#should i talk more about credence

[todayisafridaynight]

Okay I can't post it until next week at the earliest and NEED to get this off my chest between now and my next longer reply because of stuff we were talking about:

Confirmed in one of my livestream clips there's been actual consideration towards Mine having survived. It's just a matter of his voice actor's availability and wanting to do it right if they end up doing it. We really could see Mine back in the main series.

And I recorded that clip based on something I misheard and didn't register that part at all until now. How Are We Doing Tonight

(Speaking of, get well soon!! I was sick myself the past couple of weeks, it's awful)

me waiting for the absolute millisecond yokoyama drops the 100% Mine Survived The Fall statement

[adickaboutspoons]

Mostly I was responding to the points raised in @scarrletmoon's response, but you raise some excellent points to which I'd like to respond. Feel free to ignore if you're tired of my bullshit. I completely understand the impulse. 1st, you're absolutely right; I was coming across as gate-keepery by saying that I find Stede's eccentricities charming as though that ought be the default experience. For that I apologize. I ought to have taken more care. When I said "And that's valid, but I would say that those are the parts that the crew and Ed grow to love once they embrace those parts of him instead of cringing at them" what I meant to convey is that the experience of 2nd-hand embarrassment when Stede does something that recalls to the viewer times when they have felt ashamed/were made to feel shame because of something they did is absolutely understandable, but we can take heart in Stede being accepted & loved for those parts of him, & find hope that so too may we be embraced for our own quirks & foibles. My intention was to encourage others to be more gentle with & accepting of their own perceived failings, but I can see now that I failed to adequately express that, & for that I am sorry. I do take issue with the suggestion that I am strawmanning, though; I would argue that how one views Stede's motivation & framing absolutely informs the extent to which/moments in which one finds his behavior cringe-worthy. In your original post, you contend Stede is "pretending to be this macho pirate captain who totally knows what he's doing" & your response above adds he's a bad manager & a jerk because he's praising himself & chiding his employees, whom you interpret as him treating as stand-ins for his own children. If that's how you're framing the scenario, then, sure - I can see how his behavior comes across as cringe to you. But that's not at all how I perceived it. I will grant he is pretending more expertise than he actually possesses, but he IS a pirate captain, & as to the attribution of "macho" I absolutely disagree, specifically because he is textually interested in a form of piracy that is not that. Because that is my understanding of the scene, in the debrief scene I see a person excited at the success of what, if Black Pete is to be believed, is their very 1st raid, & doesn't understand why everyone else wasn't also chuffed. He then listens to Wee John' criticism & encourages him to clarify WHY he feels the way he does. When Wee John identifies the lack of a flag as a contributing factor to his disgruntlement, Stede provides materials so they can rectify the deficit. This isn't Stede forcing arts & crafts on these grown-ass men (& Jim) - it's Stede hearing a problem & supplying the means to a solution. Similarly, he hears out Buttons about the crew's dissatisfaction, & tries to rectify it by finding a more appealing target for a raid, even though he obviously feels unequal to the task himself. To me, that's the complete opposite of a bad manager (to me he's a bad manager when he's being dismissive of the crew's input, like the fuckery brainstorming, & even then he climbs down from his high horse & apologizes. Which? GREAT manager!). Where you see Stede infantilizing his crew, I see them taking part in activities that, while generally relegated to childhood, aren't implicitly childish, & of their own volition, & Stede sowing the seeds that will eventually blossom into a found family (not imposing an established family structure). For clarity, I'm not saying my interpretation is objectively right, nor that yours is wrong. I'm just saying framing is going to influence perception of whether Stede's behavior is Cringe, & that's kind of what I was getting at with my myriad examples of Stede behaving "authentically" or "inauthentically" & when that is a viable predictor of a general fandom perception of when Stede is being Cringe. Because I really don't think it is. This is going to continue in the notes because tumlr thinks they can cut my mic.

listen I love stede a lot - I think he's the bravest character in the show. he changes everyone he meets for the better. he embodies what I think of as the thesis of the show. if he wasn't the way that he is, the show would not be very good, imo.

but in ep one he gives his pirate crew notes on the raid they just did as though they were a community theater troupe and his notes were 1) complimenting his own opening speech as "very inspiring" and 2) complaining that that the crew wasn't sufficiently enthusiastic about robbing two poor fisherman of a single plant.

during the raid his narration went "some men are born to be pirate captains, others learn on the job. me? well I'm a pretty solid mix of both" as though he has any idea what he's doing.

and AFTER the raid Olu has to gently point out to him that piracy isn't a game to the rest of the crew.

There's a reason that Rhys Darby was the only person capable of playing Stede without making him seem like a total dick. And I think that's bc Rhys was able to convey the idea that Stede's behavior in the first few eps is coming out of this deep sense of insecurity - he's doing some Stede-y things (flag making! paying the crew! bedtime stories!) that are great but he's also pretending to be this macho pirate captain who totally knows what he's doing. And it's the pretending that makes people cringe with second hand embarrassment. While also, often, seeing themselves in it and feeling a great deal of sympathy for Stede about it.

The reason Stede is like this is because HE thinks there's something deeply wrong with him, a belief that has been solidified by everyone around him his entire life, and therefore he needs to do everything he can to hide that deeply wrong thing about him. When he unpacks that and embraces the things about himself he originally thought were embarrassing (being weak, pathetic, soft, etc), he can stop pretending. And that's when other characters grow to love him! And so people will sometimes call him cringe because they aspire to be cringe like him, to embrace the parts of themselves that they were punished for and live more authentically.

because he changes! that's the point! he moves from cringe (pretending to be someone he's not) to cringe (being true to himself, always a deeply vulnerable thing to be) and it takes a lot of hard work. that's what makes me LIKE him as a character. that's what I think makes him the bravest character on the show. because he doesn't start out perfect. he's a puppet who grows into a real boy and that means that for a period of time he was a puppet, and that's okay.

[transhitman]

Ok I posted about this in anger a while back but I'm gonna say it more intelligently and actually tag it because I think it's something people need to hear. Something that bugs me about how people talk about the morality of the men in this game is that a lot of analysis totally glosses over Anya's motives and what she actually asks of people, and in doing so once again strips her of agency. Like. The reason Curly sucks isn't because he failed to properly punish Jimmy, it's because he ignored Anya in favor of her abuser. He didn't listen to her regarding how to move forward, he didn't give her a way to protect herself. No matter what he would have done to Jimmy, Anya is still traumatized and in danger, and that's the most important point of failure.

I think a lot of people are projecting a revenge fantasy on Anya, and while I'm not gonna argue about the validity of revenge here, for Anya specifically I think that's a major mischaracterization. She's the one who says that our worst moments don't make us monsters. And while yes, this could just be her trying to appease her abusers, she still doesn't strike me as a particularly vindictive person. She's a nurse, symbolically in a role associated with care and healing. Before the crash, she seems like a very soft-spoken and restrained person. Hell, she can't stand giving Curly his meds because she feels so bad for him. There isn't really a point in the game where she calls for violence at all. And even if punishing Jimmy or Curly is morally correct (subjective), saying that it's what anyone Should have done still glosses over Anya's wants and needs. It still centers the abuser, even in vitriol.

It's especially weird to see people judge Swansea on these grounds, because like... We don't know what his dynamic with Anya was like. We don't actually know what she said to him, if she even confided about her pregnancy or the SA at all! I honestly think Swansea's actions give more credence to the idea that Anya herself wanted a peaceful resolution. The whole "Oh, I'm holding it together" thing, him becoming more hostile after speaking with Anya... He waits until Daisuke AND ANYA are dead before trying to kill Jimmy. I think the obvious reading is that he wants Jimmy dead, but Anya asked him not to do anything crazy. Genuinely, I think Anya just wanted to be safe. She wanted out above everything. She didn't want more violence. The only violence she commits is against herself in the end, in order to escape this hell her coworkers made for her.

And like. Swansea is kind of the only one who actually did try to protect Anya in a meaningful way. I won't say that he couldn't have done more for her - all of the men on that ship failed her in some regard - but Swansea intentionally keeps the axe out of Jimmy's hands. He keeps the pod a secret, probably to give to Daisuke, but we can't say anything for sure. I joke that Swansea should have killed Jimmy from the start, but if we're being real that would have been an insane thing to do given what the characters know. But Swansea isn't the point of this post. Like. Idk I just think it's really bizarre that when people discuss Anya's assault, they still do it from the perspective of the men involved. It's weird and I don't like it. Like people have said before me: it's not enough to hate abusers, you have to love victims.

[livingthedragonlife]

this is an extremely petty reason to do an analysis but i hate when people call laios a himbo, not only because it really reads as infantalization but also because it's just straight up not true.

the qualities of a himbo require you to be stupid, and that simply is not true in laios' case. for a simple example, he was able to recognize pretty much instantly that the living armors were moving in an abnormal way (coming right for them, instead of just attacking as they approach), and noticed when the Boss Armor (?) protected the shield instead of using it as a defense. he recognized the egg sac on the back, was able to exploit the instinct to protect it, and save the rest of the party with that knowledge right away.

laios is the one who's able to determine which illusions are the fakes, all by himself, with nothing but his knowledge of his party members and careful observation. laios figured out why the changeling spores act the way they do, based on nothing but observation and experience once again. laios is the one who talks marcille down from her dungeon lord rampage. laios is the one who, despite succumbing to the demon's influence himself, PLANNED FOR THAT TO HAPPEN, and gave himself a loophole that saved the entire fucking world. these are just the first things i can think of off the top of my head, if i really went back through the story, i'm positive there would be more examples of laios being knowledgeable and using that knowledge intelligently.

but let's back up. laios is called an idiot by many other characters in the story. why might that be?

well it's usually for: saying something socially inappropriate or blunt, talking about monsters (his special interest) too enthusiastically, not relating to the people around him, or not being able to understand social cues or read a room. he's even called "creepy" or "crazy" in multiple instances. when chilchuck first hears about how much laios wants to eat monsters, he calls him a psychopath. that's in the very first chapter.

the characters who call laios stupid and crazy are calling him that almost exclusively after he behaves "too autistically" around them. perhaps we are giving too much credence to the characters calling him a dumbass and should instead do some critical thinking to determine if it's true. because most of the time, they're wrong! go count the times laios is called stupid for having ideas that ultimately work.

that's not to say laios isn't funny! he's a silly guy! he straight up barks like a dog to solve problems. dungeon meshi is a comedy, so it would be kind of weird if he wasn't, but lack of intelligence is never the punchline. the fact that barking like a dog WORKS is what's funny, not that he was "stupid" to think of it in the first place.

laios is goofy. he makes silly mistakes. but that doesn't mean he's brainless. laios is not a himbo.

[ennn]

Jac Schaeffer on Agathario, Rio as Nicky's dad, Rio' scar speech

Some highlights from the Jeff Goldsmith Podcast.

