#she always does it of her own volition

[fluttrbys]

i loooove bari. i love her a lot

the whole thing about her sacrificing parts of herself for the sake of others. of forgetting one of her most important friends just so she could be saved from death. of never remembering what they lived together, but promising that she'll always keep a part of helena with her.

she's lost so many memories that she doesn't remember who she is, what she is, how old she is; all she knows is that she's a priestress, and that her role is to restaure the world tree. she doesn't have much, and yet, she's content with what she has. bari doesn't mind sacrificing herself; her compassion runs *that* deep

also. her bio:

"if she doesn't recognize you after a prior meeting, you should treat it as a compliment: it means she valued her time with you enough for it to count as the happy memory to pay for someone else's wish."

anyway i love bari i love self sacrificial characters etc etc

[seagullcharmer]

also thinking abt the one post that's like 'how come when people talk abt time blindness they're only ever late? hurr durr why don't time blind people show up EARLY??' i hate it. i AM the sort of time blind adhd person who shows up early

[administer-distractions]

.

[irndad]

here I lay me down - s.r.

a/n: ex!spencer gets shot, and you show up at the hospital to see if he's okay. spencer is still desperately in love with you. based on this post wc: 2.3k (she is LONG)

Spencer wakes to a cacophony of sounds, others breathing and various beeps and hums from a variety of medical machines. He hates the noise of the hospital, as he knows what always follows. It’s pain, and ever since he kicked dilaudid, he doesn’t get the relief that people are always pushing on him here. 

The last thing Spencer remembers, he was in front of Morgan, who was about to get shot- it was a piercing memory, one that even the anesthetic wearing off slowly couldn’t numb. He’d jumped in front of it, and the pieces of Morgan pacing around his room and the whole being in a hospital thing click into place. 

When he blinks his eyes open, he sees Hotch speaking to the doctor with his endearingly concerned eyebrow scrunch and it’s then that he notices a familiar scent in the air. 

It’s perfume- he knows because he’d bought it- a mixture of jasmine and lilies, and the memory of the night he gave it to her bursts into technicolor when he closes his eyes. It had been her birthday, and he’d gone with Penelope and Emily to pick out a gift for her. 

He remembers how she’d lit up, her warm doe eyes brightening with fondness that he’d earned, and the way his heart had flipped in his chest- the memory is in crisp detail. He remembers the way she’d kissed him, equal measure in thanks and in adoration, and it’s comforting to remember right now. He tries to think of her often, especially when waves of pain crash over him like an unruly ocean that threatens to drown him. There was someone who loved him at one point, he tries to remember. 

He wants to compliment the nurse wearing it, but even as limited as his social skills are in this state, he knows that telling the nurse you like her perfume because your ex wore it is probably inappropriate. 

A roar of desire presents itself in his chest- he has no desire to want her here, but Spencer can’t help but fantasize about her presence. Her nimble fingers running through his hair, her soft voice cooing at his injuries. It was always nice to come home to her after a rough day- her disposition warm and kind and good. It’s his fault he doesn’t have it- his fault that she doesn’t love him anymore. 

It’s as if he conjured her, when she walks in the door. 

He literally cannot believe that she is here, in his hospital room- he drinks in the sight of her like a man starved. She’s beautiful- he’d never forget this but it’s been so long since he’s seen her. The curve of her cheek, her cupid’s bow, the slope of her neck- the details he spent the best year of his life memorizing under careful touch. 

Her body language is protective, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other at her mouth, her delicate fingers holding a tissue. Had she been crying?

Before he can think of what to say to her, she speaks to him. 

“How are you feeling?”

He’d forgotten just how her voice sounded. Or rather, how it sounded when she was concerned for him. It’s addicting, hedonistic in the ways of wine and drugs and everything else you should have in moderation but had to give up. It’s just so comforting, her lovely doe eyes looking at him with warmth and concern. 

“Hey,” he replies, not answering her question. He might be imagining her. They might have given him drugs. There’s no way she came and see him of her own volition. 

She pauses for a moment, biting her lip in an incredibly endearing way (and god, he’d missed looking at her) before she makes the decision to walk over to the side of his bed. He tries to crane his neck to look at her and she scolds him, and this doesn’t make any sense. 

“You got shot,” she says, voice warm and concerned, and if he squinted he could hear love in her voice. 

“I’m okay,” he tries to reply. 

“You got shot,” she says, eyes flaring with emotion. She always hated that he minimized his pain. 

“You came,” he says, after a beat of silence. Her fingers are running through his hair and he tries to commit this to memory. It doesn’t mean she loves him. She’s the kind of person who stops on the street to give someone the last dollar in her wallet, of course she would visit her ex-boyfriend in the hospital after he got shot.

It doesn’t mean anything. 

“Of course I came, Spence,” she says, intentionality in her tone, “You got hurt.”

It’s selfish to lean into her touch, but she smells like home and he doesn’t know if he will ever be held like this again by her. And he doesn’t care to be held by anyone else. 

Hotch comes in, and if he’s surprised to see the two of them together, it doesn’t show on his face. He tells Spencer that the. Bullet had been clean through, and that he’d been lucky. He’d avoided internal bleeding and would need to stay at home for a week. 

When Hotch leaves to ‘give him some space to process’, the silence lingers.

“Thank you for coming.”

It’s kind of worse, actually. The reality where she’s still his girlfriend is superimposed on top of this one, and he can feel the ghost of the kisses she’d pepper his cheeks with. If she still loved him, then she’d hug him and tell him that she loves him, tell him how angry she is for jumping in front of a stray bullet. 

It’s my fault, he thinks to himself, eyes raking over her. She’d definitely been crying, he realizes. Her makeup had run and he think she might have slept here. How had he ever gotten someone like her to fall in love with him? 

It’s his fault she doesn’t love him anymore.

When the doctor tells him that he needs someone to stay with him for the next few days, and she volunteers, he agrees.

It’s a nice kind of pain, he thinks. Any piece of her is more than he wants of anything else.

_______________________________________

It turns out that she is a wonderful caregiver. 

Penelope had been incredibly supportive of this idea, somehow convinced that the proximity would bring them back together. This is a hope that Spencer does not engage in, but still- it’s nice to have her around. 

She knows her way around his apartment- knows how he organizes her things. Half her things used to be there too. 

Memory is a funny thing. The worst part by far of eidetic memory is the lack of forgetting, and up until now, this was best seen in the horrors of his work. Now, it’s all her.

Taking care of him when he got shot is not the same thing as loving him. 

When she makes them dinner (which is so kind of her- he offered to buy takeout and she’d insisted on recreating his mother’s soup recipe. She’d kept a copy of it in her phone. Spencer had almost died of flattery), she sits next to him on his couch

It’s funny how the best memories of his life are so colored now- their trip to Europe, their first kiss, the first time he’d cooked her dinner and she’d watched Doctor Who with him. Ghosts of memory linger through the place, and it hurts to see her sit next to him on the couch with a foot between them. 

“Thank you for being here,” he says after a beat of silence. She looks beautiful, and he always thinks this. She’s wearing his t-shirt which is just an awfully tempting view. 

It’s his fault he can’t have what he wants. 

“I told you I still wanted us to be friends,” she says, looking down at her bowl, “You’re my friend. I’m happy to do this.”

He can tell she means it as an olive branch but it cuts like a knife. Because he never wanted to be her friend. She was the first thing he even wanted enough to ask for it. He still remembers when he’d asked her out the first time, the stuttering and the way she’d looked, how impossible her liking him back had felt. 

And then he’d managed to make her fall in love with him. It didn’t even take much- he just had to be himself, the way she says it, and he’d give anything to have that back. 

“You’re a good friend,” he replies, instead of everything he’s thinking. 

“Hotch thinks so,” she muses, not looking at him, “He was surprised I’d come here after you broke up with me.”

It’s a slight lash out, and it’s fair. It’s not fair that she’s here, wearing his fucking t-shirt, her collarbones exposed under the fabric. He know what her skin feels like under his lips, and now she make veiled comment on his couch. 

“Why did you?”

He can’t figure it out. They’d broken up two months ago. He’d done it to protect her- after the anthrax case he’d been fucking fixated on her getting hurt. Because this is the stuff he can’t protect her from. Can’t help if biomedical hazards end up on his clothes,  and if he comes home shot. 

He got shot. He’s the kind of person who doesn’t get forever with the woman he loves, because he can’t keep her safe. Even if he quit just then- enough people have made an enemy of him. She’d never be safe.

So he made a choice to cut his ties and let her go, and yes, every fucking night since he’s had at least one nightmare about what she looks like crying and asking him to stay. He never, ever wanted to see her like that, but he also never ever wanted her to be a widow. 

She’d find someone else. She’s so easy to love- he doesn’t like to think about someone else loving her, but he’s sure she won’t be alone. 

His voice catches in his throat.

“It is nice of you,” Spencer chokes out, “I never wanted you to have to do that.”

“Let’s not talk about this now,” she says, getting up to get him another serving, and he grabs her wrist.

“Ba- Hey, please. Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” she says at him, but she doesn’t pull her wrist back. 

“I just-“ he stammers, but it’s heavy and something he can’t give up, the combination of her gaze under his and her soft skin in his grasp, “I can’t have you here and hate me. I just can’t take you hating me. I know- I know what I did. I know it’s not fair to ask and I know that we’re not together and I know it’s my fault but god, you can’t hate me. I can’t take it.”

“You think I hate you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“You think I came to the hospital in the middle of the night, slept in a waiting room, cooked you soup and slept on your couch because I hate you?”

He doesn’t know what to say. How could she still love him? 

“It’s you,” he replies. “You’d always do that for me.”

She’s closer now, moving into his space more and more and he can smell his own body soap on her because she showered here, and he’s overcome with a desire to hold her. 

“Why do you think that is?”

She’s almost in his lap now, and there’s a greed to this now, the way he pulls her a little bit closer. She tips her head back in a bitter, tinny laugh that he doesn’t like the sound of. 

“I mean, Spencer- I love you so much that I don’t even care if you love me back.”

“You still love me?”

“I’m working on it,” she says, a bitter smile on her face, “You’re hard to get over.”

“Don’t get over me.”

It’s not the smoothest thing he could’ve sid, and he kind of regrets the implication on her face, sees her gorgeous features crumple. 

“That’s mean, Spence.” 

“No! No. Don’t. Don’t-don’t do that. Don’t move on with your life and find someone else because this is the lightest I’ve felt in fucking weeks.”

Her eyes widen into saucers, and her grip tightens on his hands, and Spencer feels like he could fly. 

“I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have made you go and I should’ve let you be the person who picks me up at the hospital and I know, I know how lucky I am that you’re still here, that you cared enough. Please, please don’t get over me. I know it’s not far to ask.”

She blinks a few times at him before opening her arms for a hug, of which he flies into at breakneck speed. His ribs hurt but he’d forgotten what it was like to hold her. And yes, maybe wanting this makes himself selfish, but he wants this. Maybe this can the one thing he lets himself have. 

“I do love you. ” he speaks into her collarbone, and she shushes him. 

“No, no,” he says, looking up at her, her gorgeous doe eyes shaky with uncertainty he knows is his fault, “If you’ll still have me, I’d like to-I’d like to try again. And I know that you probably can’t trust me and I have so much to make up for and-“

“Spencer,” she says warmly, twining their fingers, “I’d like to kiss you now. Okay?”

He nods a bit fervently, shaking as he does, but when she kisses him-

It’s just as he remembers. She leans into him, her delicate fingers cupping his jaw and he wraps his spindles arms around the curve of her waist, pinning her to him like she might float away if untethered. 

When Spencer gets back to the office, he it’s not just his wounds that have healed. 

[jaegerbby]

➳ saint

--͙[touya todoroki x female! reader]-͙-

╰┈➤ word count; 3925

╰┈➤ rundown; your luck always has you at the wrong place, at the wrong time and touya is the reason.

╰┈➤ caution; previous NONCON ENCOUNTER MENTIONED, NONCON elements, scumbag! fratboy! dabi, virginity loss, no prep, choking, unprotected sex, rough sex, clothed sex, creampie, possessiveness, dirty talk, yn has small boobs, blow job mentioned, spitting in mouth, use of the word slut.

not proof read !!

the way you met touya is uncanny.

it is vile and putrid. you wish to wipe that moment from existence.

so why do you always end up around him? why do you now know an unprecedented amount about him?

"no doesn't hold any weight to me." his voice is low. his eyes are dark. you know that. you experienced it. he is spoilt, without a doubt. he gets his way, at least that is what everyone believes.

you should not be sitting next to him. his eyes trail from your exposed thighs to the ends of your hair entwined with his fingers.

he readjusts himself on the stiff sofa, spreading his legs wider and his thighs strain against his distressed jeans.

he looks untouchable. he looks like nothing in the world is capable of moving him. where money is present, power follows. touya did whatever the fuck he wanted.

"don't act like you get all that you want." you grit your teeth. he is infuriating. "your father has told you no. if he says no, you shut up and listen."

you can see the shift in his expression. you can feel it in the atmosphere. it crawls up your back and grips at your shoulders.

you know better than to mention that estranged relationship. you know better than to provoke him.

his hand stills, cerulean eyes narrowing. his grip wraps in your hair, it hardly looks like he is pulling but your roots sting. the tension on your strands makes you flinch.

this is the same man that had no qualms shoving you to your knees in an egregious alley. even as you protested, even as you hissed at your bloody knees. you were not there on your own volition.

you came to pick up your friend. you came there because she called for you to drive her home. she was long gone by the time you got there.

when you should have been taking your friend home, you were having a cock shoved down your throat. one so big it made your jaw ache and your eyes water.

he kept pushing and pushing until you were gargling on his cum, too sober to wipe the images out of your brain.

you were not even privy to touya's name. you never saw a cock much less had your throat stretched by one but he did not care.

touya knew you.

somehow, that was all that mattered to him.

your mind says to run. it says to bolt out of this room, maybe jump out of the window if it meant avoiding him because the look he gives you is eerily similar to that night.

