyance to the point. My sentiments exactly.

Going to sound mean when I say this, but antis have gotten so infuriating that I honestly stopped caring. Like anything they do just to hate on the ship is ridiculously stupid.

I refuse to believe they do all of that because "Oh, I mean no harm, I just want to express how I feel". No, they have been doing it for far too long and they do it on purpose.

They mask wanting to bother shippers but "sharing their opinions".

That's not how they really feel, that's not their opinion, so they can cut the fuckery. They just want to be an asshole.

Those same people who constantly bash on BakuDeku barely bat a lash at other ships that are worse if they gonna throw the "Bakugou is a bully card".

You're right and you should say it. When they say "art style is cute but..." it's a backhanded compliment.

Honestly, I wouldn't even call it a compliment because a compliment is meant to be genuine. If antis are being genuine about an art style being cool to them, they wouldn't follow up with some insult.

Now antis want to pull the "It makes no sense to ship them" card. Who cares about it making sense? You know what doesn't make sense to me?

If antis, those that ship Izuku and Ochako, want to scream about them being "canon" (I say more implied than canon honestly) then why talk about BakuDeku at all? Do you secretly ship BakuDeku and just want to deny it, resist it like "oh, no I mustn't! I shall not"?

Do you have just want to follow the crowd of haters? "I want to hate, too, yay!"

Do you just have a thing for "following rules" and try to apply it to anything? Because then why only single out BakuDeku? Why not other ships?

I don't know about them, but when I hate a ship I don't talk about it.

Antis be screaming "I see BakuDeku everywhere I can't escape it", but I had a totally different experience because when I first got into MHA and as the anime and manga went on, I didn't see BakuDeku content like that because I wasn't exposing myself to it. When I did cross the ship, my reaction wasn't to harass the shipper. Just shrugged and moved on.

So antis have no excuse at all for their shit actions. If you hate the ship, hate it.

Is like they want a cookie or something... "I'm a BakuDeku hater, I want a sticker!" That's what they look like to me.

Also, Anon, I thank you for being a part of the community. For anybody who reblogs your art with comments like that I'm a proud hater of them since they want to be proud haters.

[mecachrome]

if you ever wanted to talk about your view of them and their dynamic and what makes them interesting to you? i'd be down to read that 👀

hlksdfhh jasmine i completely forgot about this after hungary... why does Everything Happen So Much 😭

anyway i would love to discuss the joys of 2381!!! admittedly 50% of this is just my 2-pick shipping (which i am wont to do 😔) but i really do find their dynamic/potential dynamic sooo interesting... the gist of it is basically that alex and oscar are very similar people but in a way where it doesn't actually allow them to mesh that well if that makes sense? which is what makes them fun to me LOL 🧡💙

like the way i see oscar's character at a glance is that he has a very strong sense of self but in most cases lacks a desire to rock the boat or overexert himself without good reason to (all actions must be done toward a Tangible Benefit !), so he's good at carefully balancing being an assertive speaker in a very casual, imperturbed manner + being just charming enough despite not being naturally drawn to or really even enjoying social spaces. i've talked at length about the empathy/sympathy split and how in a lot of ways his character is kind a mirror of lando's, or how basically oscar = extroverted thinking / introverted feeling and lando = extroverted feeling / introverted thinking. imo oscar isn't afraid of communication, he's just very careful and diplomatic in public situations and knows exactly how much of himself he's willing to "give" up to an audience, even when he comes off as a little reserved or awkward... i think people often boil oscar down to just being the Mature Intelligent Introverted Listener and lando to being the Reckless Clueless Extroverted Yapper even though they actually possess very similar baseline mentalities; where they primarily differ is just in conversational processing styles and how they choose to communicate meaning/intent.