Jeff: That brings us obviously speaking of relationships to Agatha and Rio, you have a very interesting foundation and I know if stuff was cut, you wouldn't be able to speak exactly on some of it, but I'm curious, was there more there? It's good to leave your audience wanting more. And people have speculated as to whether or not there was more of a flashback between them and more of their history.

Jac: There was more in the writer's room. There was never any more on the page. We sort of, it was our story instinct, I would say, that getting too far into their backstory would sort of be too much of a counterweight to the Nicky material. And so we really included what we felt was vital to this chapter. But we, we certainly talked about it at great length of how they met and what their relationship was and what it looked like in happier times and all of that.

And I didn't anticipate that the shippers would be so fervent that there would be, you know– and I–it feels foolish for not – you never know how anything is gonna land and you never know if people are gonna care.

And the amount that people care is staggering to me. And it's my hope that in the MCU there's more unpacking of the Agatha and Rio backstory.

Jeff: You were talking about the shipping group, like was there ever anything about Nicholas's father or is there any credence to the concept that it could have been born as the love child between these two?

Jac: Yes. I mean, we talked about a lot of different versions of who is the father of Nikki. And we ultimately decided that for Agatha's story, it wasn't relevant to the story we were trying to tell and we didn't really wanna get into the weeds of if it was magical or, y'know – that's again – it's sort of more rules.

We certainly considered the idea that Rio is the father. I wonder if I should ask the writers if they sort of still hold that in their hearts. It's something that I certainly thought about a lot and, and like to sort of contemplate. I enjoy that it is left to fan interpretation.

I also feel that I know how the MCU works and I don't think it serves anybody to sort of for me as the creator to emphatically tell you something that isn't on screen. Because, you know, like I said, it's my hope that these stories continue.

So, so perhaps there is a later chapter that will address this, but I, but I will say that, that when we were casting, sometimes we were like, "Does that kid look like Rio? Does that kid look like Aubrey Plaza?"

Jeff: So it's a path that, that is...

Jac: Fans and viewers, yes, are– I think they're picking up on our brainwaves for sure.

Jac: [on the toughest scenes to do] And then Rio's like little speech by the campfire was really hard.

So Giovanna Sarkees wrote a beautiful monologue that was quite long. And then it was one of those things that on the day Aubrey was doing it, and it wasn't Aubrey's fault, but it just wasn't clicking. It didn't feel right for what Aubrey had brought to the role. There's so much economy in what Aubrey does, you know, like she accomplishes so much with her physicality and her very being, that this long speech just felt wrong to me.

And I changed it on the day –which is always a risk – I changed it in the moment and the "she is my scar" I came up with, watching her do that.

[hauntedbythefanficsofmypast]

Dead-ends and Surprise Visits

Masterlist

Of Meetings and Musings

“Welcome back to the channel, GalacticPhantom here and today we’re playing Vikings vs Pirates!” The camera pans over to a ghost pirate ship zooming in on a kid's face. “And we’re gonna kick his—!!!YAAA!!! Oh wait, SKOOOOL!!”  The camera zoomed out to show two large floating ships one obviously an early age pirate ship and the other clearly Viking.

Tim paused the video smirking as his eyes scanned the town below him, noting a few landmarks he’d be able to search out. He hummed before taking a sip from his tea cup. While finally off the mandatory rest, Alfred was still displeased it ended sooner than he wished. That meant Tim was still subjected to his coffee ban, something he’d lamented the last hour. 

He was under the firm belief that the reason it took him fifteen minutes to find this video was because he didn’t get to enjoy his usual three am coffee.

Tim would not be telling Alfred that he thought so, that would be a death wish and he’d be banned from being active in the current, ah ghost hunt?

Tim grimaced at the thought, shaking his head as he didn’t want any association with the GIW, he’ll just refer to it as a manhunt. Sounded slightly worse but less ‘were just gonna decide an entire universe is non-sentient and undeserving of basic rights and protections’.

One last skim over the video had Tim turning back to his notebook noting the areas he had written down.

Nasty Burger

Casper High

Fenton Works

It wasn’t much to go on but Tim had worked with less before so this should be easy work for him.

It was not easy work.

Nasty Burger was a fast food chain said to have completely shut their door in 1974, no reasons were given they all just shut down overnight and disappeared. Any searches just lead to conspiracy theorists talking about how the food chain appeared out of nowhere one day in the seventies. Tim had to give them credence though, he was also scratching his head on how the chain just appeared. It was quoted to have ‘Good food but a creepy vibe, like I don’t really know what I’m eating. They don’t say beef, lamb or chicken, just well, meat patties. It was good though so I didn't question it.’

Tim had a feeling that Nasty Burger was somehow linked to the Infinite Realms, he was convinced Danny’s entire town somehow had a direct link. Of course in order to follow that path he’d have to find the actual town in question!

 Casper High was also a dead-end, it did not exist anywhere, ANYWHERE even in Casper, Wyoming. Where one would expect the high school to be named Casper High! He’d even hacked into government servers to see if the GIW had them in a media and information lock down but there was nothing! The most mentions he could get was that the GIW had been driven out of a town years ago after a few failed attempts of catching a ghost named Inviso-Bill, stating large property damaged that left them deciding to never return. That would've been a lead if they actually mentioned the town in question! Like seriously!! It wasn't even redacted or hidden from clearance, it just wasn't mentioned!

Tim’s last chance was Fenton Works which wasn’t a complete dead-end but still a dead-end. He was able to drag up a little information on them but not much. Jackson Fenton and Madeline Fenton nee Burgess, a couple that got married years ago in a courthouse wedding in Madeline’s hometown of Spittoon, Arkansas. He thought for sure he’d find more but their file was gone, just gone, any existence of them past their home towns was gone including that of their families. He groaned, flopping back on his couch after hitting his third dead-end of the search, even his searching systems were coming up with nothing. Like none of them actually exist, which is impossible because Tim had been watching Danny’s videos for a few months now. That adoption bait definitely existed the question was where the fuck was he.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to settle his thoughts before complete unease set over him. Shooting off the couch and into a fighting stance his eyes scanned the room as he pressed his bracelet emergency alert three times. Someone was in the living room with him, someone had been, something was off. Tim could feel it. He didn’t move until Bruce burst through the door and in second he had moved behind his dad and in front of his siblings that stood in the hallway still.

“Someone was here B. I don’t know how but they were and then they were gone in seconds, not even. I had closed my eyes and things immediately felt wrong.” Bruce scanned the room waving Dick and Cass inside, the two oldest immediately doing a top to bottom inspection of every corner trying to find any clue.

“Are you sure Tim? The security systems caught nothing, and I would’ve been notified immediately of a system shut down no matter how small.”

“I’m positive Bruce, I don’t know what happened but someone was in here.” Bruce watched Tim for a second before nodding looking at Duke.

“Can you sit in on your lectures over video call today? I want everyone in pairs until we discover who stepped foot in the manor.

“Sure won’t be an issue. I’ll pair with Tim today since he is working through an investigation. Dick frowned, moving forward wrapping an arm around Damian’s shoulder only earning a fake dirty look.

“I’ll pair with Dami, we already planned an outing to the zoo today. We’ll stop and pick up Babs along the way and bring her back to the manor afterwards.” Bruce nodded, turning to Cass with an upturned eyebrow, the girl hummed before shaking her head. She looked around the room one more time before looking back at him.

“Steph.” She said and the blond was seemingly at her side in seconds grinning, linking their arms together.

“I’ll text Babs for a weekend sleepover so Gordon won’t accuse Dick of trying to date her again!” Steph crowed grinning at Dick who gave her a mock offended look.

“So mean to your favorite older brother! I can’t believe this betrayal.” Steph laughed, punching his shoulder.

“I don’t know about favorite Dickie.” She said, earning a gasp that quickly developed into playful banter between the two most outwardly cheerful of the Batfamily. Bruce smirked slightly before looking at Jason, a suggestion of him and Babs pairing up on his tongue before he noticed the slight glare Jason directed at him.

“Don't even think of it. Babs will be fine with Cass and Steph. We're pairing up assshole, you don't get out of this just because you're the big bad bat.” Bruce thought about arguing for a second but instead just shook his head. A rare fond smile took over his face as he looked at Jason. 

“If you insist Jaylad, we're gonna have so much fun at the Gala tonight. You know a lot have been asking how you're doing, so this will be a perfect opportunity to reconnect with some old friends.” 

“Oh fuck I didn't think this through.” Jason groaned, earning grins from his family as he knew this night would be painful. Alfred knocked on the door calling the attention of the family who quickly clocked a panting Harley Quinn standing beside him.

“Miss Harleen arrived a few moments ago in response to Tim’s distress signal going off. I've assured her everything is being handled but she wished to make sure as well.” Harley gave them a grin as she stood straight walking into the room.

“Messy.” Cass said with a teasing smile as Harley did look very disheveled. One pigtail up with mismatched clothes and one pink and the other blue shoe on.

“Ya know it baby cakes! As soon as I got Birdie the third's signal I rushed over. Brucie gave Pam-a-lamb and I a run down since we could be at the original meeting, I nicked a com from him before he left.” Bruce smirked slightly, rolling his eyes as his kids looked at him surprised.

“Harley has proven to have your health in her best interest since her reform. So yes I let her take a com from me, I knew she'd get to one of you as soon as possible.” Harley grinned before walking over plopping on the couch. She nodded to Alfred as she kicked her shoes off and moved to sit criss-cross. “As you can see she did.”

“Of course! Ya know Bruice and I were close in college before he dropped out! like siblings really along with Crane and a few others! That makes you all my little nieces and nephews!! All the better now that my minds mostly back to normal cause I can spoil and tease you all!” Harley laughed, earning Some grins from the others. She paused, staring at Tim's computer confused. “Hey Timmy, why are you looking up Jackie and Mads? Wow I haven't seen those faces in forever! Look Brucie You remember them right! Jackie, Mads, and good old Vladimir! Though his picture isn't pulled up.” She paused, grabbing a sticky note that Was a glowing neon green. “Sick stick notes I want one, Amity Park? With coordinates too? Is that Where they moved to?” Tim stared at the sticky note in complete shock looking quickly at Bruce.

“That's not mine B-wait wait you know them Harls???” Tim said looking between both of them torn by either examining the note that randomly appeared after Tim’s intruder scare or grilling Harley and Bruce, maybe even Crane as they were his only leads now. Bruce put a hand on his shoulder, halting his runaway thoughts.

“Later, for now let's get this analyzed. Something tells me someone decided to give us a little help finding them.” Tim nodded as he carefully took the sticky note from Harley with a thank you.

‘Latitude: 41° 19' 27.60" N

Longitude: -87° 47' 25.19" W

Amity Park. -CW’

Whoever this CW was somehow managed to get in and out in seconds. Tim's mind was sprinting with all the different possibilities moving about. His determination settled as he handed it off to Bruce who waved Jason along to follow him. He gave Duke a small smile as the other punched his shoulder playfully.