"enji is the reason i'm this fucked up disaster. he knows it. my entire fucking family knows it. he would rather die than tell me no." he pauses, his gaze flickering over you like he has already decided on what he will do to you. like he already planned every scene in his head a long time ago. "he loves me."

you never should have let him drag you into this room. you were not suppose to be here in the first place. it seems touya always makes it the wrong place and the wrong time for you.

you jolt, eyes widening when his hands grip you. his palms are heavy, they are firm, from his touch alone you know you cannot escape him.

when he has you like this, all your resolve is shattered.

it does not take much for him to force you onto your back, he looks too big, too big for you. all you can see is him and he practically plasters his hard, muscular body to you.

your mind flashes with every memory from that night. where touya had you kneeling in a nasty alley. you can feel his cock heavy on your tongue and his taste throughout your mouth. you can feel hot, sticky cum being spewed into the back of your throat despite your gags of protestation.

you tried so hard to forget it, to dissolve the moment into nothingness but here you are remembering his eyes glimmering in content while he violated your mouth.

"and you love me too." there is a sharp intake of breath when those words leave his mouth. he says it with certainty, like he has never been more sure of something.

his callous hands slip beneath your skirt, you find yourself regretting your clothing choice. he grips your thighs, a wolfish expression on his face as he familiarises himself with your soft skin. places no one has seen much less touched.

touya wants to be the first, he wants to be the only one.

his thumb hooks on the crotch of your panties and he tugs them to the side. you feel cold air brushing your cunt. you hear touya's breath grow laboured, his eyes dark as they rove over your exposed pussy.

you flinch, pressing your foot against him. you try to push him away but it is hard when his body keeps you open for him. it is hard when your strength is incomparable to his.

a grin impresses on his features, pearly white teeth and dimples. it is the same smile he gave you before he had you deep throating his cock.

"i don't." your voice is warbled and shaky. his head tilts in amusement.

"really?" the sound of his zipper undoing fills your ears and trepidation settles in your bones. "then tell me your pussy isn't wet." his face nears yours, "tell me you aren't dripping like a slut."

you cannot say no.

you cannot oppose it.

you want to, you want so desperately to deny him and for it to hold an ounce of honesty. it claws at your throat, the same way you clawed at his thighs when he had you choking on his dick.

he laughs right in your face. the low baritone vibrates through your entire body.

"of course you can't, i can fuckin' see it! your pussy's so messy, could swear it's been creamed already. but it hasn't, you're just that soaking." the vulgar words elicit a whimper from you. you want to hide away but it is impossible when he has you trapped under him. he leans down to lave his slimy tongue over your trembling lips before his mouth nears your ear.

his voice tethers on a lack of self control. "you know," you feel his cock nudging your inner thigh, his pupils blown wide as he watches his dick inches away from your dripping slit. "i can smell it, i thought i was losing my fucking mind but no. all i could smell when i had my cock down your throat was your tight as hell pussy."

you should be mortified by his words, they are salacious and disturbing. instead your back arches, your body betrays you because here you are keening into touya like you want him to touch you.

"you were so shit at sucking dick, i wouldna' came if i didn't fuck it myself. i wanted nothing more than to bend you over and take your pussy because it smelled addicting." touya bites down on the full flesh of his bottom lip, his thumb pulling at the lace of your panties so hard you jerk.

"fuck, i can smell it right now. know it's all tight and ripe, know you're just waiting for me to take it."

he crowds over you more, a broken whine leaves you when the heated swollen head of his cock meets your clit. you swear you can feel it pulsing. steely blue eyes meet yours in an instant and a grin stretches across his face. you hate that the only thought in your head is how pretty his smile is and not the weight of his cock desecrating your body.

"it smells like mine. i swear if you let another man near this cunt, i'd kill him. i'd fuck you in front of him and gouge his eyes out. no one deserves to see you like that, only me." he says that while being one of the most underserving men but it's touya, he's selfish.

he would make your side his place whether you want him or not.

"i want to get in this pussy so bad." he huffs, you feel his tip throbbing against you. it feels heavy and hot where it rests on your bundle of nerves.

you cannot breathe, not with him so close, not with him on you. you have shivers along your entire body, your nerves stand on ends. all the protests die on your tongue when your cunt is slick and leaking.

you do not enjoy this.

you do not want this.

then why have your nipples stiffened so unbearably just begging to be soothed by his tongue and why are your insides craving touya to satiate you?

"what ya thinking, baby? you want to tell me no?" your lips part, your mouth webbed with sticky strands of spit. he asked you something, you should answer.

except it is hard to speak when his dexterous fingers release your underwear to instead glide along your slit. his laugh is almost mocking, your cunt soaks his digits so easily.

"i've been wanting to fuck up this innocent pussy for so long." you swear your brain has melted, it has liquified because it certainly is not operating. your eyes flick down to see his digits stroking your opening, they move away coated in your wetness. he glides his messy fingers over his cock before he brings them to your lips.

it is so easy, for your jaw to drop and for touya to sink his slick covered digits right into your mouth.

touya realises he likes you obedient.

"she's so innocent isn't she? hasn't been stretched out by a cock, hasn't squeezed around it and creamed. fuck i know she creams. she hasn't been turned into a fuck hole yet has she?"

a word has not escaped you since touya put you in this position. tears leak from your eyes but it is only from how overwhelmingly your body is begging for something you have never had before. your mouth is sticky with saliva, the taste of yourself lingering on your tongue as touya pumps his fingers along it.

you shake your head in response like he does not already know.

he pulls his hand away, reaching down to grip his heady cock, his head stroking down your cunt until he positions it at your entrance.

your entire being feels warm yet the feeling of his cock is so much hotter. your cunt drips incessantly, he smacks his tip along the mess and you jolt. touya has his cock on your pussy when you never got a good look at it before because he rawed your throat in a dark alley.

his hips shift and all you feel is pressure between your legs. he barely shoves any inside and you flash him wide eyes. he is all too pleased by the horror on your face.

"do you wanna get fucked? do you wanna know how it feels to get pulled apart and filled to the brim?" your breaths are shallow and quick, it should make you sick to be talked to like this. it should.

instead drool pools in your mouth and you want to find out, you want to know what it would feel like when touya stretches you out.

touya sees a different light in your eyes. you already look like a braindead whore before he has fucked you dumb. "you can take it, i'll make you take it."

he presses more into you and a broken moan leaves your swollen lips. now you can feel it, just how big and how hard he is. you had him down your throat before, he made your jaw ache and you know he would have your cunt feeling the same.

he groans, as wet as you are, your insides clamp down. your walls squeeze him before he has filled you completely. he made a point to not prep you, to not stretch you out. you do not know better to ask him to.

feeling you around him and seeing your watery eyes, your dewy lips moaning while he finally has you only makes him harder. it makes him want to cum deep inside you, fill you up until he is the only coherent thought in your head.

he reaches down to stroke your clit, the rough pads of his fingers make you mewl. he gives you no mercy, he keeps pushing more of his throbbing length within your walls. your hands scramble, fists gripping his jean jacket while you grit your teeth and whimper.

touya does not offer you any praise or words of consolation, he is more focused on shoving his cock inside you. he wants to feel your gummy walls all over him when he fills you to the hilt. you are soaking him, your cunt is hot and clamping down. every time you squeeze him he lowly grunts.

he does not even realise you are crying, you are silently sobbing. your eyes dart all over his features, you are looking at him but he is looking at his cock bullying your tight pussy.

this is how you lose your virginity, fucked like a dirty whore on a couch at a frat party. and the man who is taking you is not yours.

"holy fuck, you walk around with this tight as hell cunt between your legs and you think i could leave you alone?" he groans. he is not even all the way inside but he burns this image into his brain. your panties pulled to side and your pussy wrapped around his pulsing cock. you soak him in syrupy liquid, like you were waiting for him to claim you.

you grip him like you were made for him. he flips your skirt up to prevent it from obscuring his view and rough hands slip beneath your shirt to squeeze your barely there breasts.

he squeezes your tits, biting down on his lip before he thrusts hard and his entire length is forced into you. a shaky cry escapes you and your body trembles. your cunt is aching, it is stretched out for the first time and you feel unbearably full.

you should be mortified. touya violating you before was bad enough but this time you let him. you let him sink balls deep into your virgin pussy without any resistance.

and you are still crying because the man inside you has not even kissed. he is inside you but he has not shown you an ounce of kindness or affection.

"you're so fucking tight." his pelvis is flush to yours. touya did not prepare himself for this. his jaw clenches, why are you wrapped around him so perfectly? why does the feel of your cunt make him want to keep you on the end of his cock forever?

he is losing his bearings.

and you are too full to think. you feel him in your guts, you feel him too deep inside you. he has pulled you wide in a way you have never felt before.

"it hurts." your voice breaks, your chest is heaving and your grip on his clothing tightens. his eyes finally meet yours, he sees your brows knitted in distress, glassy eyes and tear streaked cheeks.

he was so caught up in your dripping fuck hole that he did not hear you crying.

"oh, aren't you just the prettiest thing?" his deep voice coos in a velvety tone.

he called you pretty. the prettiest.

he cups your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear but the motion is rough enough to leave your face stinging.

touya leans down to peck your lips. it is the first time he has kissed you. he pulls away, nudging your nose with his before a pretty smile crosses his face.

"your pussy feels like it was made for me. you were meant to take my cock, huh?"

he has your thigh pressed between his hard body and yours. your toes curl and your jaw hangs in a muted moan as he pulls his cock out. it is so slow you feel every inch and every pulsing vein.

when touya fucks into you for the first time it is gentle, your back arches as he fills you up all over again.

"just like that." his voice is deeper, more coated in something you cannot identify.

there is a flicker of hope that he will be this soft the entire time despite how roughly he filled you. after all, it is your first time.

you think someone like touya will finally grow a heart and find his morals.

"you're real fuckin' pretty, y'know? it's so annoying." he clicks his tongue, pushing your shirt up to reveal your breasts. plush lips wrap around your nipple and his heated tongue rolls it. his saliva feels hot on your skin.

his eyes find yours, they are dark as he laves his muscle over your tit. his hands are groping the flesh of your chest that barely fills his hands.

you jerk in surprise when his lips cover yours, this kiss is different. it is opened mouth and messy. you try to match his movements but you barely follow. touya kisses you aggressively, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

he should not be pleased by your teeth grazing his tongue but it only reminds him that he is all you know. he would always be all you know.

he has you distracted but your back tenses when his hips pull back and he harshly ruts into you. so hard your flesh sting where his hits yours.

your hands find his shoulders slipping on his jean jacket before you tightly grip the material.

he does not stop there. of course he does not.

he pumps his hips at a cruel pace, you are being stuffed with his cock over and over again. your back arches off the couch, you cry into his mouth but he does not relent.

he feels you dripping on him, he feels your slick coated along his length and every time he slams into you, you clench down like you will never let his cock go.

"this is what you wanted, right?" he grunts, his features contorting as he roughly fucks you.

"you wanted me to pin you down and rip through you. i know it, you know it. fuck that's it." his sentence ends with his voice at a higher pitch.

your hands lose their grip on his clothing as he straightens up, he cups the back of your knees to keep you spread open. his cock is throbbing at the sight of him taking you. over and over, he sees your syrupy strands coated on his cock, he sees your panties stained with it. he sees your pussy stretched around him and knows he would never go a day without thinking about it.

"knew your little pussy was aching for it. take it so fucking well."

when he is pounding your slick cunt, moaning about the way he swears your insides are stroking every vein on his thick length, you decide you hate him.

you wonder how someone so gorgeous could be so disgusting. you wonder what cruel juxtaposition it was for such an angelic countenance to be the one you see when it feels like the devil is ruining you.

you hate that you are enjoying it. you hate that it feels good.

you hate that at the end of this you will not regret it.

"you act like such a good girl but you take cock like it's all you were made for." sweat has started lining his hairline. his cheeks have reddened and touya's voice is breathy.

your skin is stinging from the force of his thrusts, his cock reaching deep in your guts with every motion.

the sounds of his flesh hitting yours fill the room, you can feel the weight of his balls meeting your skin and the mess between your legs splatters every time he fills you.

he huffs hard, his touches trail along your body, squeezing your hips and gliding along your stomach before they find your throat. his hands are so big they engulf your neck entirely.

"you like this, you fucking love it. fuck, tell me how much you like me rawing your virgin cunt like this." you whimper, your trembling fingers find his wrists.

you brain had turned into a scrambled mess the longer he fucks you open. your mouth is sticky with spit and all you can do is whine. he pounds into you so hard your body jerks every time.

some part of you wishes there was less clothing. less on him to see all his muscles flexing. less on you to feel him on you completely.

his expression switches between open mouthed groans and clenched jaws.

his cheeks are flushed, sweat drips down his temple and his fluffy hair bounces with his movements.