but anyway. alex meanwhile is clearly SUCH a fascinating and deeply charismatic person who is also very introspective and has gone through a lot of hardship to attain the shrewdness he exhibits today, and although his story is quite different to oscar's and i do think he has more of an extroverted persona than him you can see that they interact with people from a very similar perspective + act in that same deliberate & controlled manner. instead of doing what looks/feels right, oscar and alex are the type of person who operates on the True Belief that their actions are correct, that they've thought through their decisions carefully and are taking the most informed risk possible in every situation; imo they have a very strong need for control in their lives but camouflage it with their desire to come off as ~subtle and effortless~ in presentation lol. like it's not that oscar doesn't swear in the car, he just thinks it's cringe to turn on the radio and broadcast it, etc. etc. so he and oscar are relatively "simple" people but also very deep thinkers who are quite sharp and witty and er... at the end of the day occasionally Judgmental Assholes. hlskdhflh that's why i call them insincere4insincere 🧡🧡🧡

Like when you look at the way oscar talks about guys like dr3, it's clear he's fascinated by their personalities and enjoys them as people but at the same time also feels a sort of... i call it "sociological fascination" LMFAO but in short there's a sense of detachment where he's content to simply observe these Conventional Social Patterns but the thought of actually living that way or thinking and acting that way gives him a headache. he'll be like "this is something dannyric would do/say... but Not Me 😅" and ofc it's meant as a compliment and not at all judgmental but at the same time it's very much implied that >These people live in another world and I live in mine. and he's comfortable and clear about delineating what that world is LOL

anyway i'd argue alex is quite similar, because if you watch his high performance interview there's this bit where he talks about how his self-awareness is simultaneously his biggest strength and weakness— which is such an alex thing to discuss... he's soooo frank and vulnerable in a way very few athletes are willing to be but it always comes from a place of very careful admittance, lessons that can only be imparted with enough distance established to the hardship that created them in the first place @__@ wah — and then is like wow it's So interesting how some guys are literally just no thots head empty ! like verbatim he says he's "intrigued" by their "blissful unawareness" which krills me because mentality is such a tricky thing to discuss in motorsport and sports in general, but alex being like ~i know i'm not like most athletes~ (#notliketheothergirls) but also I'm Capable Of Thinking And Using My Brain... for better or for worse... is so freaking funny to me.

tl;dr: alex and oscar basically just think other people are A Little Bit Stupid. which is very budding pundit/future color commentator à la jb22, just guys who are able to break things down and think things through and talk about them eloquently and therefore believe that Everyone Else Except Them Is A Bit Of An Idiot. and most importantly they enjoy being that person in a one-on-one dynamic; they thrive off being the one who gets to be the smart guy and know things and correct people pedantically and kickstart teasing banter and get the last word in. and because they're so often surrounded by specific athlete types who complement their know-it-allness, it works most of the time — like a lot of why landoscar are comaptible is that the gaps in lando's communication are filled by oscar and vice versa, i.e. they're both willing to do the work the other isn't — so when you look at 234's dynamic it's kind of like... "Why are we the same person and What are we supposed to do about it." and since they're both naturally "polite" characters it's not necessarily awkward or anything but it is kind of like. idk the vibe is just so interesting HLSDFHKH. it makes too much sense to the point that it kind of just circles back to not working 😭

like they're both good speakers but hate doing contentTM and don't like being taken too seriously (or actually don't like coming off as taking themselves too seriously), even though they're also very frank and straightforward and able to speak about themselves and their mentalities with overwhelming clarity. and ofc they're not exactly the same person but when you look at how alex talks about himself, how he's grown in confidence over time and had to rely on purely himself for sooo much of his career, it's super interesting contrasted with oscar being such an entj who clearly values his autonomy, likes to know how everything functions around him and understand the fundamentals of everything he does or tries, and likes believing he's achieving something through objective and empirical methodology — i.e. an "overthinker" but more so one caught up in the facts and technicalities rather than in emotions.