“Let's grab my stuff from my room and we'll settle down here until dinner ya?” Tim nodded moving toward the door with him before turning to Harley.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Harley hummed dramatically before placing her hands on the couch arm and pushing into a handstand.

“Can I invite Ivy over?” She carefully tipped over in a slow back bend before pushing off and landing on her feet. 

“The more the merrier, can she look over the garden though? Damian is trying to grow tomatoes and struggling horribly. He doesn't want to ask her as he feels it beneath him.” Harley snorted as she followed them out the door, all three ignoring Damian's indignant yelling.

“She’d love to, you know how she is with plants!” Tim nodded before grinning abit deviously.

“And while we wait you can tell me about Jack and Maddie Fenton and what B was like in college.”

“Oh you got yourself a deal there Birdie!” 

Danny stared blankly at Clockwork, who acted as if he didn't even notice. His mentor was in his teenage form, Danny knew it meant something, if only the Titan would acknowledge it. The others on the Council glanced between the two a few times until Frostbite decided To speak up.

“Your Majesty, you rarely call Council meetings, might I enquire on why this meeting has been called.” Danny stared a little harder at Clockwork before sighing and turning back to the others.

“Thank you all for coming so suddenly, I know it was last minute and I apologize.”

“My Lord apologies are not needed! Anything that is this important to you is something we are thankful to be privy to!” Pandora said confidently grinning at Danny who smiled appreciatively. 

“I am still very thankful. I was hoping Clockwork would help clue us in but I can see he has chosen to keep his end quiet.” Danny sighed slightly knowing whatever was happening was important. “As you know my full title clues me in when spoken aloud. As we use this when I am needed for things in the Realm. Early today someone not of the Realm used my full title.” Ghost Writer hummed, crossing his arms leaning back.

“Could it have been someone in Amity Park?” Danny shook his head with a sigh as he thought about it.

“No, I would've felt the proximity, and given how close I'd be, would've known who spoke of me like I can with our people. This was further much further and by someone I don't know. It left me rather stumped and uncomfortable.” Danny paused for a moment glancing at Clockwork, who kept a serene expression. “Given that Clockwork is still silent, I can only hope that means I have nothing to really worry about.”

Princess Dorathea looked between the two before giving Danny a serene and gentle smile.

“Well, I believe we must not fear this too much. If it was something truly dangerous I am certain Lord Clockwork would alert us immediately. Perchance it is just some new magics being told of who rules our Realm, please fear not My King.” Pandora nodded along enthusiastically, still grinning, causing the other to smile as well.

“Perhaps we should have a few of the guards patrol Amity Park.” Frostbite announced after a moment of thought. “I have no doubt Princess Dorathea is correct but I can still see the worry in your posture. Amity Park is officially a part of the Realms, so I have little fear of it being found. Especially with Royal Secretary Foley adding his own intense firewalls.” Tucker nodded in conformation as he put his PDA down.

“I think that would be a good idea, have a few patrols. I am not overly worried. I've essentially wiped the town off the maps, it can only be found by chance and  coincidence.” Danny nodded, thinking it over before giving them one of his normal bright smiles.

“Alright, then we are in agreement? Moving forward I will have five Knight patrol Amity Park throughout the day. Knight Wes will obviously remain with me so I will have Fight Knight pick four Knights to patrol with him. Now with that determined, why don't we have lunch together?” A chorus of agreements sounds from around the table.

Past, Present, and that of Space

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

can you make a fic about yan!fboyjk and yan!cheaterjk for me? i don’t have a specific plot in my mind so you can do anything to your liking :))

Pairing | cheater!fboy!yan!Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 4.242

Warnings | +18, talk about marriage and cheating, smut, dubcon, fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), Jungkook is sweet but also scary, angst, forced relationship, manipulation

Yandere genre is very strong, if you don't like it, don't read. If you are not of age, don't read. I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You want to leave Jungkook, but he is not of the same opinion, It doesn't matter if he did wrong, you are his.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! Thank you for the request! I hope you like the story, please ask me for more stories, I am happy to write for you 🥰

You and Jungkook have been always sure about your future, you would get married and live happily ever after like in the most beautiful fairy tale. So why are you crying? Why do you refuse to take your eyes off that scene? Your brain refuses to recognize those angelic features that had caught you in a dense network of colorful, sparkling dreams as a child. That cannot be the same man who swore to you in front of all your relatives eternal love, with a ring in his hand and a wonderful, sweet smile drawn on his lips. Yet who can it be but Jungkook, the man who at that moment holds in his arms a woman unknown to you? You went to the gym to surprise your boyfriend, he had been disappearing for hours for some time under the guise of training for the wedding, he wanted to keep in shape to be perfect for you… just for you. But there he is, at the entrance of the gym whispering something in the ear of the blond-haired woman, who in return smiles cheekily at his joke, running a hand over his strong, trained chest. They seem very close, there is definitely confidence between them. You finally look away, feeling incredibly wrong, and take a step back, then another and another.

You start running in the opposite direction, all to forget that scene, to forget Jungkook's smug eyes staring at a woman who is not you. When you get home you feel incredibly weak, you sit almost collapsing on the bed, in your brain a bunch of ideas start swirling around in your head, ideas that block your breath in your throat. It's not even the first time it's happened, you realize, it's happened before that you've noticed something strange in your relationship, but you've never given it any credence. You don't want to think anymore. Forget, forget, forget.

"Smells good, love," the man leaves a sweet kiss on your neck, pressing his soft lips to caress your skin, "Is my girl getting ready to spoil me yet?" Jungkook holds you tightly in his arms, practically purring against your body. You find yourself smiling between his cuddles, continuing to stir the meat stew simmering in the pot. "You're just saying that because you're hungry," you chuckle gently. You found yourself shaking like a leaf in anxiety for days, believing that sooner or later Jungkook would come to you to tell you that he was leaving you for another woman, but none of that happened, Jungkook is still the same, showering you with attention and adoring you, and still wanting to marry you. Perhaps you had misunderstood the situation, that blond woman must be a friend and you jumped to conclusions, you should have asked Jungkook for explanations, but you still feel something holding you back from doing so. It is fear, a deep and treacherous fear.

"I say this because you are too good to me," he whispers seriously, causing you to turn toward him. His serious eyes chain yours and you feel lost, watching the wonder of that glittering obsidian staring at you encompassing you with possession, Jungkook licks his lips, the rosy soft tip furrowing those inviting petals before he moves closer to you, the electricity between your bodies bursting into lightning bolts as your lips meet, softly joining in an adoring kiss full of dominance. Somehow Jungkook manages to turn off the stove behind you, grabbing your head in a grip that forces you to deepen the kiss under the pressure of his hot tongue pressing repeatedly on your lips to demand access to your mouth. In each touch of Jungkook you lose yourself, accepting the force with which he takes your lips moaning and grabbing a few wavy strands of hair between your fingers. His tongue entwines with yours creating a wet and sensual dance, feeling him slow and hot inside your mouth turns you on in an incredible way. His taste is dope and Jungkook thinks the same of yours, sucking your tongue like delicious candy and smiling. It is always like that, if he wants something, he takes it. And you at that moment happily offer him your body, your feelings and your soul. They are all his.

He grips your hips in his hands, pressing you against his hot body, he needs you and with trembling legs you leave him in charge, he takes you to the couch where he makes you lie down leaving behind a trail of light, soft kisses along your jaw and neck, he stares at you now with half-closed eyes, the man finds himself thinking that you probably don't know how much you are actually giving him. With your clothes now on the floor and your panties lowered to your knees you let your head fall back, clenching your lower lip between your teeth, gentle waves of pleasure envelop your body, Jungkook with one hand travels up your belly to stop at your breasts, which he squeezes possessively as he wraps his tongue around your swollen clitoris, licking and sucking it repeatedly before poking your soggy slit with his fingertips, entering it only slightly, just enough to let your sweet essence out and lick it away with his tongue and enjoy the taste of you that has always driven him wild. You're getting closer and closer to your first orgasm, and you know it won't be the only one; you squeeze his head between your soft, smooth thighs, but he forces you to stay still by pushing his palms on your delicate skin, continuing to eat away at your quivering folds until a wonderful, satisfying sensation grips your belly and explodes into millions of tiny stars behind your closed eyelids.

"Jungkook! S-stop!" you shake your hips trying to make him stop and he stops only after sucking your sensitive pearl against his palate one last time. Kissing your folds and moving up your skin he stops at your belly, licking slowly down to your navel and you shudder still shaken from your orgasm, he only begins to remove his pants and boxers once he reaches your breasts, where he breathes in the scent of your soft skin and takes a delicate nipple in his mouth, attaching it and beginning to caress it with the tip of his tongue, sending delicious shivers throughout your body. "Open those beautiful legs for me, sweetheart," he gives you two light pats on the knee and makes you spread your legs wide, satiating his hungry, smug eyes. He loves the power you let him wield over you. You lick your lips at the sight of his straining, cum-shiny cock, wanting to taste it, to feel that length filling your mouth and leaving you breathless, but Jungkook pushes you back against the couch firmly, shaking his head amusedly. "Later, love," he murmurs finally taking off the tight t-shirt he is wearing, you find yourself gazing at his defined and gorgeous abs with the driest of throats, he doesn't let you touch him to your disappointment, you want to caress his chest, play with his sensitive nipples, but with a firm, hard kiss he guides himself between your legs, sinuously sliding into your wet entrance with his thick, hard cock, you widen your eyes and a deep moan leaves your throat. Your sensitive folds vibrate delightedly with each of his slow, firm lunges, your arms wrap around his neck and your hips move with his, in the room you can only hear the sounds of your bodies coming together and your wheezing moans, Jungkook grunts in your ear something after a particularly hard thrust and your eyes narrow, the thick tip of his cock is hitting a particularly sensitive spot that makes more moisture gush from your pussy.

"Jungkook, I'm coming again," you whimper softly inhaling his scent, the man nods as he continues to press into that sensitive area, and you move his hair behind his ear before leaving a kiss on one side of his neck. Then something makes you miss a beat. You hadn't noticed it before because it was hidden by his rather long hair, but just below his ear is a mark. It looks like a mark- a hickey -the color is tending toward purple and your heartstrings tug painfully.

You drive your nails into his shoulders with frost enveloping your limbs, you don't want to look any further, tears accumulate in the corners of your eyes and Jungkook blames your oncoming climax, he kisses them drying them with his lips and that gesture makes you scream internally, why is he so sweet and attentive? It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair. With his free hand he reaches down between your bodies beginning to circle with his thumb around your clit, his pelvis moves faster, he is coming, soon he would fill you with his cum and for the first time ever you find yourself faking an orgasm with Jungkook, your delicate walls tighten around his cock, accompanying him to the end of his pleasure, but you feel nothing more. Jungkook collapses on top of you, kissing your forehead and cheeks, then finishing with your lips, but your heart is shattered. The man you love does not actually love you. "I love you, Y/N," he says, a lie you are no longer willing to believe.