"touya." your voice warbles.

the moan he lets out is obscene. his cock slams into you unevenly.

he swears he loses it. he needs to hear you say his name like that again and again.

he crowds over you, his body flush to yours as he gathers you up into his arms. his lips finds yours in a sloppy kiss.

your hands rest on his back, feeling the ripples of his muscles as he roughly ruts into you.

your brows furrow, he only goes harder. it hurts but for some reason you like it.

he pants in your face before kissing you again. he pounds into you at a voracious pace, like an unhinged animal.

touya swears your hot, sticky walls gripping him are akin to heaven.

"fuck, fuck, fuck." a tandem of curses fill the room then he is burying his face into your neck. he lets out a low whine into your skin, his fingers reaching for your thighs and gripping hard enough to bruise.

his movements grow less steady but they are just as deep, his cock drags along every inch of your pussy like he is making it his home.

another muted whimper vibrates against your neck and with a few more pumps of his hips touya's cock throbs within you. he presses his pelvis flush to yours, your thighs tense at the feeling of hot cum flooding your walls.

you are panting and touya is too.

he drops all of his weight onto you, squeezing you tighter like he has not just ruined you.

you are horrified.

he did not wear a condom.

he came inside you.

you lay beneath him unmoving even as he laves his tongue over your breasts, even as he sucks marks across the flesh.

his hand grips your cheeks hard, urging your mouth open before his thumb strokes along your wriggling tongue.

you think he will kiss you but a sly grin plasters across his face and he spits into your mouth.

as the glob of saliva glides down your throat, he pulls out. you flinch at the feeling and his cum drips from your slit. you feel the mess leaking out of you.

touya pecks your lips because a man like him never faces any repercussions.

a man like him never thinks about the consequences of his actions.

"i'll bend you over next time." he has the same glimmer in his eyes from that night.

haven't been on here or written in so long :/ my apologies

[slowd1ving]

KILLER ・゜゜MOZE NSFW

"All you are to me is a bleak obsession I am the mark intent on burning the street How many times can I ask you? How many days can I go without you?" Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs, even if the pair in question is a homicidal crow and a brokenhearted cryptologist. art by @ ma_mori74 on x!!! moze can we honestly e date? you’re so beautiful. You always make me laugh, you always make me smile. You literally make me want to become a better person I really enjoy every moment we spend together. My time has no value unless its spent with you. I tell everyone of my irls how awesome you are. Thank you for being you. (joke) (not really) this was kinda rushed so :3 errr consider this like part 3 of tales of a disgruntled corvid pairing: moze + male reader warnings: nsfw, male reader, mentions of blood/death/violence, alcohol consumption, jealousy wc: 4.5k  

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Hǎoshì chéng shuāng. 好事成双. Good things come in pairs. 

Fortune. It is a humorous concept for Moze: tasting of a fleeting childhood dream and the dregs of hope. Fortune, as some know it, comes in all forms. From gilt wealth and corruption, to finding a strale dropped on the street and getting to bed on time—everyone, it seems, tastes good fortune somewhere along their paltry lives. 

Moze’s good luck surmounts to meagre things: not getting blood beneath his nails after a mission; evading the prying eyes of the Yaoqing as he slinks into the shadows; working by himself; and most of all, not running into you. Good luck equals a tidy house and leftovers in his fridge. Good luck equals not needing to stock up on the tools of his trade and knives that don’t need sharpening. Good luck equals a fresh steamed bun and a slow day perched on the roof of a building. 

The point must be made. Moze does not experience auspicious encounters often. 

Conversely, those afflicted by confirmation bias might say misfortune comes in threes. Misfortune, for Moze, is significantly easier to quantify—but to stratify it into threes grossly underestimates the cesspit of chance he’s been allotted. 

One: being outside currently at Jiaoqiu’s food stall while rain drizzles down on him. It could be argued it’s only by his own volition that he’s slurping on steaming chilli-infused noodles as petrichor stains the air, yet that stupid fox decided this was the way to go in terms of conveying intelligence from Feixiao. This was the hell crafted by Jiaoqiu’s hands seeped green with pungent herbs. 

Two: getting his apartment lease renewal rejected a week ago over a development project at his block. Though he had been planning on starting afresh—never one to stay in the same area for too long, just like the rest of the Shadow Guards—he quite liked the nondescript studio. It’s a tidy place: plain and unassuming. What a pity. He’s read the message from his landlord over and over: growing a tad bit more incensed each time. 

Three: the sudden absence of suitable apartments in the districts that he sticks to. None of the flats he browsed were innocuous enough, and the ones that were perfect for his schedule and profession were in dismal condition. 

Four: you purchasing a flat a month ago which perfectly fulfilled his conditions. Two-bedroom, in the lower districts of the Yaoqing, with reclusive neighbours and a walking distance of the Seat of Divine Foresight. Had he gotten the notice for his lease rejection earlier, it might’ve been him there. 

Five: upon asking about his dilemma, Feixiao’s eyes gleaming bright. This was the indicator for certain disaster—an omen as ill as he ever saw. And unfortunately, her gaze next fell on the scripts you were working on, before flickering back up to you. Shit. That was the only thought running through his mind, before she pitched her idea to have him simply move in with you. Say no, he pleaded mentally, but alas—

“Sure,” you mutter, red ink spilling from your pen onto the parchment. Bold characters sign the form off and the letter is folded neatly onto a cycrane absent-mindedly; before you finally look up at the assassin who flinches as your eyes land on his. “S’long as he pays rent.”

Six: you agreeing to this stupid deal. Why? Why? It can’t possibly be the deep veneration for the Arbiter General. Surely your adoration of her cannot be deep enough to let this guy room in your house—an assassin, at that. You aren’t a follower of Qlipoth, but where the hell is your sense of preservation?

Seven: him not actually finding any fault in the building. Not in the surroundings, nor the modest room across from yours, nor the lazy grin on your face as you showed him around the apartment—still expecting him to vehemently shake his head. 

He signed the damned contract, and that was that.

“What’s got you sighing?” Jiaoqiu eyes him from where he’s pulling noodles: sleeves rolled back to avoid dusting the salmon hues with flour. Fragrant red wafts from the pot on the stove, and he’s suddenly reminded of the crimson shirt you wore just this morning—rippling around the taut lines of sinew and muscle as you worked diligently on decrypting ancient alchemical texts. “I thought you found yourself a place to stay, so why the long face?”

Moze keeps his silence. Well, tries to—but it’s not like a singular word will make him any less laconic. Tapping his chopsticks against the rim of the blue-toned porcelain, he evades the question and focuses right on the middle of Jiaoqiu’s sentence. “Somehow.” 

“Right! Your dearest partner—” Jiaoqiu drags the word out, characters stretched tight until they wind right against Moze’s eardrums. He glares: visibly annoyed, yet this only makes the man in his peripherals close his own eyes in satisfaction. “—took pity on you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe.” The assassin slams down the rest of the piquant broth: lips dripping with sanguine. His response is a question in itself—because why the hell did you agree to Feixiao’s request?

“Curious?” Of course he’s curious. 

“It’s not much of a surprise, really,” the foxian sighs, twisting the strands into a neat circle and letting it drop into the boiling water. “Poor thing’s probably still in shock from his breakup. I think he would’ve agreed to pretty much anything coming out of Feixiao’s mouth at that point.”

The man can only stare incredulously. Every part of that sentence is laden with a bombshell. 

“Wow, I thought you would’ve known. Guess what’s said at Qiu’er’s stays there too.” Jiaoqiu’s golden eyes gleam slightly at the mention of the downtown bar. No, Moze didn’t know. No, Moze isn’t currently outright staring at the man no longer in his peripherals. No, Moze cannot hear his chopsticks creaking beneath his grasp. “Woah, don’t break those.”

The fox eyes the crow warily. “Seriously. Cool it.”

Eight: you’re still not over your boyfriend cheating on you. In the drizzle beneath the canopy, this is how your new roommate diligently listens to how his work partner and resident cryptologist really can’t catch a break from bad men. 

“That includes you, you know,” Jiaoqiu squints at an unusually contemplative Moze. Flickering amber lights and the buzz of cicadas makes the assassin seem even more shady than usual. “You don’t have a chance, so don’t even try.”

“The hell are you talking about?” For someone like Moze, his piece of good fortune is that his voice remains steady in almost any sort of situation. This means that anyone hearing this man speak right now would naturally presume he’s affronted at Jiaoqiu’s response out of its complete implausibility. But on the flip side, those who’ve known Moze longer have learnt to watch for other irritated tells of his rather than a wavering voice. The subconscious flex of long fingers. Minute shifts in the elbows propped up on the bar. Biting the inside of his lip, just enough that it’s unnoticeable. But these aren’t things the assassin really takes stock of. 

For a brief moment, Jiaoqiu’s friendly smile drops and he peers at the man askance. Is he brain dead? “...Okay.”

And that is how the tall man—hunched over in the downpour to not let his noodles get too cold—first learns of matters of a more personal note of yours. In the rare grey skies that cast over the Yaoqing, it’s a chance to digest this information he’s learnt. 

But he doesn’t care. 

He doesn’t. 

・゜゜

A painful month passes for Moze. 

There’s nothing else to describe it—psychological torment is the only fitting description of your behaviour. Outwardly, nothing changes. He still hates you, and you still hate him—two arguing peas in a pod with a mutual dislike being the only thing in common between the two of you. Outwardly, behaviour-wise, nothing changes. Outwardly, appearance-wise, something does. 

He first notices it about three weeks after that waterlogged conversation with Jiaoqiu. There’s a faint aroma of sweet-smelling smoke on you—a long cigarette holder between your fingers as you read a thick book on the couch. He’s never seen the thing before in all your months together. Sure, the Yaoqing tobacco scent fades quickly away to not linger  in the case of a borisin’s especially sharp senses—but he’s never seen that sort of heavy-lidded expression on you before. When you glance at him, it’s usually irritatedly—not like this, where your glance is hazy and your lips are parted to blow plumes from your mouth. 

Shit. He doesn’t quite know why his heart speeds up. 

The second thing he notices is that every week or so, there’s a clinging perfume to your body: never your usual clean scent, one that clearly belongs to a different person. This is the same time he starts noticing you slipping on shirts with longer necks on missions—a darker imprint just about peeking above the material. 

He’s not an idiot. He can put two and two together. 

The third instance of misfortune is your habit of wandering around after a shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around your waist conservatively. Sure, the area from your hips to your knees is covered—but what about the rest? He finds himself growing more irritable during work hours. Marks not caused by injuries still bruise your skin; as you turn your back in the kitchen to make yourself a mug of tea, his eyes rove the dips and valleys of your back. Categorising each wound. Systematically detailing each little infringement on your skin. 

He doesn’t particularly know why. Maybe his obsession with tidiness crosses over to people too. 

・゜゜

It happens like this. Occasionally, a man as ill-fortuned as Moze receives gets a break. 

There’s a tumbler of whiskey on the low coffee table in the living room. Polished chestnut—if you had to describe it—with the light shining through the amber liquid just so, until it reflects onto the varnished surface. A cube of ice sits dainty in the middle, clinking as you tip the glass this way and that. 

“Don’t spill it,” the assassin murmurs. From behind the couch, breath ghosting just past your ear. You don’t shriek (perhaps he hoped you would)—you don’t even glance his way. 

“I feel like that was a redundant warning,” you remark brusquely, taking a swill of the liquor. It’s sweeter than it would’ve been normally: courtesy of the saccharine pipe nestled betwixt your fingers and the smoke still lingering in your mouth. “Were you hoping I’d jump?”

“Yes.” Short. To the point. Laconic. That’s how those outside this home would describe the man currently leaning down, hands splayed on the backrest of the couch. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, and you still haven’t done the dishes.”

“It’s your turn,” he adds, because he likes seeing how this man’s expression wrinkles in exasperation, likes that stupid cant of your head—for it means Moze has won this little encounter. It’s all because he strongly dislikes his roommate, no other reason. 

“You suck.” Syrupy plumes ghost his face as you exhale into his face above—he doesn’t move back, even as the traces of burnt caramel become far more prominent, even as it feels like you’re blowing him a kiss more than anything.

“And you need to clean and go to sleep before you’re late,” he grits out, more annoyed than he was a moment ago. He’d say it was due to your lack of responsibility, but this angle allows the loose robe to expose your bitten collarbone—like some stupid fucking trophy. “Like you always are.”

“I’m never late, A-ze,” you enunciate each word in such a way that makes it clear you’re not drunk—so clearly the nickname is just to piss him off. A last-ditch middle finger; a threat that hasn’t worked for some time, one that makes his stomach churn uncomfortably but not enough to admit defeat. “You’re just up stupid early.”

He goes silent, in the way he does when you’re right. Instead of saying anything, he instead plucks the glass from your hand: downing the smooth alcohol from where you drank it, enjoying how for once your mouth closes just like his. The pipe in your hand tilts this way and that as you take a drag thoughtfully—recovering far too quickly for his liking. 

“A-ze.” Like this, with wisps exiting your mouth and silk draped over you, you look good enough to eat. He freezes at the implication of his thoughts, freezes at the sound of the name blanketed in some gruesome replica of affection. He hates it; hates how his heart squeezes and a faint flush of red dusts his cheekbones. Aeons. 

It is common knowledge to not toss a starving dog a bone before it hungers for more. 

“What, you don’t hate it anymore? Here I was, hoping you’d turn tail and leave,” you sigh, theatrically despondent—much like you normally are. Too damn dramatic for your own good. 

So desperate, drinking your sorrows away as if that’ll possibly work. He scoffs, striding the short distance over so he can tower over from the front. 

“Maybe you just like calling me that,” he breathes. There’s a smile playing on his lips: the rare one he gets when he knows he’s got a point, knows when he’s right. It’s unconscious—he’s far too oblivious to notice it only occurs around you. 