anyway so all their interax are just like >Ribbing each other about padel and random little moments here and there and they do make sense and have things in common but it's also kind of weird and unnerving on another level. they're both too assured in not getting "consumed by the narratives" around them and too unwilling to concede to the #cringe to ever really fundamentally Work... but that's what makes it fun ! insincere4insincere 😌

like when oscar says he's still "grounded" and you hear people talk about him being humble, what's most important to note is that his being humble or introverted doesn't come from shyness or a lack of self-belief, it comes from being secure enough in himself to not need his worth validated by other people... likekhklsdahflh so random but i find it kind of funny when people act like oscar worships mark because obviously he's very important to his life and career but 80% of the time when oscar talks about mark it's with a tone of like Yeah that's just my fuck ass old manager who couldn't even beat sebastian vettel (said lovingly but also a bit pityingly) also he doesn't even run the company by himself put some respect on the other people's names. anw that kind of groundedness, knowing where credit and criticism should be given and never going overboard in his assessment of a situation are all things alex had to learn to develop in himself after his red bull days.

ok what was i saying.

this literally means nothing idk if it even makes sense. but don't you think 23481 is so fascinating like the triangle of oscar somewhat following lando's career growing up > alex being lando's "hero" when he was younger and then alex and oscar are just there and alex doesn't really believe in that cringe shit (except for of course the spirit of valentino rossi at the foundation of all of this). LMFAO

also that's why it's so funny that during this get to know alex albon video he gave THREE answers that were the exact same as oscar's from his own interview in this series and every time it was brought up he was like Oh... Hm... and was kind of weirded out by it 😭 like he gave the same answer about choosing his own team + lewis singing, and then when he said he wanted to be an astronaut for a day and heard that it matched oscar he went: "Does it? Now I feel… I don’t want to be in a space shuttle with Oscar, so I’ll change mine. I’ll be a zookeeper, like in a sanctuary." like when ur no longer not like the other girls... 😔 freakmatched a little too hard

[swoo0zy]

star guest yap

the thing that i think makes star guest so interesting is that i feel like in canon westley faked his death exactly BECAUSE he didnt have anyone on the skullship who actually cared — like its still a drastic asf measure to take but i feel like he could take it only cuz he knew that nobody would be actually affected in much of a meaningful way (its even joked abt in the end credits of the episode where hater, who seemed to be the most upset abt westley's "death", says that he doesn't even remember who westley is) n its sad, its sad to think that westley craved so bad to build community with other watchdogs — the only people that he COULD build community w n the people who he was supposed to be working w for who knows how long — but couldn't, even over the course of 3 years of trying. n its clear that he was trying, he starts the episode waking them all up, he tries engaging in conversation w them, he acts friendly, he compliments moose after the guy literally HITS HIM IN THE FACE like be fr u cant get more desperate than that — and despite that none of his efforts ever pay off n none of his sentiments r ever reciprocated. n its implied heavily that westley didn't just feel left out, he WAS left out, actively, very possibly subject to bullying. n interestingly enough even after he does get their recognition (or at least they cheer him on) after capturing wander n sylvia it doesn't make him stay, cuz i feel like he didnt want to associate w the hater empire at all by that point, cuz he already got a taste of freedom n it made him doubt everything. well, in the end, after he "died" there was nobody on the skullship to actually mourn him

now what makes star guest even sadder than that is that it raises the question of what if westley DID have someone — and it puts a spin on things cuz now westley either lies to his own bf abt his death n basically. breaks up w him in like the worst way possible n makes him cry n lose sleep over someone who isnt even actually dead n is somewhere in some other galaxy living his best life — or he lets andy in on his plan. which would be the right thing to do but it would also require admitting that what they have to him doesn't feel worth staying on the skullship for — that it didnt make him feel happy or understood or, well... loved. n while i think westley would actually try to explain hjs side of things rlly carefully — n if andy ever felt anything towards that guy hed have no choice but to comply n like promise to keep his secret safe or smth — it makes the entire situation FARRR more drastic. it makes westley's decision to fully cross out his previous life maybe lije 5 times harder to make n 10 times more determined, it makes andy either watch his partner leave for a better life that does not involve him, or literally watch his partner die — it makes star guest not just doomed by the narrative yaoi but literally never even meant for each other yaoi. that is insane. like thats full on crazy for a silly little rare pair ship