There was always something wrong with the attention Jungkook was getting at school, you often attended the same classes and you always got the evil eyes of the other girls on you, you had even tried to ask the boy why, but he had always explained that they were simply jealous of your relationship and you were not supposed to pay attention to them. And you had believed him, after all, you always believed him. But now you regret giving him all that power.

"Jungkook, do you have another woman?" Your wedding is only a month away, and you can't marry a man who doesn't love you. Jungkook from his side almost chokes on his energy drink, he stares at you as if you had two heads instead of one, you are in the parking lot of his gym, you went to pick him up and you can tell he had recently showered, the ends of his hair are still damp and curled. "Shit, Y/N! Is that something to tell your future husband? We're getting married in exactly one month, heck no! I don't have another woman!" he blurts out seemingly speechless, you tighten your lips in response. "Hey ... Baby, what's going on?" he whispers softly, trying to take your chin between his fingers, but you quickly flinch away from him, who rolls his eyes in response. "What's going on is this, Jungkook," you growl, suddenly lifting some dark locks from his neck, exposing a small but remarkable detail. There are slight bite marks that are healing, you had noticed it a few days before, but you didn't have the courage to point it out, until now.

You're tired, you don't want to put up with such a situation anymore. "Stop teasing me, I hate it when you're so sweet to me, when it's clear that you're having fun behind my back with who knows how many other women!" you shout with glazed eyes, Jungkook immediately losing the confusion etched on his face, finally letting a serious and icy look shine through. "This is not the place to talk about this, Y/N. Let's go home," he hisses, not even trying to deny it one more time. This shocks you deeply. He doesn't seem to care that you finally know the truth. "I really think this is the right place, instead" you don't want to cry, so you hold back your tears by chasing them back, "You lied to me and betrayed me, I don't want to marry a man like you" the disgust in your voice makes him wince, if he thought he was going to solve things by using some bullshit catchphrases, well, he was very wrong. You make to get out of the car, you would have taken a cab rather than be with him again in that cramped and stifling space, you want to vent your emotions in a more secluded place, but Jungkook tightens a hand around your wrist.

"Don't you want to marry a man like me? My love, you may not realize that you have no other choice! We have always been together and we will always be together! You swore it to me more than once and you even did it in front of our parents!" he exclaims fiercely, tightening his grip painfully, you squeeze your eyes shut in pain. "You're hurting me," you murmur terrified by his sudden change. "Well, maybe you deserve it, don't you think?" he asks cruelly. You know Jungkook particularly cares about his parents' judgment, but you didn't think he would go that far to make them happy, so a worse doubt germinates in you. "You never loved me! You only want to be with me because our parents always wanted it that way" you want to vomit, were you really that blind? Jungkook quickly shakes his head, "Of course I love you, even though you're making me angry with this absurd talk of yours." "You don't love me, if you really loved me you wouldn't cheat on me with other women" you find the strength to break free from his grip, your pulse is red and pumping blood quickly. "I-" he freezes, his eyes dark with fury, "You don't understand, you can't blame me alone for all this!"

Jungkook knows he was wrong; in fact, he wouldn't have even wanted to start. But when you got together you were young and you had insisted on losing your virginity only once you had reached adulthood and thus the necessary maturity, you did not want your first time to be driven only by the pure hormonal instincts of two teenagers, and Jungkook had never had the courage to insist, because you seemed quite convinced about your ideas. But he needed what you were unwilling to give him, and so he cheated on you for the first time in a school bathroom after class, and he had hated himself no matter how many more countless times, but the more he got the more he wanted more, and even when you had finally given yourself to him, cheating had become an impossible vice to let go of, and the idea that you would always be left waiting for him was particularly tempting. But now it no longer seems that way; you want to leave, to leave him, and he cannot allow it. "You drove me crazy with your constant 'We're too young' or 'Let's wait a little longer'!" You open your mouth wide in shock, "No, don't blame me! You never told me you were against my ideas, and anyway, that's no reason to betray a person you say you love."

You have to get out of that car, you can't wait a second longer. The situation is worse than you thought, he has been cheating on you since the beginning of your story, you are nauseated. "You disgust me," you say before you open the door, you turn to get out, but suddenly your vision goes black, you feel Jungkook press his hand against your nose and mouth, before wrapping an arm around your neck.

When you wake up you realize you are no longer in the car, but you are not even in your house. The only thing you remember is Jungkook making you faint, then nothingness. You look around and what you see is a small room, the walls are lilac and it's littered with puppets of all kinds and colors, the mirror in front of the single bed you're lying on makes it clear the way you've been dressed. You're wearing a high school uniform and your hands are tied to the headboard, you widen your eyes and try to free yourself by pulling at the fabric used to hold you like that. "You've woken up." Jungkook makes his appearance from the bathroom connected to the small bedroom, he is adjusting his dark blue tie and you also notice his attire, he is dressed in a school uniform just like you. "What does all this mean, is this a joke?" you hiss less than amused, but Jungkook doesn't flinch. "I've come to a conclusion," he says as he approaches the bed, you try to get as far away from him as possible by bringing your free legs to your chest, you don't recognize the man in front of you, "I don't want to cheat on you, ever again."

He seems sincere, but you don't trust him. He has broken your heart too many times to deserve trust from you again. "I don't believe you, you're a liar," you say in fact, Jungkook tightens his lips. "I have my conditions," he says anyway, ignoring your words, "You'll still marry me and we'll make up for all the moments you made us miss," he murmurs dangerously, sitting down on the bed and letting a hand approach your thigh, you become an ice statue instantly, finally understanding the reason behind your uniforms. "You're crazy, I'm not going to marry you and we're not going to get anything back at all, to be honest I haven't had an orgasm with you in weeks, just the thought of a traitor like you touching me makes me lose the will to fuck," you murmur angrily, jerking away from his hand in a stinging manner. Jungkook narrows his eyes into two slits, he wanted to be nice to you, but you just don't understand. He's going to use forceful manners, then. "Why must you force me to hurt you, my love?" You look at him terrified, what does he mean?

"Jungkook, don't do anything you might regret, please." He grips your face hard in his hands, staring at you with those deep, dark pools you've always loved, pinning you in place before snapping a deep kiss. You stubbornly keep your lips tight, but Jungkook bites your lower lip forcing you to scream, his voluptuous tongue immediately making room in your mouth and groaning in protest as he plunders your oral cavity. "You'll change your mind, Y/N, by hook or by crook," he hums in your ear with a veil of amusement shining through his voice-who the hell is this man? Jungkook studies you carefully before running his hands over your hips, you shudder at his touch and his fingers stop above the buttons of your school blouse. "You will have only my body, Jungkook," you say in a colorless voice, trying to escape from that absurd reality, the boy opens your blouse, showing off the lace of your pink bra, he observes the graceful shape of your breasts longingly before returning his gaze to you. "I will have everything of you: soul, heart, body -- everything," he whispers before leaning over you, inhaling your scent straight from your bare skin.

"Where have you taken me?" "Haven't you figured it out yet?" You frown, then finally understand. It is his room from when he was a child, that means-. "We're at your parents' house." Jungkook nods. "Do you remember what happened in this room, Y/N?" Yes, you remember, but you don't want to say it out loud, that would make what Jungkook wants to do real. "You rejected me," he hisses suddenly, ripping your blouse off once and for all, you squeal in fright at his force and widen your eyes. He looks furious, his hands are shaking and his shoulders have stiffened under the weight of his fury, "I wanted you and you walked away! No matter how many times we did it when you made up your mind, you still rejected me and forced me to beg from other girls!" he exclaims, totally delirious before attaching his lips to the visible skin of your breasts, you wriggle trying to push him away, but he is too strong, Jungkook is not there with you. He is lost in his memories and blaming you for his betrayals.

Bitter tears accumulate in the corners of your eyes, it's not your fault. It's not your fault at all, but maybe... maybe if you had been more attentive to his needs, too, you would have been enough for him? When he grabs your pussy from above the fabric of your panties you arch your back against your will, his strong and powerful presence still has its hold on you and you tremble trying to stop yourself, you don't know if you are more scared or excited. "Jungkook-" "Say you're sorry," you widen your eyes. "What?" you gasp, his index finger going under the fabric and circling your slit. "Say you're sorry for rejecting me so many times, say you're sorry for all the times you made me feel like an ugly, worthless little boy!" You shake your head, "I never-" you groan, his index finger penetrating you and gently moving a few inches above your soaked entrance, you stiffen at the flame that suddenly invades your limbs. How does he still do this to you? After weeks spent in total apathy, it is now lighting you up in more ways than one, why?

Then you remember, " I don't want to cheat on you, ever again," are such simple words enough to get your body to react? Your body is corrupted by Jungkook, vibrating under his forbidden touch and practically purring, more moisture gushes from your slit, which widens to envelop the second finger Jungkook adds to his penetration, you are trembling trying not to push your hips against the boy, but it is harder than you thought. "I don't want you," you murmur, shaking your head, Jungkook looking at you firmly, tickling sensitive spots that only he knows and is able to reach. "Say it again as you come on my fingers, my love." An unsettling feeling of warmth swells in your lower abdomen. You deny it once more with your head, trying to stop your trembling legs, but it is too late, your walls tightening around his long, deft fingers, exploding in an orgasm you have longed for. "Why are you doing this to me?" you cry, moving your arms forcefully; Jungkook stops you, preventing you from hurting yourself with the ribbons that bind you.

"I wanted to make you pay for all the times you said no by making me feel like a poor, inexperienced fool," he says clutching your skirt with fingers smeared with your liquid pleasure, "But things got out of hand," he stammers, a stinger reaches your heart and your stomach sinks. You don't want to think about how many times he has devoted himself to another woman's body, it hurts too much. "You never told me about it," your words come out in a breathy voice, you try to hold back the sobs. Jungkook moves on top of you, "We will be happy, Y/N" he kisses your forehead moving between your legs, you feel him unzip his pants and enter you with one thrust, it is easy to enter you, you are completely wet and close your eyes listening to his rough, lustful sighs. His swollen cock moves penetrating you repeatedly, the bed moves under his precise and direct strokes and you squeeze your eyes shut, your clitoris throbbing and quivering seeking more direct stimulation and a sigh escapes your lips when the man presses his pelvis against your pubis, crushing your sensitive pearl while with the tip of his cock he reaches to stimulate a particularly receptive spot, you watch the strands of his hair sticking to your sweat-dampened forehead and his eyes begging you not to leave him.