“I do,” you murmur. “Bet it warms your heart though. No one likes you enough to call you that.”

“So you like me?” There’s an odd buzz in his veins tonight. As the orange lights from the street blink into existence, and the room is no longer illuminated by ‘day’, he’s glad for the darkness that conceals the heat in his face. Your clothing rustles as you stand—practically nose to nose with the man in front of you.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze,” you mutter, and the heated breath from your lips fans over his sensitive skin—mingling with the tobacco wisps and alcohol vapour. He swallows. “It’s pity.”

“Pity?” he sneers. “Like how you sleep around to get over your boyfriend? That’s not pitiful?”

“Like I said—” your tone becomes frigid as you shift closer: until his chest brushes up against yours, until he can count every lash that glows amber in the incandescent street lamps, until he can practically taste the rolling fury off your tongue. Warm. Scalding heat ebbs from your body and flows right into his own. “—don’t get ahead of yourself, Xiaoze.”

His breath comes in ragged waves. So close. When he stands so near to a human, it typically means he’s feeling life flow from them. Not like this; but he cannot bring himself to get away. 

He’s never been more thankful for his unwavering voice. 

“Don’t give bones to starving dogs,” he murmurs, mellifluous rather than jarringly annoying. “They’ll bite.”

Smoke wafts into his face as you survey his expression: flushed, brows knitted taut, lips still slick with liquor. 

“So you’re a dog, now?” Your fingers graze his chin, canting his head this way and that as he makes no moves to evade your grasp: heart beating miserably in his chest. There’s a strange sort of hunger in your gaze. 

He’s never seen it before. 

“No, it was proverbial—” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “—you know?”

“Just as desperate as one,” you mutter. Trailing your finger down until they graze his collarbones, it’s no wonder he flinches—and you stare at him, unimpressed. “If I tell people about this, your reputation would immediately disintegrate. How many years have you cultivated that stupid mysterious image?”

“Hah—who would believe you?” It’s true, not many people would—but alas, the important ones have already witnessed this man looking at you. 

“Jiaoqiu, but I guess he already knows what a loser you are.” And you miss how when he lowers his head, he looks like a completely different person—flushed visage mired in shadow, like the assassin he truly is. He’s staring right at you, unblinking as he watches the cruel movement of your lips.��

“Don’t talk about him right now.”

And so, you don’t. 

・゜゜

This is the prelude leading up to this particularly humiliating scene. 

Humiliating, because propping himself up on his elbows on your bed isn’t a position he thought he’d ever find himself in. Humiliating, because he never gets drunk, so why the hell is his head spinning? Humiliating, because for once the mellow deep of his voice is pitched a note higher—larynx taut with suppressed groans. Unsteady, in a way his voice has never been. 

You taste like the pipe still tipping in your fingers: candy-sweet and saccharic. But there’s also the heavy aroma of liquor on your breath, mingling bittersweet with the plumes of smoke wafting from your fingers. Beneath that, blood from a scrape on your lip—acrid and metallic. That is what he knows, so your lips moving gently against his feels so utterly foreign: and not just in the way they taste. 

When you pull back for air, his eyes are blown wide in surprise; his mouth has only ever been used to bite, after all. You seem to instinctively know this as you take a long drag from the stick, blowing the curls of vapour into his mouth when you pull back in: to induce a slight tingle into him presumably (but Lan knows he doesn’t need aid to feel that buzz). 

Languorous. That’s how he’d describe it—for it seems you only ever work lazily. There’s no hurry as you lick past the seam of his lips. There’s no hurry as both your scalding mouth and your arid fingertips trail downwards, past the vales of his tense abdomen. There’s no hurry—but Aeons he wishes there was, for your hand slipping under his shirt and against his stiffened nipples are much too damn slow. 

“Do you—do you even know what you’re doing?” he mocks, like he isn’t currently jolting as you roll the pink flesh between searing fingers. You raise a brow: lucid against the otherwise irritated thoughts. 

“Do I?” you copy his broken whine, gripping the fat of his tits coarsely while the rise and fall of his chest becomes ever so slightly more shallow. If only he could see himself right now: jarred at every turn, pupils blown out, and the residual sheen on his lips. Every damn hue of purple littering his neck and collarbone. And if only you could see better in this darkness—spot that obsessive fervour in his gaze, one neither of you are quite aware of. 

“Do you have any experiences to compare it to?” you counter, twisting your hand while he glares at you heatedly. Nothing. Quiet as a corpse when you make an irrefutable point. 

No, that’s right, you grin sardonically as you slip the long cigarette back into its place on your nightstand. Syrup drips from your mouth as you twine your free hand in his hair, tugging until he groans into your lips with his own in that mellifluous cadence. 

You’re harsh as winter. 

No, cruel.

Cruel, as you trail your hand from his chest to his waistband—palming him roughly through his pants. Cruel, as you pinion his hips against your bed to prevent them from bucking into your hand—fingers digging desperately against your sheets as you grind against him. Cruel, as you swallow each whine with your warm mouth: so sweet, so gentle even as you wrench your hand into sinew, flesh and everything beyond. He can taste the arid heartbeat through your mouth, and he’s sure you can feel his own—pulsing hotly as he yields his worries to you, just for a moment. 

Or two. 

He’s inexperienced, but even he knows what the tension in his abdomen signifies. The distinct tremors in his legs, the pain as he digs his nails into your thigh, the tightness coiling his body into rigidity. Puppet-like beneath your machinations: manipulated this way and that way with strings unseen. 

Fucking his hand has never felt like this. 

As he writhes, he greedily swallows you whole. Taking everything, including your bloodied lips, including the faint caramel tracing your tongue, including the strangled gasp as he grasps your nape with burning urgency. Aeons. He’s breathless; judged human lust far too soon. Against your brutal palm, the fabric of his trousers is slick with his release—wet patch a testament to his sin. 

Yet still you rock against him as he rides out the mind-numbing pleasure: limbs infinitely heavier from the tension suddenly all releasing. 

But he forgets how cruel you are. 

One final sweet kiss later—nails raking past his scalp and the other hand warmly pressed against his cheek—and you pull away with a lazy smile. 

“Go to sleep.” The directive jolts him awake, like a bucket of ice-cold water breaking apart a dream. Dissolved like candy, like the damn fluid in Penacony connecting the conscious and unconscious. “We’ve got a mission tomorrow, remember?”

Like the cat that got the cream, you smile Cheshire-bright. A fucking riddle on your lips. “And I still have to do the dishes, remember?”

He’s left stupefied: numb lips, a reeling head, and an impercipient body. Once more, the shower he douses himself in is frigid—but nothing could be as cold as what just occurred. 

What the hell? 

He presses his palm to the lower half of his face in shock. 

What the hell?

Seriously, there’s something wrong with you. And as he glances down, he realises with utmost horror that his problem has not yet died down yet. 

What the hell?

Important things must be said thrice. Duplicitous in nature, Moze’s fate both turns for the worse and better simultaneously. 

The bone has been tossed. What will the starving dog do?

・゜゜

All actions have consequences. 

That is a proverb universally recognised by all walks of life: trodden on by kings, revered by alchemists, and vowed by the weak. You reap what you sow. What goes around comes around. Equivalent exchange. 

The natural outcome from that night is mutual silence. You don’t speak of that evening, and neither does he—face flush with implication, yet unwilling to actually divulge his thoughts on the matter. Sure, he finds himself with his hand attempting to recreate your rough friction (teeth clenched around his shirt as he paws at his lean chest)—but it never quite works, and all of his colleagues are privy to his especially curt mood. 

Joint missions with you are now a thing painful. Tense. 

The strings that bind him to you are taut with the feeling. Constricting, tightening, until he can sense their imminent breakage. 

This leads this unusual pair to this scenario. You, fresh out a shower and post the nth mission of this month. It’s only been three weeks since that night, and watching you meander about the kitchen with only a towel slung low on your hips is giving him heart palpitations. Steam curls from your body; each time you shift, he’s excruciatingly aware of how it appears just like that smoke from that night. 

“A-ze. What do you want?” 

That’s the golden question—what snaps him out of the trance—and makes him realise he’s practically pressed up against you from the back. No, scratch practically. His arms are on either side of the counter, pinning you in position as you continue stirring the fragrant drink. Feeling that damned sear of your skin is driving him into the throes of madness. 

He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and not heeding the rivulets that seep into his clothes. So warm, he wants to murmur—but talking is for those who want to speak, and he does not want to. Not in this moment, where he’s appreciating the soap you used, the lotion spread onto damp skin, the inherent smell of you. 

His teeth graze the vulnerable juncture. You turn, and he can see your eyes waver, feel the rapid thrum of your pulse as you become aware of just how desperate he is. “A-ze.” And your hands roam his waist, tracing the taut muscles betraying his anticipation. 

His lips are heated as he leans into you: a snarling mess. Trembling fingers trace the expanse of your soft body, like you’ll ghost away just like the wisps you smoke. 

“Need you.” It’s not a plea—the rough deep of his voice makes him sound demanding, as arrogant as ever. “Haven’t I behaved?”

He’s so damn desperate as he grasps your body: bruising and fatal. He’s desperate as he kisses you heatedly, desperate while your hands brush past the feverish skin of his stomach, desperate as you push him against the couch—too hasty for the bedroom. Now, he chokes out. Now, now, now. Please. 

Pliant beneath your hands, it’s not exactly the longest time until he’s gasping beneath you. So tight, you may have commented: drunk on the sensation of him fluttering around your probing fingers. Aeons. 

He’s so malleable: arching into you as soon as you line yourself up. It almost makes you feel bad for him: feeling him flinch whenever you brushed past him, watching his face bloom scarlet as he saw the marks on his neck in the hallway mirror. Almost.

It’s because he’s so cute like this: drooling amidst all the broken noises as you slam into him. You’ve never quite seen him this dishevelled, not even during that night. Hungrily, he’s sucking you right in—paying no heed to suppressing the almost-pained moans dribbling past his open lips. 

What a mess. 

Physically, it can only be described as such. White globs decorate his flushed skin messily: pearlescent in the dim lights of the living room. He can’t even begin to count how many times his weeping tip has stiffened, not when you’re so damn insistent that he forgets how to speak properly. It’s not like you’re any better; each time you look down there’s that frothy ring that strings you two together. 

Emotionally, it’s also quite the mayhem. You don’t particularly know where to look when his eyes have that gleam in them—a sort of fervour that one rarely ever sees. Even now—pupils hazed with lust and eyelids lowered heavily—he’s staring right up at you, content as can be whilst you drill mercilessly into him. 

Fuck. 

“Come on, you—ah—can do better than that,” he taunts. As though he doesn’t look completely fucked-out, as though there aren’t tears leaking from his foggy eyes. You’re not sure where he gets his audaciousness from. 

He’s beautiful. 

“This is why no one likes you,” you hiss, sharply tugging his hair back to hear his surprised whines. Supplicantly, he does exactly what you expect. Loser. Aeons, he sucks. 

“Yeah?” he grins. “What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a no one from the Intelligenstia Guild,” you answer against his neck, feeling his throat constrict as he swallows. Though it’s only minutely, his nails dig somewhat deeper into the flesh of your back—marking you up just as much as you’ve marked him. An acknowledgement of your words. 

Well. 

You suppose you’ve always been drawn to the pathetic ones. 

・゜゜

[moonstruckme]

Omg wait are you looking for prince!sirius requests? I love that series but I didn't want to be pushy about it lol

What about some kind of big event for r that she's feeling some anxiety about, and she goes to sirius for help? Like she's giving a speech so she practices it with him, or they do flashcards of important people she needs to know the names of?

Thanks for requesting angel!

cw: allusions to Black family dynamics

prince!Sirius x princess!reader ♡ 860 words

“You’ve got it,” Sirius encourages you. “I’ll give you a hint. It starts with a b, like buttmunch, which if you talk to him you’ll find is really very fitting.” 

Your lips curve, but your brow remains firmly set in concentration. 

“Okay, b. B…Beekman?” 

“Very close.” Sirius puts the flashcard down. “Becker.” 

“Damn it.” You sit back from where you’d leaned forward to peer at Becker’s face, hands clasping around your tented knees. 

“Time for a break?” he suggests. 

“Yeah, guess so.” You reach for the cup of tea sitting on your bedside table, rubbing beside your eyebrow. 

You’re wearing pajamas again. Or, they might not be pajamas to you, but they are to Sirius. Sweatpants and a loose top that drapes off your form and looks delightfully soft. Sirius had tried to follow suit, but the closest he could get was a plain, fitted shirt and his most comfortable trousers. Sirius’ family doesn’t really believe in loungewear. 

He likes that you’re not like that, though. It’s hard to know how normal the Blacks are even among royalty, but you seem less bound to any expectations besides your own than any royals he’s met. You were kind enough to lend him a pair of sweatpants when he arrived, and Sirius has never felt more spoiled. 

“Sorry this is taking so long,” you say. “I was never great with names.” 

“You’ll be alright,” Sirius reassures you. Though, names are sort of a big part of these dinners. Everyone wants you to know who they are, to validate their importance and make them feel like they have a close personal connection to power. Sirius is lucky; memorization comes easily to him, and he’s been kept abreast of who’s dying off and who’s getting married since he was old enough to speak. “Even if you can’t remember all of them, you can always get by with enthusiasm.” 

You cock your head interestedly. “Enthusiasm?” 

“You know. Goodness gracious,” he rolls his eyes, speaking with a deadpan delivery, “it is so wonderful to finally meet you. How are you, how is your family? That sort of shit.” 

Your smile blooms. It really is a lovely sight, and one Sirius wishes he’d been graced with more often since meeting you. He understands why you’ve not been in particularly high spirits; after meeting an entire new family, being forced to make nice with supercilious aristocrats, and learning your family plans to marry you off without really asking for your input, Sirius wouldn’t be feeling particularly smiley either. Still, he hopes to see more of it. 

“Does that really work?” you ask him. 

“Course. All any of them want is to feel like you know them. Whatever accomplishes that is fine. What did the Queen tell you?” 

Your smile fades, your mouth twisting instead with a dry humor. “She wasn’t around. One of her advisors just said to study the flashcards and try to talk as little as was inoffensive, whatever that means. Basically stay out of trouble, I guess.” 

Sirius huffs a laugh. He can’t count how many times people have told him to stay out of trouble. He’s fairly sure he never once listened. 

“Well, I think you’ll do lots better than they’re expecting.”

“Really?” Your eyes turn up to his, big and hopeful. Sirius feels his mouth curve of its own volition. 

“Yeah,” he says earnestly. “Just be yourself, gorgeous. They won’t be able to leave you alone.

It’s certainly been true for Sirius. And the fact is, you could make the biggest faux pas of the century and none of those snobs would call you on it. You’re a princess. 

He does genuinely believe that you could get by even without your status, though. You’re not an imposing presence, but there’s an air about you that puts people at ease. You emanate good intentions. It’s intriguing; Sirius hardly knows anything about those. 

You hide a smile behind your teacup. “I thought we said no flirting when no one was around.” 

“Sorry. Can’t help it. Fair warning, by the way,” he drops his voice into a more serious register, “you’ll probably have to be introduced to my parents. Now that they think you’ve agreed to their arrangement, they’ll want to meet you.” 

“Oh.” You blink, lowering your tea. “Okay. I’m excited to meet them.” 

So this is how you sound when you lie. 

“It won’t be fun,” Sirius warns. “They’re not nice, but they probably won’t really care about speaking to you after being introduced. It ought to be short, at least.” 

“Sirius,” you laugh, and it’s hard to tell whether the twitch in Sirius’ gut is from you saying his name or the sound of your laughter. Further studies will be needed. “They’re your parents. They can’t be that bad.” 

Sirius heaves a sigh, flopping sideways so he’s lying across your bed. “They are.” He gives your knee a pat. “But no need to worry about that now. Ready to get back to the cards?” 

“Sure.” Your posture straightens slightly, a cute, concentrated frown coming to your lips. Sirius holds up the first flashcard. “Alright. This one’s name starts with a w, like wanker.”

[hamable]

Ok I’ve been grumbling a lot so here’s what I LOVED about PJO episode seven:

- every Sally flashback. I love seeing the struggle Sally went through, mostly alone, to raise Percy separate from a world actively trying to suck him in. There’s no good explanation for being so adamant to send him away out of love. If they lived in a normal world she’d homeschool him in a heartbeat. Her kid thinks he’s unwanted and it feels like there’s nothing she can say to make her words and actions match. Heartbreaking and really well done. It also allows me a small bit of sympathy for Poseidon, who is in a similar situation on a larger scale. (Not entirely, he’s a goddamn god and all that, but I liked seeing their struggles framed as parallel, wanting to keep Percy safe and having to make hard choices to do that.)

- loving Toby Stephens as Poseidon. Cant wait for more of him.

- Annabeth gave Grover a stress ball

- annabeth immediately takes the stress ball away and I’m like >:0 only to realize it’s bc they’re about to encounter Cerberus and Annabeth is always thinking six steps ahead.

- Asphodel was haunting, I liked it a lot.

- Annabeth getting stuck because she has regrets. It gets me thinking… Percy “good kid” Jackson (who feels like a screw up constantly, who would fall on his own sword a million times before letting someone else get hurt first) and Grover Underwood (who feels directly responsible for Thalia’s death and probably a majority of his ward Percy’s misfortune) are standing RIGHT THERE. What the hell kind of regrets does Annabeth have that she’s the first to get grabbed??

- Hades is very fun. I cannot believe this is Nico’s and Bianca’s father. And Hazel’s omfg. my heart melted when he said “I will give you sanctuary.” Do you know how big a deal that is? Percy is, for all intents and purposes, THE lightning thief, who broke into YOUR underworld, slinging accusations and speeches, blaming you for a war you want no part in (and that he, as the supposed thief, is literally the cause of) and you look at this kid. This poor 12 year old. Who Does Not Know what storm he is walking into. And you tell him he is public enemy number 1, that he is not safe anywhere, but that he and his mother will be untouchable here, should he ask for it. You tell him that you saved his mother of your own volition when we know Zeus himself would not save his own child. Legendary.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Psst, hear me out: The Beast being fucking yanderes with the ancients.

You Get It™️ I mean... Did you guys see episode 6? Burning Simp Cookie is already a yandere lol. He's been there and he refuses to leave. And Shadow Milk is honestly not that far behind, he feels some type of way towards Pure Vanilla and it would be cute if it wasn't so sad and creepy lol

Really though, I just love hero/villain ships in general (always have, since long before Cookie Run ever existed) and I get a kick out of villains acting stupid over crushes (read: obsessions), and acting stupid in general. There's just something about a villain being in love with the hero to a psychotic, comical degree, and the hero rebuffing them at every turn that's just really amusing to me lol. Like what Joker sort of has with Batman, you know?

Here are my Yandere Beasts in bare-bones terms:

Burning Spice: come on, if you've read my stuff, you know EXACTLY what Yandere Spice is like lol. If not, I'll refer you to this and this, as well as my fics on AO3. If those don't tell you what Yandere Spice is like then idk how else to help you lol

Shadow Milk: if the final boss of theater/drama kids had a crush but was also a malignant narcissist of some sort lol. Absolutely DESPERATE for Vanilla's attention at all times. If he's not actively trying to worm into Vanilla's brain and harass him in his thoughts and dreams, he's in the real world brainstorming better ways to do that lol. He does not grasp why the creepy puppet shows and gaslighting attempts aren't convincing Vanilla to fall in love with him. Will attack and torment and insult Vani in one breath and then praise and love and worship him in another, because he's a histrionic clown freak with whirlwind emotions. But above all else, he literally thinks he owns Vani and is meticulously plotting the horrible and hilarious demise of any and all he perceives as a threat to their union

Eternal Sugar: World's Laziest Stalker™️. Almost exclusively haunts Holly in her dreams (I have to assume that that's what her power will entail, as the Beast of Sloth); however, she's more "effective" in her wooing attempts due to her past experience as the Herald of Happiness. She actually goes out of her way to construct dreams and the like that have things in them that make Holly happy (or what she thinks makes Holly happy; she, as well as the others, has big tunnel vision and is very selfish and self-absorbed, and thus pays more lip service to her own wants than those of who she loves/obsesses over). Thankfully doesn't run into Holly in person often because that's work... but sometimes she DOES work up the nerve to go after her for real, and... well

Mystic Flour: Denial, denial, denial. Not just a river in Egypt the Golden Cheese Kingdom, but she'll say and act like otherwise. No, she does not like Dark Cacao. He robbed her of her volition and the chance to enact her will. He prevented her from freeing the world from pain and suffering. He is a stubborn fool who refuses to understand the truth. He... is very handsome. She does not like how handsome he is. It is distracting. She doesn't like dwelling on her memories of him and their encounters. She doesn't like how she came to harbor a single kernel of respect in her heart after he stood his ground against her; a kernel that she inadvertently nurtured and cultivated slowly but surely, until... no. No, she doesn't like Dark Cacao. She doesn't think about him all day. She doesn't want to try to lure him back to her land so she can trap him in the flour fog with her again. She doesn't miss feeling his dark eyes on her. She doesn't deeply resent his attachment to his people, and seek to transfer that attachment to her instead. No, she... damn it, he's ruined her. He's made her feel things again. He's made her succumb to selfishness and greed, to earthly desire and attachment - desire for HIM, attachment to HIM. All of her hard work and enlightenment gone to waste... She doesn't want to like Dark Cacao, she recognizes the folly in such a thing, but she's stuck - and so stuck is she that not only does she not really see a way out, she doesn't WANT one. She's become too content with her attachment to him too quickly. Now she has to agonize over her own foolishness, and try to keep denying that she doesn't care while also longing for his attention and wanting to do away with all that steals his attention away from her

Silent Salt: probably the least awful of the five, but he's still creepy and that's not a high bar to clear anyway lol. Has a better grasp on "normal" behavior than the others (like... he pays attention to what White Lily likes/wants and tries to adjust accordingly), but he's following her around everywhere and acting extremely violent and territorial over her towards anyone who he catches approaching her. He's legitimately, surprisingly sweet and gentle towards her; he brings her flowers, he listens to her when she asks/tells him something, he's more or less respectful of her personal space (he will try to be as physically close to her as possible, but actually backs off a little if she asks him to, only to try again, and so on and so forth)... but he's still a villain, he's still violent and creepy, he still gets angry when she pays attention to other people for too long and he has brought actual harm to others out of jealousy. He's the best of the worst but that really doesn't mean much of anything, he's still a psycho creep like the others

In short, they form a tight-knit coalition of absolutely fucking deranged freakazoids and they should all probably die :)

[hedgehog-moss]

Poldine's Hike, Vol. II

(^ people who said this on my last post, I sure hope you meant it !)

I went on a few more walks with her (though not all the way to the stream) since the one I talked about yesterday, so here's some bonus Pampoldine-on-a-walk content :)

She's a little bit devious sometimes (trying to make her mum proud) (without actually breaking any laws. It's tough) and in the first 10min of each walk she pretends to be stumped by every branch or shrub that even slightly blocks the path, in the hopes I'll go "oh no, an insurmountable obstacle, guess we'd better go home then :( " No one buys that you can't deal with a branch in your way, Poldine. There are trees in your pasture. You know what a branch is.

(I love that she rewards herself with some leaves after the strenuous feat of ducking under a branch. I'm not sure if the cheek kiss I got was apologetic or just an unthinking reflex as she walks past someone with a face. I should change this post's title to Poldine's Kisses: Vol. I)

2. Pirlouit has a new job! A fixed-term contract. The farmer who owns the barn near my pasture always cuts the grass around it in the spring and this year I offered Pirlouit's services to spare him the trouble, and he said it was a good idea. So I moved Pirou to a small enclosure around the barn, and he's taking his mission to clear all the grass seriously.

(well, here I caught him on a union break)

He can see the llamas (and my house) from where he is so he's not in exile, but he's still by himself at the moment so we went to pay him a visit. Poldine immediately did what she does best.

3. I also spent some time walking on the road with her so she'd get used to cars (that was the initial plan but since cars are rare it turned into me sitting on the side of the road reading a book to Poldine as we waited for a car to show up). One car stopped and the driver & passenger rolled down their windows to ask if they could take pictures of Poldine, which they did, and then I asked them if they would like a bise greeting from a llama and they looked pretty delighted and leant out of the window so Poldine could kiss their cheek. (I'm trying to teach her to give more than 1 bise because we're not in Brittany but she prefers quality over quantity.)

She was still a tad bit nervous about being so close to a car with the engine running, but she came closer of her own volition when she realised she had the opportunity to distribute kisses.

I might just introduce a tollbooth on this road. Little kiosk with Pampoldine inside (wearing some kind of official hat), you take a ticket and a long llama neck slithers out and a fuzzy kiss is deposited on your cheek, then the automated gate goes up.

[looking-for-wisdom]

I’m curious to see how betty’s expedition is handled in the long term for the show, in the sense that it’s clearly meant to be symbolic of their relationship. I’ve seen some analysis which points to what I feel may very well be the direction the show is going — that Betty is always making sacrifices for Simon, and he lets her.

But the thing is, I don’t feel that’s a fair consideration of the events. She asks to go on the expedition with him, tells him she doesn’t want credit for their discovery, and — when he finds her at the bus stop — she doesn’t ask him to come with her.

And this pattern continues into the main series. She jumps through the portal of her own volition and proceeds to dedicate herself solely to saving Simon. The temple of mars episode really puts it best. She’s flat out shown how she does everything for him, and she says that’s how she wants it. That it’s what makes her her.

That’s not to say Simon didn’t play a part. He’s certainly not particularly observant, and he’s much less prone to taking the initiative. But he clearly adores Betty and thinks she’s brilliant. He only ever opened the portal to apologize. He naturally would have wanted her to be happy and successful.

In the series finale, he’s the most content to be digested by golb. it seems like a natural outcome to him — and this way, they get to be together.

The two of them sort of work by the laws of physics. Betty is constantly in motion, making choices to propel them forward. And simon is at rest. He’s usually content with his fate, unless a strong force comes in to change his status quo.

Both of these features are taken to a detrimental extreme at times, but neither is more malicious than the other. sometimes, Betty makes choices without stopping to ask if it’s what he wants to. sometimes, Simon lets opportunities slip by that stifle them both. They’re human, and they didn’t really get the time they needed to learn how to communicate through these things.

I think to argue that Simon let her be self sacrificing disservices them both. Betty is fully capable of making her own choices, and Simon is more than willing to make sacrifices of his own. He did it for Marcy and Fionna. He’d do it for Betty too — but she never leaves an opening.

For better or for worse, they’re two halves of a whole. In the best of times that means they enhance each others best qualities. And, on the flip side, they wind up enabling the worst.