"Y/N!" he moans your name while squinting, "Y/N!" he pushes harder between your soft walls and pulls with his arms on the ropes that keep you tied to the bed. "Jung-" you bite your tongue, refusing to moan his name, but the boy disagrees and demands that you look at him. "I'm sorry, I'll never cheat on you again, I mean it," he whimpers into your ear, "I only love you, only you," he moans and you find yourself closing your eyes, not wanting to give in, not really wanting to, but... "I'm-I'm sorry...for rejecting you" you stammer, pleasure rising once again and the hope of mending your relationship dancing in your chest, "I'm sorry for making you feel unfit." "The others... I just wanted to prove myself" thus confesses his feeling of inadequacy, you know you shouldn't forgive him anyway, but you love him too much, "But now I realize it's only to you that I have to prove something, forgive me" and so you let yourself be corrupted even in your soul. Just a gesture of your head is enough to allow him to come deeply inside you, your breath quickening as you reach for him clutching him in the deepest part of you, throwing your head back. Moments later he unties the knot that binds you to the bed and kisses your wrists softly, murmuring about how perfect you are for him and that once we were married, all would be forgotten because he only wants you. A tear slides down your cheek.

[confused-rat]

Lily fan here. Ok, I agree that it's most likely that some of the accusations of her being profic are true. I mean, she doesn't even deny writing Stockholm anymore. However, I still don't see how that justifies your and other haters' attitudes towards Lily. She isn't allowed to go on with her life? Why should she be stained forever for things she did ten years ago? It isn't like she raped or sexually harassed any of you, she wrote and liked disgusting shit and that's it. And even implying that she actually still likes idk, shotacon/lolicon (based on the Alchorative esix account) isn't it better that she keeps it to herself instead of trying to justify it? Is not like she's some kind of threat to anyone for liking that shit, even though it's disgusting, and bad, it isn't the type of shit that gets you the kind of harassment she's getting. She clearly just wants to make content and be left alone, so why are you doing this, do you enjoy torturing a trans woman because she's loudmouthed and doesn't take anyone's shit?

Hi! Weird you’re here about Stockholm when my recent stuff is about Tara Callie and how we’ve proven she never went to jail and that Lily’s made multiple contradictory stories about her — leading more credence to the idea that Tara was never real and Lily just catfished multiple people and sexually harassed and manipulated them. 

But okay, let’s talk about Stockholm instead!

I don’t care that Lily wrote Stockholm. You’re right. It was a cringe fic she wrote years ago, she’s allowed to move on and change her opinion on it. 

That isn’t what happened though, is it? Lily lied about it. First she said she didn’t write it. Then she said people edited it to make it porn. Then she purposely wrote it that way to piss off bronies. Then people were getting it confused with her other fic Scars. Then people were editing her voice to forge a false confession.

She deliberately lied to her audience, misrepresented the facts, and painted her detractors as unhinged liars — all to keep from holding accountability long enough to say “yeah I regret writing that.” 

That’s not something a good person does, so yeah, I think my attitude is pretty much justified?

And again, clearly she never kept this shit to herself, because she literally catfished folks and engaged with them sexually (or attempted to) under false pretenses. Maybe when she owns up to that I’ll shut up. ✌️

[seat-safety-switch]

Some cars have a very loyal following. Mustangs, for example, are owned by people who really like Mustangs. You might not think that this kind of loyalty is unusual if you also own a Mustang. Consider the following: does Aunt Ethel get super frothy on the internet about her Hyundai Elantra?

You can find groups of folks for any car, thanks to the almighty oddball-collecting power of the internet. Only something special will produce the real perverts. Real perverts like my neighbour, who only drives Saturns. Hold on, my phone is ringing.

"Not just any Saturns," he wants me to add, because he has somehow sensed that I am talking about His Brand and wishes for me not to impugn his reputation with the Saturn fanboy squad, "only the real ones. No Ions."

In case you are unfamiliar, Saturn was a sub-brand created by GM to take the fight to the imports. Rather than make their existing cars better, they instead spent billions of dollars producing an entirely new series of cars that then competed with those cars. They were made out of beige plastic, had zingy four-banger engines, didn't immediately fall apart, and were therefore just different enough to give their owners a superiority complex. Uniqueness plus smugness: a winning combination for conspicuous consumption. If you own one Saturn, statistically you actually have seventeen. People got rid of their first Saturn, went back to the dealership, and bought an identical car when it was time to upgrade.

So what happened to Saturn? Well, they got boring. General Motors came back and demanded that they instead build the same car as everyone else, but with a different logo and fenders on it. Save costs by using all the same cheap-ass parts. Perhaps you are familiar with this technique from all the other cars that GM failed to defeat the import menace with. As soon as this happened, all the uniqueness came right out of the brand, and the frothing-at-the-mouth loyalists instead hoarded even more Golden Age econoboxes.

"Stop typing about the Ion so loudly," now barks Ted, who I think worked for the government at some point. He then went into a tirade about how it was actually the sub-prime housing crisis that destroyed Saturn, and how if only everyone would only use Saturns as currency, this could all have been avoided, but conveniently that model of economic theory would make Ted the Saturn Guy the new king of the world, so I hung up. I'd heard this theory presented many times on CNBC and I recommend you not give it any credence, either. Still, to be on the safe side, I think I should probably buy two or three SC2s.

[shaunamilfman]

the ghost you dressed up as [7]

pairing: Jackie Taylor x Shauna Shipman x r summary: "Things may have gotten a little out of control. Time to deal with a few loose ends." note: GRAPHIC depictions of violence. I'm backkkkkkkk masterlist

You really hadn't intended for things to go as far as they did. It hadn't even been a thought in your mind when you made that snarky little comment about Travis, but before you knew it, the whole school was repeating it. The words had been twisted, exaggerated, and shared through so many mouths that they barely resembled what you'd initially said, but they were undeniably your words. 

Mari was definitely to blame for a lot of it–she was always the first to start gossiping, to spread a rumor. You should have known she'd spread that little piece of information all over the school by the end of the next day, but you hadn't been thinking clearly. It was almost impressive the way she stirred the pot just to watch it boil over. You'd handed the ammunition right to her. You shouldn't be surprised at what she's done with it. 

It was a knee-jerk response, an irritated quip in response to his stupid little comment. Yet, in just two weeks, he's effectively taken your place as the school pariah. Not that he's seemed to notice much, in all honesty. He walks around with that same broody expression he always does, sneering at all the same people. Maybe he didn't care, in truth. It finally gave some credence to the way he walked around the school like nobody understood him. He finally got that isolation he'd obviously been so desperate for. 

You wouldn't wish that on anyone, but he's certainly one of the people that you wouldn't go out of your way to stand up for. You wouldn't say he deserved it, no one did, but you certainly weren't losing sleep over it. You've had more than your fair share of unfortunate run-ins with him while he waited for Coach Martinez to be done with practice. 

Then there was Jackie. Your wonderful, conniving girlfriend who jumped on the chance to turn the blame away from you. Shauna was a driving factor in it, but you suspect her involvement has as much to do with protecting you as it does with making Travis pay for insinuating only a man could be the killer. As the one who'd done the majority of the kills, she'd taken personal offense to that comment. So now Travis would have to as well. 

You're sure it had started with Shauna simply losing her temper, but Jackie had turned it into something devious. They'd made sure to be overheard talking just a little too loudly about it while waiting for you to get out of class. Everyone knew Shauna tended to stay out of gossip if she could, which didn't bode well for Travis. If even Shauna Shipman was saying something–if she was getting involved in it–then it had to be true, right? 

Poor Travis had no idea what was coming for him until it was too late. 

You can't find it in yourself to be too concerned about him, especially as Shauna starts to climb over the center console into the backseat with you. The car rocks back with her movements, nearly causing her to face-plant into the floorboards before she manages an ungraceful crash onto your lap instead. 

Shauna glares at you, half sprawled across your lap, as you can't help but laugh. She mutters curses under her breath until she fully settles onto your lap. 

“Shut up,” She mutters, her usual venom softened by the faint blush on her cheeks and the way her hair falls messily around her face. Her eyes burn with the slightest hint of embarrassment, softening slightly as you reach forward to brush the hair out of her face. 

“You good, Shauna?” You tease, resting a hand on the small of her back to keep her from leaving. Sure enough, she almost immediately starts to pull away as the words hit her ears. She rolls her eyes, another irritated huff leaving her lips. 

“Do I look good?“ She snaps, but there's no real heat behind it. Especially as she makes no move to try to leave your lap again, how she makes no move to brush your hand away. She stays in place, her head tilting slightly as she weighs the benefits of allowing you to keep her like this. 

Shauna's all embarrassed. You grin. The sharp edge of her glare starts to lessen as she watches you. 

“You always look good.” 

Shauna opens her mouth before promptly closing it, clearing her throat slightly as she looks out the window over your shoulder instead of replying. Sometimes, it's easy to forget that this is the same girl who gutted several teenagers when she acts like this–soft, almost unsure of herself. 

You love when she gets all shy when it's just the two of you. You're sure she probably does the same thing with Jackie, but you don't often get to catch Shauna alone. Waiting in the car for Jackie to finally finish getting ready makes up a lot of those times. 

She's just Shauna, staring out the window at a loss for how to respond to something as simple as a compliment. 

“What are you thinking about?” She asks finally. 

You shrug playfully. “You.” 

Shauna looks pleased at the answer but quickly shakes her head. “Before, I mean. You were thinking too hard.” The way she says it almost makes it sound like an accusation. Her fingers trail down your arm, stopping by your hand as her thumb strokes across your wrist. It was one of her favorite places to touch you, to feel the fluttering of your pulse just beneath the skin.

You're guilty of something in her eyes, but you can't help but enjoy her intensity. You almost want to laugh–Shauna Shipman, accusing you of thinking too much? Now you've seen everything. She’s so intense as she looks at you, as if she’s trying to read the answer off your face before you even attempt to answer her.

“Was I?” You definitely were, not that you'd admit it. Your mind was racing thinking about everything going on, everything you were going to do tonight. Everything had been happening so quickly lately, and it was a struggle for you to keep it all straight in your head. You wonder if Jackie or Shauna ever had that problem, but you quickly shake the thought off. Shauna wouldn’t care enough to dwell on it, and Jackie wouldn’t think to.

“Maybe I was just wondering when you were finally going to get around to kissing me,” You add.

She watches you for a moment, like she’s debating making you wait. You note the surprised twitch of her lip, the way her eyes flicker down to your lips before she forces them away. There’s something about the way she pretends that it hadn’t been her intention the whole time that makes you feel unspeakably fond of her. Shauna can try to hide it behind jealous accusations, but you know what she really wants. She just wants to watch you squirm first.

“You're lucky Jackie's taking so long.” Her voice is dry, almost amused, but she shifts enough in your lap that it gives her intention away long before she leans in. Shauna’s lips ghost against yours, her warm breath brushing against your skin, before her lips finally meet yours. The kiss is firm, as grounding as always. Her hand cups the back of your neck, holding you in place while simultaneously daring you to look at anyone else besides her, to think of anything besides the way her fingers curl into your skin. She digs her nails in–not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel the claim she’s leaving.