[emry-stars-art]

Children of the Moriyama-Day thrones ✨

I’ve been putting off an explanation for the kingdom Evermore for FOREVER and honestly a lot of it is directly pulled from this post and some more chats with @snazzy-jas-z-is-a-fan-of (thank you ily you’re so smart)

So if you wanna know like 80% of the pre-timeline Moriyama-Day story, read on:

SO. In Evermore, at least amongst nobility, all importance is placed on direct descendants of family lines. Spouses to the royal family can claim titles if they so choose - the equivalent titles are reserved for that eventuality - but their children will always have higher titles than them (ex: the husbands of the Day line queens are not princes but instead something closer to dukes, while their children will be Day princes and princesses, as well as the reverse for the Moriyama wives). This means that every once in a while, if a spouse would prefer to live privately rather than subject themselves to the more stressful aspects of noble life, they remain only vaguely known by the public. This doesn’t happen often by any means, but it does give the royal family an excuse for why the father of Kevin Day has not made himself known.

Each generation has a shared title - the most fit and capable to rule will take the titles of kings and queens*, while their children are princes and princesses. The eldest of each family in the generation adds “high ___” to their title once a younger sibling is born. This is why even though Kevin is the younger between him and Natalie - the next Day generation - he is the heir to the Day throne because his mother was the elder sister. The names in pink are the highest ranking royalty of their generation, whom the throne is passed to.

*(Maybe Evermore retires their monarchs once they’re unfit to rule, or maybe the younger generations take them by force, thus proving they are fit for the throne. I could see it going either way tbh)

The Moriyama line here is continuing essentially as is usual and expected. There’s family members among each generation and the procession of power is in place. The Day family, on the other hand, has almost entirely crumbled.

Queen Shields left the throne of her own volition, taking her daughter Natalie with her. She left the throne and renounced her Evermore citizenship for reasons unknown to the public, though the Moriyama family brushed it aside as the whims of a young woman that clearly couldn’t handle the lifestyle. For this reason, even if she was to come back to Evermore, she would no longer be able to claim her place among the Day family. Her daughter Natalie Shields, on the other hand, was hardly more than an infant when she was taken, and so the Evermore nobility could not say she renounced her throne or her citizenship by choice. If Princess Natalie ever returned to Evermore and demanded her throne, she would have it.

High Queen Kayleigh, as we all know, has passed away. Her son Prince Kevin was raised beside Ichirou and Riko by the Moriyama family as the sole remaining member of the royal Day line. Though he and Prince Riko had always been close because of their age (High Prince Ichirou was at that age range and just older enough that he found littler kids and especially siblings to be “annoying”, the way kids do), as they grew up, Kevin realized that even if Riko was his best friend and brother, he himself had started agreeing more with Ichirou’s political views and ideas. Riko swallowed the Evermore ideals of “conquer and prosper” as any younger brother might. Kevin and Ichirou never had to fight for the power handed to them - they were beginning to see that those traditions were becoming obsolete, and there were better ways to expand and run a country.

Riko did not like the attention Kevin was suddenly getting from Ichirou.

So when Kevin said, suddenly and surprisingly, that he was going to travel before marriage - see what and who around them might benefit Evermore - no one could really stop him. He was by that point the Day crown. High King Kengo allowed it. (He wouldn’t have, had Ichirou not so strongly championed for the idea.)

Young king Kevin is not technically an Evermore deserter or traitor. The Moriyamas cannot prove that he is. But the longer he stays in Palmetto, the more suspicions arise that he isn’t there only on business, or even that he might never intend to return at all. The only way to take the throne from Kevin - destroying the Day line in Evermore for good - is for him to renounce his throne, or for war to break out between the two countries so that Kevin will be forced to pick a side.

(We know what side he’d pick, of course. His adopted brothers as well. The rest of the Moriyamas are fairly certain they know, and are growing severely impatient for the chance to label him a traitor.)

(This also leads to the idea that perhaps, if she found her way back to Evemore on an errand, all the lost princess Natalie would have to do is exchange her claim to the throne for a certain foreign prisoner’s freedom. Ichirou is always looking for ways to get rid of competition, and Riko’s lost plaything is not his to worry about. Kengo’s declining health makes it easy for Ichirou to pass off his word as the High King’s.

So the ex-princess is free to take Jean Moreau wherever he’d like to go. Or, when he says he doesn’t know, wherever she thinks is suitable.)

[cyanorhis]

In terms of “canon-compliant” zutara, I think often about how Zuko’s development is both his redemption and his doom.

Because how come the obsessive go-getter of the show does not fight harder against fate (bryke’s annoying ass) to save his beloved from putting herself into a rewardless martyr-like situation in the form of a marriage that serves as repopulation program? (Which I always thought was ridiculous).

He learns bit by bit to acknowledge and make up for his mistakes. He respects Katara above all else. He fights fair. He does not guilt-trip her nor treat her like a reward. He loves her. He gave his life for her. He would not have survived had she not been the exceptional person she is. He supports her decisions no matter what. He listens to her.

So when she tells him about her ridiculously good and selfish intentions of pandering (once again) to a non-celibate Monk who wishes to have her mother his children for the sake of airbending and his supposed affection that was born out of the self-insert of narrators who give way too much importance to childhood crushes for one’s babysitter, he might argue but he can’t help but love her and respect her decision, both horrified by the cruelty of fate (aka bryke) and filled with admiration for the person she has always been.

If Orpheus loved Eurydice too much not to turn back when she tripped behind him, then Zuko loved Katara way too much not to validate and support her terribly selfless decisions. Because how dare him be selfish and want her for himself. And how dare him tell her what to do after years of war.

It is terribly tragic because on the other side, a part of her wishes he had fought harder.

A “villain” turned “hero” sometimes can mean the upholding of ideals made by two men who enjoy shaming young girls for their choice of love interest. Sometimes, the lack of a “villain” to whisk away the princess from the “hero’s” hands means said princess will remain unacknowledged and forgotten in a narrative that turns it into something of her own volition, a narrative that ignores everything a beloved female character represented for the people she was made to represent (by their own words, must I say). It leaves the realm of picking the love interest (which honestly could simply not ever happened in any form and would still be better than this) and enters the realm of once again giving a poor treatment to a female main character who quite literally Drives the story from its beginning.

And just like Orpheus and Eurydice are doomed by fate, Katara and Zuko are doomed by Bryke. And surprisingly, Katara gets the worse of it.

[britany1997]

You Mystify Me

As a woman who loves women, this was a long time coming! I hope y’all enjoy this:):) Note: Star likes The Cranberries because I said so. (And also because I like The Cranberries lol)

Full vampire Star x Banshee female reader

Comment to be added to my Lost Boys Taglist!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Star huffed, wrapping her shawl around herself and dragging her feet along the white sands of the beach.

She knew Paul meant well, he was basically her brother after all, but sometimes…

He’d never developed the sort of filter people seemed to have that would keep his thoughts from immediately spilling out of his mouth.

‘A ninth wheel,’ he’d called her before his sprite had snorted out of his nose while he’d laughed. The others boys had joined in with the teasing, laughing and nudging her, but she hadn’t found it very funny.

She sighed to herself. She knew they hadn’t meant anything by it, she knew they still cared about her, but it was…hard.

Hard to be the only girl in the group. Hard to be the only single one left. Hard to be a newly full vampire with everyone else so busy. It was just too much for her sometimes.

She shivered, running her hands up and down, desperate to bring back a spark of warmth. No one had told her just how cold a vampire life truly was.

She’d found a nice spot under the light of a dim moon beam and sat down, pulling out her ukulele to strum absentmindedly.

As she mulled over her confrontation with the boys, and pondered when would be the best time to head to the cave, she began to hum the tune of Sunday while she played.

You spotted her mess of curly hair from where you’d been keening behind some columns holding up the dock.

You’d seen some surfer guys throwing a party on the beach, and your instincts had told you they weren’t long for this world.

At least not with those punky looking guys staring the surfers down from the trees behind them.

After years of mourning premonitions, you’d learned to stay back. It was best not to upset the humans.

You sighed to yourself, almost disappearing into your gray mass of cloak.

Death followed you like a dog to a fox, hunting and hounding, it always caught up with you.

You wished you could touch that pretty girl, you wished you could hold her without it meaning certain doom.

It was a curse, waiting close by but never truly close. Watching the humans suffer and die. Crying your doe eyes out until they were permanently red.

Against your better judgement you let yourself become entranced by her humming. You quieted your keening and swayed to the sound, the music moving through you.

Maybe it would be ok; just to approach her, just to sit with her, just to stare at her. You wouldn’t get to close, you couldn’t.

Before you could rationalize your way off the beach, your feet seemed to move of their own volition, as if that girl was the pied piper who played only for you.

You settled down to her side, sweeping your bone white hair over your shoulder and avoiding meeting her eyes. You hoped she wouldn’t notice your unique appearance and ask too many questions.

Her humming ceased, bringing you back to reality just a bit, but not nearly enough to run away. She was even more gorgeous up close. You could hear your heart thumping, threatening to burst out of your chest.

She smiled at you, the first kind gesture anyone had offered you in so long.

Despite your better judgement, you looked up to let your red eyes bore into hers. Your gaze traced every curve and line of her face, memorializing her image in your head where you’d want to keep it as long as you could.

“I’m Star,” she told you, bangles clanging as she offered you her hand.

Your lips turned down a bit at her outstretched arm, as much as you wanted to feel her soft skin against yours, you knew you couldn’t get too attached.

“Nice to meet you,” you offered her a sympathetic smile as you pulled your coat closed, ignoring her gesture.

Star’s bright smile faltered a bit when she dropped her hand, but she quickly moved on.

“Your hair is beautiful,” she whispered, bringing a pink tinge to your cheeks.

She moved forward, reaching out to skim her fingers through your locks, but you leaned back before she got the chance.

You grimaced as she frowned a bit, falling in on herself. “I’m sorry,” she told you, moving to sit on her hands.

The sight hurt. “No no, it’s fine,” your tried to comfort her. It wasn’t her fault death followed wherever you strayed.

“I liked your playing,” you changed the subject.

She brightened like a Christmas tree, “really? I wasn’t really playing anything, just messing around.” She blushed.

You propped your head up on one hand, practically mooning over her. “No no, it was amazing,” you assured her, “best part of my night.”

“High praise from a banshee, I’ve read your singing is life-changing.”

You froze, your heart racing in your chest. How did she know? Besides the obvious markers of your appearance of course. Still, most humans were ignorant of the magical world that intertwined with theirs. Was she a scientist? A professor maybe? A hunter? Your heart leaped in fear at the thought.

Seeming to catch on, Star placed a gentle hand over yours. Your mouth gaped a bit when she dropped fang.

“Sorry to scare you, you really can’t throw a stone in Santa Carla without hitting some kind of creature, I thought you knew,” she said gently.

“I had no idea,” you explained, “what else have you seen around here?”

“Vampires of course,” she began to list, counting on her fingers, “a few werewolves here and there, a Selkie, a fairy, a dragon, harpies, nymphs, sirens…I could go on for hours.”

Your jaw dropped, “that’s incredible.”

“Santa Carla is a safe haven for the weird and wicked,” she winked, “if you want to join up with my friends, you’ll see it all.”

You beamed, awed by the realization that you weren’t alone out here.

Suddenly, a lightbulb went off in your head.

“So you’re a vampire huh?” you asked, scooting closer to Star.

“Mhmm,” she nodded.

“And…you’re immortal?” you questioned, hope rising within you.

“One of the perks,” she shrugged.

She couldn’t die. This beautiful, friendly, breathtaking girl, she would never die.

And there was nothing you could do to change that. There was no way you could doom her by intertwining your fate with hers.

You reached out, waiting for her to flinch away, but she didn’t. You let the back of your hand brush across her soft cheek.

“Eternal life becomes you,” you whispered.

She smiled softly as her hand rested over yours, stroking the back of it with her thumb. “Thank you.”

You blushed, certain your entire face was as bright red as your eyes.

“Will you play something for me?” you asked.

She giggled a bit, “all night if you want, beautiful,” she leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your cheek, before moving to grasp her ukulele once more.

Warmth flooded through you, happy for the first time in decades, “I’d like that.”

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[revalition]

OCT 8 - VOLITION

Hold yourself together. Keep your Morale up.

I had to resize this image 3 times to get tumblr to take it... it is also past midnight here, but the day change doesn't really count if I haven't gone to sleep yet, so :)

Volition. My love. my favourite skill. please enjoy. I also drew the volitions of some of my mutuals!! because I love you guys and your volitions very much (holding them gently in my hands). hopefully you guys dont mind and I didn't mess them up too badly

anyway. uhm. I'm much too tired to write anything super coherent right now. please write tags for me or write comments so I can see them when I wake up haha

and! there is a LOT under the cut. like, way more than any of the other days. it is giant. be very careful expanding it <3

ok here goes... I'm typing shorter ones out and screenshotting big ones

--------

VOLITION - Stop, you're only making it worse for him -- you never help with *anything*.

- Rare volition being rude to other skills!!! it only happens under pressure, too

KIM KITSURAGI - "What else could she have done? Lie? She saw there was no way to lie and get away with it."

DRAMA - You would have caught it.

VOLITION - Like hell you would have -- remember?

- you tell him volition!!

SUGGESTION - What is *wrong* with you? Why did you ask to be connected to her? Who *does* that?! Act professional now.

VOLITION - *You* told him to do that stupid thing...

- rare volition callout!!

YOU - Can I trust that guy?

VOLITION - A little. They're all still of limited use, interpreting things to the best of their ability. Maybe they add flair or something? I wouldn't know. I don't add flair.

- this is one of my favs haha. you don't need flair, love, it's ok

VOLITION - Ouch.... That's like twenty points of pride-damage right there, buddy.

- This is after Sylvie turns you down to get coffee. (and you do suffer a point of morale damage haha). him calling you buddy is so funny. it's always mildly condescending too!

- here's the other two:

VOLITION - You're no titan of Volition, buddy. He's got you in a fork. Sit down or leave.

VOLITION - You're a little more moralist now, buddy. A little more *normal*. Even if you didn't want to be.

YOU - "Cryptid extravaganza? I like the sound of that."

KIM KITSURAGI - "And I *don't*. Just one."

VOLITION - Or he'll be *disappointed* in you.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Whooh... tough choice there.

- volition knows it's truly the most terrible thing haha

VOLITION - An enormous expenditure of willpower to build up strategic semen reserves? You had me at *willpower*. Let's do it!

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Life is all about pleasure... why deny it?!

- these two are hilarious. poor echem. but also volition, honey, nono...

- the game implies consequences when increasing your skills too high but you don't see it with all of them. Volition's one you don't really see much downside to, but you can just. Imagine it here. Him pressuring you to do something stupid, just for the sake of it being difficult. Surely that's not healthy??

- I do think Volition has a lot of issues. I'll get into some more of them later though!!

- but just... Harry wanting to do something that *is* a test of willpower and Volition is completely uninterested. But the semen retention thing is okay? sigh

- and then after that, he's just like. nope. we're not going to not swear :)

- he's so stupid sometimes. also it's absolutely hilarious to me that you can pick the "..." option over and over and Volition will match it forever. You simply cannot out-will your own willpower. It's just not possible.

- I actually live for Volition being the singular voice of reason. Look at the others all chiming in!!

- this one too, Volition being the only one trying to stop it! Why are they all piling on?? Composure not you too >:(

- I had excessively high Volition *and* Pain Threshold in my first run and the two of them!!! PT gets very self destructive at high levels, so seeing the relentless push and pull of PT and Volition was so good.

- This line from the description -> "Cool for: Sane People, Well-Adjusted Cops, The Non-Suicidal" yes it's cool for them, sure, but it's incredibly!!! important for NOT these people! Because Volition doesn't make you sane, or well-adjusted, or non-suicidal. He's just the one voice of reason in there trying to veer you away from making irreversibly bad decisions.

VOLITION - She tries to hide it, but some *great doubt* is spreading within her. There is a crown slowly cracking above her head.

- I need to talk about this line. Just. Volition acknowledging the existence of Joyce's own Volition (which he refers to as a crown!!!) cracking! the *great doubt* spreading and cracking apart the crown! hghh I live for any and every depiction of volition cracking apart when morale gets low and this is absolutely one of them.

AUTHORITY - Weren't you warned to *not* go down this path?! And yet you *still* go and do it...

VOLITION - Just because you *can* doesn't mean you *have to* say everything that comes to mind. Back out before the situation escalates.

- these two's dynamic is very funny to me. I love when they work together (but I also love when they fight! fight fight fight!)

VOLITION - Don't ask, don't look, don't do *anything* here. Just go away. Get back to work.

- "Just go away" ugh my guy is fighting for his life here to get you away from the cigarette and alcohol counter in the Frittte

- hghhk Volition. this is a Challenging passive check too (the second one, to hang up). *one* chance, that's all he has in him. It's not possible at all in the dream, no matter how high your Volition stat is. It's just not something he can do. But here, with the distance of the payphone between you and possibly real consequences, he's able to manage one chance.

- (also did anyone see the post about the payphone conversation possibly being entroponetic crosstalk?? I could talk about that for way too long. but I am getting sidetracked)

YOU - "Yeah, I'm done talking about her. I don't want to think about her anymore."

RHETORIC - What a strange choice of words...

EMPATHY - Caustic, overflowing with negativity.

VOLITION - That can't be healthy. What's happening here? Why do you keep coming back to this window?

YOU - Nothing, everything's okay.

VOLITION - But it isn't. And you shouldn't come back to this anymore. This should be the last time. Stop talking about that damn window, please.

- this one too

VOLITION - Throw it away. Please.

- I need to talk about this. Volition dutifully directs you away from all the reminders of Dora. He does everything in his power to stop the final dream from happening.

- And I get it. He's trying to protect Harry. Because Harry isn't mentally stable right now and it could endanger the case. but... at least, when the final dream happens Kim is (usually) there when you wake up. And if all went well, you get to go back to your precinct, and take Kim with you. And Harry has support.

- If the dream doesn't happen... it will happen eventually. There are a million reminders in Martinaise in the span of a week, imagine what Jamrock is like. It's an inevitability. And then you're taking the chance that the dream happens at a time when Harry is much worse off. Maybe he's alone. Maybe Kim left, maybe he was let go from the force.

- The dream could happen at a better time too, of course. we probably all imagine harry picking up the pieces after martinaise and his life finally taking a turn for the better. and I imagine this is what Volition had in mind, by delaying the dream. Maybe it can be delayed for a long time, long enough.

- but it's a huge risk and I just... don't know if he's making the right choice here. keeping important information about Harry's past, which has shaped his relationships and life considerably, in a box so it can't hurt him

- yeah. anyway...

YOU - What if I don't want to ask questions?

REACTION SPEED - You're a cop, Harry. It is *unnatural* of you not to want to ask questions.

VOLITION - You don't have to. No one is forcing you to be a cop.

- Volition??? sometimes this guy makes no sense, he's so funny. I really think he occasionally just does something for the sake of being defiant

EGG HEAD - "Please. Please?" The young man smiles at you widely, bright and innocent as the summer sun.

VOLITION - His pleaful smile is disarming, but you can withstand it's glorious assault, if you just put your heart into it.

- why? why?? don't turn down egg head ever!

VOLITION - Alright, come on now. If *he* hasn't said anything about your lack of pants, no one will. You're only hurting yourself by not wearing them...

- this one is so funny. I love that he lets you know he *knows* you're trying to get a reaction and you're not going to get one!!

- yes volition, stop himmm

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - How very astute of you! This renders it ineffectual. You should look for a *whole* cigarette. Or better yet -- an entire pack! Strike that, a CARTON! Make sure they're all healthy and able-bodied, then smoke them all.

VOLITION - Or -- you could *not* do that. No one is making you.

- volition as usual trying to stop you from picking up bad habits... I just love the way he talks. he's not even telling you not to, just voicing his disapproval in a rather passive way

INTERFACING - Wow, the gods of mass production have made this alcohol container *laughably* easy to open. A child could have done it.

VOLITION - I don't know about this...

- he still doesn't outright tell you not to drink it... :(((

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Fine. We're not worried... you'll crawl back to this bottle soon enough. We'll give you another chance. Booze *always* gives you *another* chance.

SUGGESTION - Yes, it's *merciful* that way. It's your friend. Come back to it, we're all rooting for you to.

VOLITION - Not *all* of us...

- he's the only one rooting for you to not drink it!! he can't stop you. but he is supporting you in the only way he's able.

VOLITION - No. You *can* stop. Just wade through the hell. Month after month. Year after year -- you against the nothingness. It's possible, because *time* is possible.

- He can encourage you!!

YOU - "I *will* stop drinking."

MEASUREHEAD - "THAT IS NOT POSSIBLE. THE GAME OF *SHAH-MAT* YOU PLAY AGAINST THE GUL'S TRICKS IS UNWINNABLE. THE DAYS, THE WEEKS, THE MONTHS WILL WEAR YOU OUT. THE OCCIDENTAL HAPLOGROUP IS INCAPABLE OF LONG TERM LUCID THOUGHT."

VOLITION - NO.

- volition!!! <3 that's all he needs to say.

HORRIFIC NECKTIE - This is it. I'm gonna hit the ground and burn away now. Most of the people in this yard are gonna die -- if not all. Probably you too. It's a COMPLETE DISASTER.

PAIN THRESHOLD - Get ready for a world of pain, man.

VOLITION - No. Not a disaster. Weave this into the story of you. Walk out of its *ruins*. Save those who still can be saved -- *I'm* on your side.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - And the lieutenant too. And the men behind your back, drawing their weapons... you can live. You can get out of this.

- hnngh. this one is among my favourites too. my amazing 1 int run also had 1 motorics. at this point I had failed the rhetoric check to save ruby, failed the logic check to save lizzie, and now failed the spirit bomb throw too and was about ready to cry. Volition's quiet reassurance was very important to me in that moment. EdC too, and I did save Kim.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Your hand trembles as you scratch at your cheek... oh no, that's not how a grown man shaves!

YOU - Leave it for now.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Thank god, I would have cut your throat.

VOLITION - The centipede is exaggerating -- people don't actually cut their own throats when they're shaving. At least not accidentally.

- centipede!!! it's such a funny nickname. alternatively

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Your hand trembles as you scratch at your cheek... oh no, that's not how a grown man shaves!

YOU - This isn't sharp enough. Scrape harder.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Stop, for crying out loud! You're gonna cut your own throat.

VOLITION - There's no way to salvage this.

- these guys are hilarious. why is volition even watching this mess? 'there's no way to salvage this.' ??? I'm not even sure if he's referring to you or H/E... he must be so tired.

ENDURANCE - You feel like you're about to faint and fall off the swing. Your hands get clammy and the air tastes sour to breathe.

HALF LIGHT - Oh god, Harry! Oh god, Harry, what did you do...?!

VOLITION - No! Just nope. Say no to this, Harry.

- more of this!! >:( of volition trying to just avoid anything painful. wake up man.

LOGIC - Everything is so pretty and red -- you and Leo look like brothers as you glance around with similar childlike wonder.

VOLITION - Keep it together, no need to show your wonder.

- why? :( it's not hurting anyone. legendary difficulty passive for volition, high levels of volition are sometimes questionable. I love collecting all these instances of volition making weird suggestions. it's like when people point out really weird things Kim does, that you don't really notice as weird because he does it so calmly and confidently.

VOLITION - Huh... no, Mr. Conclusion. You're always kind of limited in your analytical abilities. That's not *her* fault. But still...

- volition: you're kind of limited in your analytical abilities... meanwhile logic and viscalc and ency calling you stupid and brain damaged lol. vol is so gentle about it!!

- then again...

VOLITION - ...no? He's not going to show up? I'm sorry, your lie detection isn't working. It's not her doing, he's just totally inept. It looks like you're also an idiot. But that's not her fault.

- lol.

RHETORIC - This is good. Clear the air first -- between you two -- then move on to questions.

VOLITION - No, it's not good. It's the opposite of that. This will let her dictate the terms of your...

RHETORIC - Shush. I can't hear what she's saying.

- no. don't ever cut off or shush volition ever again

- >:(

YOU - No-no-no-no...

INLAND EMPIRE - Yes, yes, yes, yes.

VOLITION - No-no, we're not starting with that. Not now. Not this time. This thought is over.

- volitionnnn... ily. my own volition also cuts off dangerous lines of thought for me. I think he's got to be constantly vigilant, in order to be so good at it. must be exhausting :(

YOU - "Can't promise that. I might attack him again." [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant groans, but doesn't say anything.

VOLITION - That's right, you *should* do it again! It's the *last* thing he'll be expecting.

- uhm. not sure that's a good idea!!

VOLITION - You're too weak to say 'no' now. Waking up is the worst part. Maybe somewhere down the line you could decline...

- referring to declining the speed. all volition fails are very sad

VOLITION - Yes, look at yourself. What do you see?

YOU - Just a sorry stack of shit...

VOLITION - Yeah, didn't even know they stack shit *that* sorry.

- beautiful, rare volition scolding you!!!! after you disregard his advice and don't apologize to kim after the church fail. he's on your side, but he also knows he needs to tell you that this wasn't okay.

VOLITION - First the investigation, now this... how many more things do you have to fuck up?

- this one too! same scenario. this is a difficulty 16 (Godly) check...

- yes this again. it just needs to be in here. the volition panic attack. if this volition passive doesn't fire, you take no volition damage. it's completely self-inflicted :(((

PAYPHONE - The headset lands in the cradle with a clank. There it sits -- still warm from your hand. You have no idea what just happened.

(heal 2 endurance and 2 volition)

- if you hang up the phone before dora picks up!

VOLITION - He subdues the feeling. Dusts himself off and moves on. So should you. There will be other chances.

(heal 2 volition)

- if Kim misses getting a picture of the phasmid

HORRIFIC NECKTIE - The necktie is guiding you through this. It's your spirit animal, both your nemesis and friend. Suddenly a feeling of ease brushes through you -- you're fine again.

(heal 2 volition and 1 endurance)

AUTHORITY - That... was the most honourable thing anyone has ever done, Harry.

(heal all volition)

- very special incidences of healing more than 1 volition at once!! the fact that healing/damaging morale is just directly called heal/damage volition in the variable naming is. yeah. I think about it constantly. does it hurt him? I think it does. and he never says anything about it (unlike endurance!) he just bears with it quietly.

VOLITION - In honour of your shit, lieutenant-yefreitor. Which you kept *together* in the face of total, unrelenting terror. Day after day. Second by second.

INLAND EMPIRE - DETECTIVE

ESPRIT DE CORPS - ARRIVING

AUTHORITY - ON THE SCENE

- obviously this one has to be in here. funnily enough, in my second playthrough I had 2 PSY but everyone had been bumped up enough that they all fired except authority... I ended up throwing a point into authority and retrying the dialogue so it could be complete haha

VOLITION - What? I thought you had your shit together! This is nearing a complete meltdown! Stop it!