There’s a surety to her in moments like this that doesn’t often surface in other facets of her life. A calmness so unlike her usual intensity that it’s almost a little jarring to look at. Jackie hadn’t seemed all that different from who she presented as and who she was when you first befriended her–what you saw was what you got–but Shauna was something else entirely. A puzzle that she didn’t want solved. You live for those moments when that all-consuming fire within her is just warming to the touch instead of burning, letting you get close enough to really look at her.

She’d hate it if she realized you noticed. It’s a secret that you have to keep, only ever spoken in soft voices when you and Jackie are sure she won’t be able to hear. 

Her thumb strokes a spot behind the back of your ear that you hadn’t realized was sensitive until this very moment, and you can’t help but shiver under the touch. The corner of her mouth twitches up as she pulls away, a hint of a smirk replacing her desire as she revels in the effect she’s having on you. It’s maddening, the way she always seems to know just what to do with you. You want to respond, maybe to say something smart in return, but she leaves no thoughts for anything in your brain besides her. It makes you feel so dumb–she always does–but she certainly doesn’t mind.

“Yeah,” Shauna murmurs. “Not thinking about Jackie anymore, are you?”

Was that what she thought you were doing? Poor Shauna, convinced you were daydreaming about Jackie in the backseat of her car. You’re charmed by the thought of her climbing all the way back here just to reclaim your attention. As if she wasn’t sitting up there in the front seat, presumably complaining about the two of you in her little journal in the first place.

“Who’s Jackie?” You ask, almost too innocent. Just enough to tease.

She breathes out a laugh, resting her head against your shoulder to hide her smile before pressing a kiss against the side of your neck. “Cute,” She whispers, barely audible. Shauna lingers there, breath hot against your skin as her hand slides up the back of your neck to fist in your hair as she tugs your head back to look at her. “Say her name again.”

“Jackie,” You say slowly, in that same breathy tone you’d use to encourage her.

Shauna scoffs, tugging at your hair in reproach, but you don’t miss the way she shifts against you as it leaves your lips. She tips her head, her nose brushing against your jaw before her lips start trailing a path down your neck. It’s gentle at first, small little kisses that soon turn into nips, leaving a trail that feels like a brand across your skin. She tilts your head back however she pleases, silently urging you this way or that with a burst of pain. Her other hand slides up your chest to rest against your heart, fingers splayed out possessively as if to claim it for herself.

She nips at a spot just above your collarbone, soothing it with her tongue for a moment before biting down even harder. Shauna squeezes your legs tightly with hers as you try to jerk away, using every bit of her leverage to hold you back against that seat.

“Again?” Shauna asks, but the hint of anticipation in her voice betrays her intentions. She wants it so bad. Wants you to give her a reason to do this, just so she has a reason to sink her teeth in a little deeper, to hold you tight enough to border on bruising.

“Jackie–”

A knock on the window interrupts you, the two of you almost jumping as both look over to see Jackie leaning down against the car, one hand braced beside the window as she gives you a little wave with the other. Shauna immediately starts to pull away, climbing back over into the driver's seat as she unlocks Jackie’s door for her. 

Jackie climbs in the car with a wide grin, clearly enjoying the leftover tension as the two of you try not to even look in the other’s direction. She almost kneels in the passenger seat as she leans over to give you a kiss, pouting until you finally lean forward to close the distance. After a moment she pulls away, brushing a stray hair out of your face before she turns around in her seat. Shauna looks over at her expectantly, and Jackie just shrugs.

“Oh, did you want one too, Jackie?” Jackie teases. Shauna goes bright red, turning the key in the engine and starting the car just so she can pretend nothing happened. Jackie goes scrambling for her seat belt, knowing better than anyone that Shauna was about to peel out of here.

…

You sigh as Jackie's lips brush your jaw teasingly, her fingers ghosting over a small mark Shauna's left on your collarbone. You already knew you'd probably end up with a matching mark before the night ended, neither of them completely able to treat marking you as anything other than a competition. 

It's not like it's a game you don't enjoy playing–the way Shauna had looked at you when you left a mark on Jackie's thigh on top of hers had featured front and center in your mind for days. That dark, simmering anger–along with a begrudging respect–was enough to tempt you to provoke her a hundred more times. 

But you don't have time to think about that right now. 

You don't really have time to indulge Jackie either, but you'll make do with what you have. Still, as excited and raised voices sound from downstairs, even Jackie starts to pull away. You can just barely make out the sounds of garbled voices through the floorboards. 

“Coach Martinez… dead…” 

A flicker of a grin passes across Jackie's face, eyes widening with a delight she can't quite contain. 

“... head on a soccer ball…” 

She grabs your wrist tightly–whether to ground you or herself, you aren't sure. She squeezes tightly in her excitement, her breathing speeding up as she lets herself get absorbed in the moment. 

“…let's go before…” 

You barely have time to adjust before Jackie leaves your lap, pressing her ear up against the door to try to make out more of the conversation. 

You look over at Jackie with wide eyes at the sound of pounding footsteps and then the door slamming closed behind them. Instead of reflecting your shock, Jackie just looks intrigued and a little flustered. 

Freak, you think fondly. 

Jackie grins over at you in the cramped closet you're hiding out in, reaching over to grab your mask and slip it over your head. Her fingers linger along your jaw much longer than strictly necessarily. She adjusts it with care, straightening it out till it sits just perfectly before pulling away. You don't have the heart to point out how quickly it'll get messed up when you get down to business tonight. 

She slowly opens the door, keeping to a crouch as she peeks her head around to look down from the top of the stairs. 

“They're all gone,” She confirms, giving you a thumbs up. The silence of the house seems louder than ever now that the two of you are mostly alone. 

Shauna's idea of a distraction had worked wonders, you had to hand it to her. The second it had reached the ears of Jeff's little party, the last of his friends had cleared out to go see the carnage before the police could get it all cleaned up. Just like Shauna said it would. She was probably almost here by now with how long the news presumably took to reach them, but Jeff was left up to you and Jackie to kill. Shauna was mostly the getaway driver in this one. 

Jeff was alone up in his house now, having passed out on the couch at least an hour ago from your estimate. You weren't quite sure, but that was about when his obnoxiously loud voice stopped echoing up the stairs. It was a little disappointing after everything to have it be this easy to kill him. He was asleep on the couch, mouth slack and probably drooling. He wouldn't even be able to put up a fight, completely oblivious to everything the three of you had planned for him. 

Shauna would've found a way to wake him, you knew. Would've knocked a lamp off of a side table just to get his attention or bumped into a chair just to make the leg screech against the wood flooring. The hunt was so much better than the act itself, at least as far as Shauna's concerned. 

Jackie would've too, but that's not surprising: they tend to be more similar than they are different. She likes to taunt them, likes to beat them to all the exits, and watch as the hope leaves their eyes. It's an almost playful cruelty to it all, a slight hint of a smile tugging at her lips while her eyes shine with malice. 

Aren't they dreamy? 

You had no qualms about killing Jeff in his sleep. Anything to get it over with, to get back home for the celebration. The way they practically fell over themselves to get you into bed after was your favorite part. They're always their most violent right after a kill, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't love that predatory gleam in their eyes as they backed you up against the nearest surface. You're simple like that. 

Jackie's hand brushes across your knuckles, quickly drawing your attention back to the moment. Back to her. You know her well enough to catch the look of disappointment on her face, one that you're quick to mirror behind your mask. You know what she's thinking as she glances back out of the closet door without her even needing to say anything. 

“Jackie-” You start. 

“Please,” She draws out, lingering on the e long enough that you start to get irritated. She squeezes your hand imploringly, her thumb gently caressing your skin. God, you hate when she does that. 

“Jackie, no.” You shake your head in an almost pitiful attempt at being firm, but even you can hear the way your voice wavers. It was just so hard to tell either of them no. Usually Jackie would jump on the weakness you've so obviously presented her, but this time is different. Jackie seems to feel bad enough, pity maybe, that she relents. 

“Fine,” She mutters with a sigh, not looking at all happy about it. Almost like a child that's just been denied a cookie before dinner. Jackie tilts her head in contemplation, and you can almost see the gears turning in her head. That rarely spells good news for you outside of a soccer field. It means she's found a loophole, or a small chink in the armor she can exploit. 

“Jackie…” You warn, but you can already feel your resolve cracking.

“I'll be right back. Don't worry, you've got this!” Jackie plants a quick kiss on the cheek side of your head through the fabric before starting to pull away, like she’s leaving you to finish a group project she never cared about.

I'll be right back? What the fuck does that mean? 

“Where are you going?” You hiss, grabbing at her arm. Jackie looks back at you with a feigned innocence that makes you want to shake her.

“Relax,” Jackie says confidently. “I just have a little something I need to do.” 

“A little something?” You ask frustratedly. 

She just grins, shaking her head. “I have a plan. Jeff’s asleep.” Jackie gestures vaguely toward the downstairs living room. “Just a quick little addition. You’ll be fine!” 

“Jackie,” You plead, more exasperated than you feel comfortable admitting. She always has to go and do stupid stunts at the last moment. More likely than not they worked out, at least when it came to this, but it frustrated you the way she set her mind toward things sometimes. You didn’t bother to argue with her, knowing that any real fight wouldn’t stop her anyway. 

“I know, I know,” She placates, but she’s already rising to her feet and out the door before you can raise another argument. You grip the knife tighter in your hand, trying to quell your rising irritation before you finally make your way to your feet. 

“Un-fucking-believable,” You mutter. At least you could channel that anger into something productive–killing Jeff. The thought of him still lying prone and unresponsive on that couch does little to soothe your nerves. Part of you wanted to watch the realization in his eyes as you sunk the knife into his chest, but it was too late for that now. Shauna has her distraction at the soccer field, Jackie has her addition, and you have Jeff asleep on the couch. 

Teamwork with the two of them often felt like trying to domesticate feral cats. 

Only, as you make your way down the stairs, Jeff doesn't seem to be on the couch any longer. You couldn't see Jackie anywhere, but part of you already knew it was entirely her fault. You have to take each step down the stairs carefully now, cautiously testing it for a squeaky floorboard that could be your undoing. Your frustration is sharper now, mind racing with every way Jackie could've botched this by waking Jeff up on her way out. She wouldn't have left you here alone with him if she was aware she'd stirred him awake, but that was little comfort now that you were left to complete the job by yourself. 

You half expect Jackie to jump out from behind every shadow in the corner of the room, the coat rack looming large in the back of your mind, but you know better. Still, your nerves are high enough that even the mundane feels threatening. You can't help but let your mind wander for a moment, wondering if that was the last thing people felt before Shauna was on them. The thought shouldn't be as exciting as it is.

There wouldn't be a call for this one, you knew. Jackie had told you as such earlier, but you hadn't thought to ask her why. Even now it felt more like their thing than yours, even if Shauna would roll her eyes at you saying such. They wanted Jeff's death to be noticeably different from the others, something to do with making it stand out. You suspected it was probably something to do with setting Travis up now that he made such an easy target for it, so you appreciated being left out of it. You weren't his biggest fan by far, but it left a bad taste in your mouth to think about ruining his life like this.

Oh, you realize suddenly. Jackie was probably off planting evidence or some stupid shit like that. 

It wasn't anger, exactly, that struck you at the realization–just a maddening sense that you'd once again been left to pick up the pieces when one of their plans went off the rails. Their thrill-seeking would be the death of you one day. Sooner rather than later at this rate. 

You hear the pantry door slam closed, then bumbling hands dropping something to the ground with a loud thud. Jeff curses under his breath, barely loud enough to be heard from the kitchen in the echoing silence of his house. You wonder what's going through his mind as you sneak across his living room. Has he noticed that everyone's left? Or has he just assumed he passed out long enough to miss his party? 

He probably did. Always one to accept the simplest excuse. 

You wait for him to turn his back–wait for him to present you with an easy target. You'll embellish the story when the two of them ask about it, tell them about the way you valiantly chased him across the house. Maybe you'd give yourself a bruise or two before Jackie returned, just in case. His waking up could be to your benefit if you played it correctly, remembering how disappointed Jackie had been by an unmoving target. It could be fun to guilt trip her just a little about leaving you alone with him. She would certainly do it to you, after all. 

Jeff's got his head resting in his hands as he leans against the counter with a groan, disoriented and still more than a little drunk after his nap. You carefully step closer, knife raised above your head in mocking imitation of Shauna. You've only seen her in her element twice now, but there was something a little absurd about watching her move when you weren't the one running for your life. An undeniable grace, but an intense focus that makes her unaware of just how wild she looks. 

Jeff turns around suddenly, eyes widening as he catches sight of you looking large behind him. He almost drops the bottle he's loosely holding in one hand, mouth agape. You're both frozen in this moment, his eyes focused on the small holes in the mask where your eyes are. His reaction isn't anything like you were expecting–not fear, not shock, not even anger. There's an almost thrilled amusement on his face that you're not sure what to do with. He's grinning like an idiot, either oblivious or unconcerned by the knife in your hand. 

He laughs suddenly, relaxing back against the counter as he gives your shoulder a little shove. It isn't that hard of a push, not something that would usually move you at all, but in your shock it's enough to send you stumbling back into the kitchen island. 

Your back hits the edge of the counter hard enough that it takes a concentrated effort not to cry out in pain, already aware of the beginning of a bruise forming from the dull ache pulsing through you. Well, at least you wouldn't have to give it to yourself. One less thing you'd have to lie about when you tell the story. You're definitely leaving this part out. It's getting embarrassing. 

“Dude,” Jeff says, eyes alight with excitement. “Where did you get that? I thought they stopped selling the costume after–” He waves his hand around vaguely. “You know, everything.” 

You shrug, almost comically, making a show out of holding the knife loosely in your hand. 

“God, people would go nuts if they saw you walking around like that,” He says, waving the bottle around to emphasize his words. Jeff laughs again, clearly entertaining himself even if no one else. “Oh shit, wait! Is everyone else still here? You were all in on it, right? Scaring me?”

You watch him for a moment, almost in disbelief, before nodding. The ease at which he's accepted this surprised even you. Whether he's still pretty drunk, or just that stupid, you're not sure. Either way, you have no complaints. The part where he was too thick to realize he was in danger? You'd definitely be leaving that out in your recounting of the night. 

You slowly raise the knife before pointing the tip of it in the vague direction of upstairs. Jeff nods eagerly, almost looking like a bobble head as he starts stumbling to the stairs. “Hiding in my room? Smart.”

He stops, hand on the banister as he turns around to look at you with narrowed eyes. Your heart starts to race, beating rapidly in your chest. Is this it? Is this when he finally realizes–

“Someone's going to jump out at me when I get to my room, huh?” He accuses smugly, like he guessed the punch line to your joke before you could finish it. Your jaw clenches beneath your mask in irritation, but you stay quiet. You didn't want to risk him hearing your voice. With your luck he'd immediately catch on. You feel your shoulders relax as the tension leaves as quickly as it came. 

You glance down at the ground, as if you were embarrassed, giving him exactly what he wants to see. He just laughs. 

“Don't worry, man. I'll pretend I didn't know.” He gives you an encouraging look and a quick thumbs-up, chuckling as he heads up the stairs. 

You tighten your grip on the knife as you follow silently up the stairs after him, steps light enough that he keeps glancing behind him to see if you're still following. You wave the knife encouragingly as he turns around again right before his bedroom. A thrill washes over you as he reaches for the door handle, an almost giddy feeling rising in your chest as he pushes the door open to find no one in there. 

He glances back at you with a frown, then his face lights up as he reaches for the light switch and walks inside. You stand in the doorway behind him, watching as he slams open the closet door–as if to catch someone by surprise. 

“Dude? Where are they?” He whispers, shifting almost anxiously at your continued silence. 

“What are you…” He trails off, almost disappointed as you don't take the mask off. 

His smile fades as he catches on–finally–just a little. Just enough that his body starts to close off, that he starts to shift to stand just a little steadier as he turns around. Not quick enough, however, to stop the knife from sinking into his back as you lunge forward. He cries out, hand reflexively trying to reach back for you, but you manage to sink the knife into his back another two times before he hits you hard enough with a desperate swing of his arm to send you stumbling back. 

Gasping, he stumbles too, hand clutching uselessly at his back where blood seeps out of his wounds. His shirt is already darkening where the blood stains it, the fabric already beginning to stick to his skin. There’s the look of disbelief on his face as he catches sight of his fingertips, his face ghostly as he tears his eyes away from it. Jeff takes a step forward, as if to strike out at you again, but collapses down to his knees as his legs give out beneath him. 

Your hands are still raised, knife gripped tightly between your fingers as you wait to see if he'll stand again. The adrenaline pumps heavily through your veins, almost daring you to make a stupid mistake, but you dig your feet in, muscles poised. 

His eyes are unfocused, dilated and hazy as he looks up at you. The look of betrayal on his face is shocking, up and until you realize he still thinks you're one of his friends. You're fine to let him think that, in all honesty. His breath comes out in wheezy, pathetic gasps as he leans heavily against the wall behind him. You watch the way his chest moves as he breathes, slower and slower as the blood loss starts to catch up to him. 

You tense up as he starts to slump over, but still you wait, watching as it dawns on him that he’s going to die here. This is the end. His lips part uselessly, like he’s trying to form words that will never come to him. It looks like it takes all he has in him to let out a sound barely above a whisper, lost beneath the gurgling of his throat. Jeff’s shoulders slump slowly, whether in exhaustion or resignation you’re not sure, as his head droops forward enough to brush against his chest.

His face slackens, recognition fading in a way that has you sure he’s either gone or close enough that it wouldn’t matter. Still, the hollow look in his eyes catches your attention even as you try to look away. The utter emptiness looking back at you reminds you suddenly of Allie. It had only been a few months ago that you had first looked upon death, but it feels like years ago now as you look back at Jeff with a detachment you never could have predicted. 

You wonder if this is how Shauna felt looking down at Allie, but quickly decide it wasn’t. You can’t imagine Shauna not being exuberant as she stares down at the results of her hunt. It’s not that you were upset, but it was something different than the looks you’d seen on either of your girlfriend’s faces.

If he was ever afraid it was fleeting–you try not to focus on how strangely disappointing that realization is. A part of you wants him to cry out one last time, anything to feed that growing numbness inside you, but he remains silent. You’re almost insulted, in a way. Blood pools around him on the floor, slowly spreading out, almost crawling across the floor in a way that’s nothing short of mesmerizing. For a brief moment it looks alive in a way that it could never be.

You cross the distance between you, grabbing a fist full of his hair as you drag his head up. He moves far too easily, limp as you expose his neck. With a deliberate slowness, you drag the knife across his throat, feeling the skin give way beneath the sharp steel. The blood pours down his neck, soaking into the front of his shirt to match with bloodstains already marking his torso.

The metallic scent of blood fills the room as you let go, his body collapsing in on itself like a puppet who’s had its strings cut. It might have been overkill, but that’s something you couldn’t care less about. You could never be too careful, no matter what Shauna would have thought about the subject. The emptiness remains even now that it’s done–a dull ache that staring down at his corpse doesn’t quite fix.

Your head shoots up at the sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway, the knife in your hand raising defensively until you catch sight of the swishing robe in the doorway. Those empty eyes stare back at you through the slits in the mask as she stares down at the body at your feet before giving you an approving nod. You can’t help but grin despite how silly it makes you feel.

Her head turns to the closet, as if half-expecting someone to jump out of it, but it stays empty. She takes a few cautious steps forward, looking around the room searchingly. Finally, she just sighs. She reaches up, as if to pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation, before stopping suddenly as she remembers the mask. It’s more charming than you wish it was.

“Where’s Jackie?” Shauna asks, her voice a mixture of irritation and inevitability. You just shrug.

“That sounds about right,” She continues dryly, an ever present fondness underlying her exasperation.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Hi! I’ve been reading your blog on and off for a hot second and I’ve seen you talk about similar things and if you’ve covered this concept before feel free to ignore!

I’ve always kinda wished that the ladynoir fist bump was the ‘miraculous ladybug cleanup power’ bc a) that would give a reason for both ladybug AND black cat to be out, and b) it would give credence to “you need both in order to become a god and change the world” bc it’d be like. They /touch/ and they eradicate any disaster in seconds if you wielded them both at the same who knows what you could do! Also half the time the miraculous cure is just destroying the things the akuma made and that fits more with destruction. All alone it feels more like ladybug is the god power, just kinda limited? Like she’d just need a power boost instead of a second power set.

Well that is a freaking adorable idea.

I've always thought that the cleanup should be a combo power because it destroys and creates, but I never thought about how it should be cast. Making it the fist bump is a total chef's kiss moment. I love it! Gold star for you! Can I use that? Because I really want to use that now...

[jennelikejennay]

One thing that bugs me about the way Vulcans are usually depicted (with some lovely exceptions) is that their philosophy—logic, or the teachings of Surak, for short I'm just going to call it Surakianism—is very often shown as a bad thing. Either that, or Vulcans aren't following it at all.

Writing about religion (and I do think Surakianism is best approached as a religion*) is always fraught. Because generally as a writer, you don't actually practice the faith in question, so naturally you'll have an outside view. That's doubly true of Surakianism, a way of life humans basically can't follow and it would probably be bad for us to try.

[*I know they don't call it a religion. But the way it deeply affects the interior life of Vulcans, their ethics, and so on feels very religious to me. It doesn't seem to have a position on theism; Vulcans get their beliefs about god(s) from elsewhere, such as traditional Vulcan polytheism and their own perceptions of the universe. But the way it exists as a social structure AND a guide to the inner self is absolutely religious to me.]

We are told that Vulcans developed this philosophy specifically because they needed it—they were destroying themselves without it! Their emotions were overpowering and violent, and they were clannish to the extreme. So despite what most of the human characters say, especially Bones, I think the path of logic is a good thing for Vulcans, even if humans don't get it at all.