- volitionnn :( if you don't stop you have a panic attack, so I guess he's only trying to help

- this is too funny. volition honey, you absolutely do add flair too

YOU - Oh, you mean Cuno?

VOLITION - Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!

- yup, absolutely no flair. Super. Tip-top!

VOLITION - These guys are compromised. She's got them singing along to her tune. The little bleeps and bloops you trust for info -- you can't trust them anymore.

- it would be a crime to not include the bleeps and bloops in here! why does he call them that?? haha

- rare instance of volition not being able to stop the disaster!

INLAND EMPIRE - Your surroundings are undisturbed. While you slept, you were alone. Now that you're awake -- you're still alone.

HALF LIGHT - Get the fuck out of here. Fuck this place, fuck this world, fuck this life, fuck this body -- just fucking go.

SAVOIR FAIRE - The sheets are stained red. Your blood's been running again. Keep it together. Just get out of here and finish this fucking thing.

VOLITION - Harry... I know there's not much to say -- but if nothing else, just remember that you've made it this far. And it's just a bit farther now. Let's finish this.

- this is just. it's awful, if you have the final dream all alone. but at least you have volition with you

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Dick Mullen was made to crack skulls and solve cases. It's who he is. He could no more stop being a detective than a tiger could cease to be a predator in the night.

VOLITION - You're no tiger, though, Harry. You're a man. It's your curse to have to choose.

- I like this one.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - That sugary black rum stain on the counter makes you teary-eyed with joy. It's almost touching how syrupy and sticky it is. How long have you been up already?

YOU - Not now.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Oh *excuse me*, do you have something better to do than lust for sweet syrupy rum and lemonade? With a twist of lemon? Maybe lime? Maybe who cares, just rum?

VOLITION - Yes, you do have something better to do. Stop drooling over that stupid rum stain and go. Before it's too late.

- this is a challenging (difficulty 12) check! it's very difficult to resist the sticky rum stain I guess

YOU - Give up.

LOGIC - There we go. Your mind is a relaxed muscle. It's so nice and easy to give up, isn't it? On the downside -- you have no idea what you were supposed to do now. I could have *debriefed* you.

VOLITION - Blissful idiot -- say something. You've stood there for too long.

- blissful idiot

VOLITION - Don't be an idiot and say it. In this day and age, of all times. It won't end well.

- once again, volition pushing you away from the bi-curious thing. :( he just wants to keep you safe, but it comes at a cost.

- you can't just wrap harry in bubblewrap, volition. he'll never grow

- volition absolutely saving the day here. do NOT say it harry! authority's advice is SO hit or miss

VOLITION - It's time to leave it be. You're about to make a child cry. Are you proud of yourself?

YOU - Damn right I am! Proud as the Lion of Serber.

VOLITION - Excuse me, I'm not sure I heard that properly...

- volition ily. he has to deal with so much.

VOLITION - Should we? He's *nice*. I don't like *nice*.

- this is so funny. he's very suspicious.

VOLITION - Look at it, detective. And be ashamed. Until you make it right by *legally purchasing* that raincoat, I'll make sure you feel guilty every time you see it.

- YES YES conscience volition!!

YOU - Close the carabiner.

SLEEPING DOCKWORKER - The sleeping dockworker has little to say about your actions. He remains silent.

VOLITION - You're not 100% clear what you did here was *right*, but to hell with it...

- only sometimes!!

VOLITION - I can't restrain this one. The need to *cop* is too strong. You just need to ask it.

- why are you trying to restrain copping??? this guy, sometimes. he's so stupid (affectionate)

VOLITION - That's it. I'm calling it. Kim is beyond compromised.

- uhm. volition completely overcompensating with the compromised skills is quite funny. once drama wakes up, he does it too

VOLITION - See? It's oddly moderate. Probably compromised.

- oddly moderate now means compromised??

- this is it. this is volition's only comment on this disastrous authority fail. he makes no attempt to stop it!!

VOLITION - Being Cuno's pig has a steadying effect on your hand. Go with the flow, man...

- volition's so silly sometimes

DAMAGED LEDGER - You feel that thing in the back of your head? That little voice, that quiet scream? You already felt this was a bad idea, but especially right now it's even worse. Try as you might, you can't read it now.

VOLITION - You've got *business* to deal with first. Talk to the Union boss first, at least... I can't stop you for long, but there's just enough of an excuse now.

- Volition fighting for his life to stop you from reading the letter :,(

VOLITION - If it's possible, then by pure willpower alone. You are going to have to become... a psycholocomotor.

- that is *not* a real word but we love you anyway vol

LOGIC - Is that how it is now? We should just try all good things *twice* and then give up? By that logic...

VOLITION - Not you too...

- he's all alone out here :(

VOLITION - Someone's been a very busy boy. Good on you...

- thank you...?

VOLITION - *Very* off. Just let her go. Listen to me for once...

- for once?? :((( but if you try...

VOLITION - I can't help you. I am totally useless. Everything I've said is lies. I want the exact same bad things you want. To stand here, like a pillar of salt, saying...

- this is probably one of the saddest lines. all the skills falling apart in the dream is awful, but volition might be the worst. it's also very important that volition *does* want the exact same thing you want. He wants to drink and smoke and think of dora and die. And he chooses to resist it anyways. To be the only thing standing in your way. But it's to the point where it's all he knows. He knows that he has to resist the things he wants, and will occasionally take it too far. Keeping Harry (and himself) from things that will make them happy. In the setting of the game, Volition keeps things together and on track. But once Harry is back in his normal life, it will become very much a double edged sword I think. Luckily(?) it will self balance a bit, where if Volition prevents Harry from being happy then he'll lose morale, weakening volition, and then vol won't prevent harry as much and it'll balance out. hopefully.

VOLITION - Despair creeps into you, getting fat on your weakness. Whatever noble intentions you once had as a police officer -- it's eating them all up now.

VOLITION - Nothing you can say would make you feel any better now...

- 😭 I hate this, I hate the volition death. the endurance one is really painful too, but this one's painful in a different way. Volition isn't getting back up from this. the awful newspaper clipping saying you go to live under a bridge... that's what happens when you let volition die?? if any of the other skills (except endurance) drop to 0 you can just raise them back up, but vollll.... ugh.

VOLITION - Listen... It's okay to take a few minutes to yourself. Sit down and have a breather.

ENDURANCE - You need to rest. Your body is aching. Getting in here has taken something out of you. Have a seat.

- our two health pool boys encouraging you to take care of yourself <3

YOU - "Kim, can *you* see it?!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I can see it."

VOLITION - Four simple words -- thank god. If he can see, then you're not insane.

- this one is obviously very important.

YOU - "I've finally gone insane..." (Put your head in your hands.)

[...]

VOLITION - My god... maybe you *are*.

- if Kim and Cuno aren't there, and your Volition is really low, you get this very sad fail. :(

VOLITION - True, you ought not love ruins and hell -- and the fading scent of apricots.

- I like this one.

WASHERWOMAN - "I *can* wash it for you," she says after looking the jacket over, "but it's going to take about a half an hour. Think you can stay put for that long?"

VOLITION - Hell yeah!

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - No, we must run around ceaselessly. It would be torture to stay put.

- I really really love him.

YOU - "By the way, I'm going to sing karaoke here."

GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Absolutely out of the question."

VOLITION - You wait and see, cafeteria manager!

- volition will not be told no!!

VOLITION - No one can STOP you from finding the phasmid.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - WHAT IS HAPPENING TO YOU?!?! Are you going to CRY now, son?

VOLITION - You heard the coach! This is weakness. It cannot go on much longer, or you will LOSE.

- these guys are great. coach!

YOU - Right. Activate Denial Mode.

VOLITION - You're not really an automaton, you do know that?

- oh, thank you for the insight volition

- even your most willful, imaginative skills know this scope creep was insurmountable...

DRAMA - But we *are* awake, sire! She has been forthcoming -- with sordid details women usually conceal! Most *shocking* details of the sexual kind! We are a bulwark, un-breached...

VOLITION - You've been breached, bulwark. You've been breached, like, a thousand times now!

- nooo poor drama (volition is right)

- Volition trying to reassure you after the Tribunal is very important.

- SO TRUE.

DRAMA - This may have been a *grave* mistake, sire.

VOLITION - Maybe. Maybe not. Mercy is rarely a *complete* mistake.

- I really adore this quote.

I think I'm going to leave it here. I haven't included some quotes that I put in other posts already but I might add them in later to have a comprehensive Volition post... But I've spent like 4 hours on this already so I'm giving it a rest for now :)

[monstermoviedean]

let's talk about the bridge.

[spnwiki links known filming locations when available. in all three episodes, this is listed as the spur 4 bridge, lower seymour conservation reserve. it may appear in more episodes, but i'm not sure.]

the bridge appears in 05x02 (good god, y'all!), 13x18 (bring 'em back alive), and 15x20 (carry on). now. do i think this specific bridge was specially chosen each time to communicate a certain message? with respect to the crew, nah, probably not. do i think you can read a pattern here? ooh, yes. tl;dr: you cannot cross the bridge. merely standing on it means the rules have just changed in a reality-bending, fucked-up-beyond-all-repair sort of way. attempting to complete the crossing is an acceptance of the new rules.

in 05x02, the bridge appears as dean and sam are driving into river pass, colorado, the town controlled by war. the bridge is broken. they drive halfway across the bridge and stop. this is the first sign to sam and dean that something is seriously wrong here. this is no normal demon hunt. this is a problem on a scale larger than they can grasp. there's a literal gap between them and the town! they have to leave the car (/home) parked on the bridge and hike in. they are entering uncharted territory.

when they do, they find people killing each other and seeing demons where there are none. war is altering reality and playing people off each other. jo attacks ellen! rufus attacks sam! the townspeople turn on ellen and dean! you can't trust anyone! but actually...you can. none of them are demons. the danger is real, but it's not what it appears. and no one has ever come across anything like this before.

so what do sam and dean learn? the apocalypse is here. there's no going back. the rules have changed. the tactics they've always used don't work, because they are in a new reality now. and they accept that. while they can't physically walk/drive across the bridge, they do complete the crossing of their own volition. they accept that their world is different now and they will adapt to it.

in 13x18, dean and ketch are in apocalypse world walking near the bridge. they see a group of angels leading a group of shackled, hooded prisoners across the bridge.

two of the prisoners are executed by the angels right there. they do not cross the bridge. they die playing by the same rules they always have. it's the apocalypse, and they'll fight, but the angels are the angels and it's tough to win as a human. when i started writing this post i thought charlie had crossed the bridge, symbolizing her entrance into a new reality. but she doesn't! the angels fly away with her, without any of them ever crossing the bridge (below are back-to-back screencaps. sorry for the lack of visual but trust me on this)

charlie doesn't fully cross the bridge. she gets halfway across and then the angels fly her somewhere else. dean is hoping she finishes crossing. if she does, it's like she's crossing into his world. maybe this charlie will be just like the charlie he knew and lost. maybe he can save her. maybe he can undo it. but she doesn't cross and he so he can't get to her!

when he and ketch eventually catch up with her at the silo and escape, charlie hears about dean's universe and chooses to stay in hers. because it's hers. charlie's reality has been fucked with, certainly, but she chooses to accept the reality she knows and stay in it (for now at least). she's not outright rejecting the new reality of parallel universes, but she's also not letting the new reality dictate her actions. it's her home, it's her fight, and she's staying. she doesn't complete the crossing.

so that brings us to. deep sigh. 15x20. dean drives onto the bridge, ostensibly in heaven. he drives about halfway across. and stops. he does not cross the bridge. he gets out of the car and hesitantly walks around the front of it. i won't show you all the screencaps but he touches the car and stays pretty close to it as he walks.

the last one is about the furthest point he walks across the bridge, give or take. he doesn't go far from the car (which is a good strong symbol of dean's reality and home). you can see there's two vertical posts in the space between him and the car. when the final shot zooms out from him and sam, they are magically further across the bridge, about halfway across, about five vertical posts away.

dean standing on the bridge means the rules have changed. his world is different now. he cannot go back. this especially works with the next scene, which is the one of the cast and crew in our world saying goodbye. now, can you say that dean dying and going to heaven is the change? sure. but he doesn't cross the bridge. he doesn't accept it. could you say that simply means he's in denial about his death and apparent ascension? i guess. "but what about sam?!" shhhh, not right now.

i think it works much better as dean recognizing there is a new and unknown reality on the other side of that bridge, and instinctively knowing that there is something wrong. that he doesn't want to accept that reality. that if he finishes the crossing, he will be accepting it and will be unable to go back. and sam just appearing out of nowhere, seemingly materializing onto the middle of the bridge without actually taking steps to cross it? somehow moving dean with him so they're both further across the bridge? well maybe that's not real. maybe that's a trick to try to get dean to cross. maybe his acceptance of the new reality will sever his connection to his actual reality - war destroying the bridge in 05x02 certainly did that for the townspeople.

i know others have talked about dean crossing the bridge as an acceptance or an ascension, i'm nowhere near the first person to come up with that. but i do want to call attention to the previous iterations of the bridge. a broken bridge sam and dean cross, only to find war beyond it, an enemy the likes of which they have never seen. a bridge charlie is nearly forced to cross, but which she's taken away from before she can complete it (which would be more likely to lead her to jump realities). and a bridge dean starts to cross, but doesn't. a bridge that appears first in dean's reality, then in apocalypse world, then in dean's heaven, and then in our world, with jensen dressed as dean saying goodbye. and nobody ever crosses that bridge. it's a false promise. you can't do it. all you can do is stand on it and hope you'll be okay, even though you can't go back.