Surak's teachings can be summed up into three basic points (a Vulcan somewhere just raised an eyebrow clear into their bangs at this oversimplification, but I'm doing my best here):

1. Logic, or the use of reason as a guide and the control of emotions

2. Nonviolence

3. IDIC—infinite diversity in infinite combinations.

Of course we only ever hear about the first one, because that's part humans notice. I'd say it was like reducing Catholics to fish Fridays and Mormons to underwear, but that's exactly what people do, so I guess it's understandable.

But I think the ordering goes the other way for Vulcans. First, acknowledge that others are of value, including and especially when they're different from you. Then, do them no harm. And finally, to achieve that goal, control your wild, violent emotions.

People imagine pre-reform Vulcans a lot of ways (and I never get tired of reading about them), but I think the best guide as to what they're like is by looking at Romulans. Romulans aren't wildly expressive with their emotions, we're certainly not talking about people who would otherwise be laughing and crying constantly. Instead, they're secretive and carry long, hateful grudges. They're loyal only to those closest to them, and they seem entirely without empathy otherwise.

Imagine the Vulcan emotions are like that. They have strong bonds to their clan, probably in part because of their telepathy. They're suspicious of outsiders, angry, prone to violence. Preferring the familiar is an instinct in humans too, but a mild one. Certainly humans have been and still are racist, but it's something we can generally overcome. I'm not sure the Vulcans could, not by relying on their emotions.

So they came up with the solution to control their emotions completely. Use reason instead as a guide to behavior, because logic will tell you that your own clan is not more important than another, and that reaching out in peace is beneficial to yourself and others. Don't give your emotions any credence and don't let them run wild.

Humans do some of this ourselves, and should arguably be doing more. We spend a huge chunk of our childhood learning to control antisocial impulses like screaming, hitting, and biting. We demonstrate self control in many tiny, unnecessary ways, in order to show to others that we are in control of ourselves: stuff like etiquette, social rules, even just leaving the last cookie on the tray for someone else. These are signals that say I am not governed by my appetites; I can be trusted to consider the needs of others.

And we could obviously be doing more. Too many political questions are being answered by people's emotional, knee-jerk responses like "I feel threatened by people who are different" or "I am angry about my enemies and want them punished" instead of "what produces the most benefit for everyone?" If we leaned more heavily on logic and reason to get us our answers, we'd make way better decisions than we do. Star Trek doesn't often acknowledge that in real life, making a snap gut decision doesn't actually have a very high success rate. Logic gives you better odds of saving the day.

But, you might say, Vulcans aren't doing very well at any of this. A heck of a lot of them that we've seen are racist. And while they repress their emotions just great, they don't actually make the most logical decisions most of the time.

But I don't think this actually discredits a religion at all. We all know Christians who are great at the easy parts of their religion—learning Bible verses or saying rosaries—but don't seem to be even trying to love their neighbor. That's in fact the way religions are usually practiced! External elements that people can easily see (like never smiling) are adhered to by social pressure, but more heart-level things are aspirational at best. That doesn't mean the message of a religion is bad; it doesn't really tell us anything.

This is especially true for a religion whose practice isn't optional. You have to follow Surak to stay on the planet. I can see this rule was necessary during the time when the Romulans were kicked out—pacifism doesn't work as a global solution unless everybody's doing it. Now, it seems a bit harsh. I think they get around it by not exiling anybody who's at least giving lip service to logic. That racist baseball guy in DS9 isn't a good Vulcan, but as long as he doesn't do anything violent or openly reject Surak, they're willing to say he counts.

Why are Vulcans so often the opposite of what their religion teaches? I think it's the other way around: their religion focuses specifically on their chief faults: clannishness, racism, ego. It just hasn't successfully transformed everyone. Makes perfect sense, really. We might as well ask why Christianity goes on and on about sex when humans are well known to be super obsessed with sex. Well that's WHY! It's one of our strongest impulses which in the past we felt the most desperate need to control.

The best argument against Surakianism is that total repression isn't the best way to handle emotion, that we need self-awareness of our emotions before we can account for them.

To which all I can say is, don't you think Vulcans know that?

I imagine there are lots and lots of viewpoints on this among Vulcans. Some favor repression and some favor understanding and acceptance; some think it's okay to have a little dry humor and some think we should be serious. We have the kolinahri who believe in the excision of all emotion (which I imagine is universally seen as extreme, like we might see cloistered nuns or monks who reject the world to achieve enlightenment). And surely there are ancient, wise Vulcans who deeply understand all their emotional impulses and are completely in control of them. Spock certainly seems this way by the movie era if not before: he knows that he has emotions, what they are, and how to respond to them. He has overcome the emotion of shame. So he seems not impassive on the outside, but a person at complete peace inside and out.

I just feel like we could stand to see more good Surakians, who are good not in spite of their belief in logic, but because of it. Kind of like how we see both good and bad followers of the Prophets on Bajor. I'm kind of anti religion myself, but I still want to see it given its due—especially a religion founded on such good principles. Sure, it's not a religion humans can really practice, nor need—a good half of our emotions are positive and pro-social, so it's no wonder a person like Bones would be convinced Vulcans are just punishing themselves unnecessarily. But it successfully turned Vulcan from a planet so violent it almost destroyed itself to a home of peace and learning. Of course Vulcans aren't going to mess with what works!

That has been my rant about logic for today. I highly recommend @dduane 's book Spock's World for a much deeper dive into logic and the path Vulcan took to get there.

[smolstarthief]

This was from a post I made on Twitter waaaaaay back in May last year and I finally figured out how to download it!

Post: https://twitter.com/SmolStarThief/status/1656759302223466496

But yeah it was something interesting I found on my NG+ playthrough of Royal which you can find after Shiho jumped and you try to reach her! I was mostly exploring for any easter eggs and stuff and saw Makoto in the background and decided to take a look, I ended up missing part of the beginning of it but I still got the general gist of it. I feel like it should be talked about more there b/c this is:

Actually brilliant foreshadowing for her character

Adds a HUGE dose of sad irony of Ann's accusations towards her in the 3rd arc b/c she actually did want to help but Shujin's asshole faculty prevented it. Basically added more credence to her claims and makes her snapping back at Ann, while severely uncool and too far, much more understandable b/c to her Ann and the rest of the gang is just like everyone else which is primarily taking her at face value without even trying to get a better understanding of her own situation.

No shade towards Ann at all btw, I love her to bits but even I will admit she wasn't a saint either. Especially when her accusations towards Makoto were primarily based on rumors (which was hypocritical with her previously stating that she doesn't like or even try to believe rumors) as well as trying to find someone to blame since the trauma was still fresh more or less. It's definitely understandable tho since Makoto herself didn't do herself any favors with the act she kept putting up which I won't lie, I really wanted to smack her at the beginning since the writers did too good of a job of making her look unlikable at first.

Ramble aside, I still like this hidden detail!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Lessons

Pairing: George Russell x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 5.3K

Notes: This is just smut ¯_(ツ)_/¯

Warnings: Friends to lovers; married reader; reader isn't a virgin, but is relatively inexperienced; pining; grinding; fingering; oral sex (male receiving); vaginal sex; creampie

Summary: You were his oldest and dearest friend. He would help you where he could, but he had never expected a request like this. 

Your rushed plea was still swirling around in his mind: “I need you to teach me to please a man.” 

George wasn’t sure what to address first: your request, your nerves, or the overwhelming urge to give your husband a solid thumping. 

He didn’t move for a few moments, either, allowing his gaze to lower to his desk as he considered it. He could see you fidgeting just on the edge of his periphery, and he knew that you were likely growing more and more nervous in the silence—but it wasn’t a question that he could answer quickly, even if his acquiescence sat readily on his tongue. You were his oldest and dearest friend. He would help you where he could, but he had never expected a request like this. 

Your rushed plea was still swirling around in his mind: “I need you to teach me to please a man.” 

Your reasons had followed before he could question your first utterance: your husband showed you little affection, rare interest, and your scant physical encounters had been brief, uncomfortable, and fruitless. George had heard more than enough about your husband at his club, and knew that the man was frequently in the company of New York’s demimondaines. He was beneath you, morally and emotionally. What sort of a man left a jewel like you home alone to dally with prostitutes? 

“I should never have come.” Your sudden and weak insistence was chased with, “Pardon me, Mr. Russell.”  

He could hardly remember the last time he had been Mr. Russell to you in private. He heard the swish of your skirts and click of your heels, and was up and out of his seat in a second, just behind you as your hand rested on the doorknob. He pressed his palm to the wood, stilling the two of you. He drew in a deep breath, catching on the scent of the rose and carnation perfume that you always spritzed over your hair. 

“I haven’t given you my answer,” He reminded you. 

“Your silence was answer enough.” 

George sighed, resting his hand on your hip and using it to turn you to face him. You slouched dejectedly against the door, putting as much space between the two of you as you possibly could. 

“I was considering your request. You know me,” George dipped his head into your field of vision, frown deepening as you averted your gaze over his shoulder. “And you know that this is not a question that can be answered lightly.” 

“...I know.” 

“If it were to get out that you asked me at all—” 

“Do you think I haven’t considered that?” You snapped. George didn’t recoil as your eyes met his again, though he was stunned by the ice in your eyes. He could see now that you had considered it. Your embarrassment was all over your face, but George could see your hands balling into fists, your nerves turning to anger. At whom? Yourself, George, or that miserable lump of flesh that you called a husband? 

“And you’re willing to risk it?” He asked.

“You wouldn’t tell anyone.” 

“Servants talk.”

“Then we wouldn’t go to my home. Or yours.” 

“Where, then?” 

You glanced doggedly around George’s office, and a prickle of irritation rose. 

“This is my place of business.” 

“I know that. And that is why it’s the least suspicious. No one would lend credence to a titan of industry using his office for a…Dalliance of sorts.” 

You were trying to flatter him, and he was ashamed to say that it was almost working. 

“And when would this happen, exactly?” 

“Tonight?”

So soon. As certain as George was that he would give in to you, he hadn’t expected you to demand satisfaction so quickly.

“And if I had plans?” 

“You don’t.” 

There was the flair of flirty impertinence that he’d always loved about you. He’d seen it dimmed and quieted since your marriage, and been afraid that it would never return. As it was, he was glad to inspire it at all, and wary to refuse, lest you quiet it again. 

George raised his hands to rest on your shoulders, steadying you both. He gave you a gentle squeeze when you didn’t immediately meet his eye, and waited for you to look at him properly. 

“You’re certain that this is the best course of action?” 

“It is the only course of action.” 

“When does your husband return?” 

“At the end of the week.”

George’s thumbs swept over your shoulders as he parsed the best course of action. He could have Clay clear the office for the evening, ensure that no one returns until the morning…but there was still too much of a chance that you could be seen—or heard. 

“...Go home,” He counseled, “And pack a bag for the night. I’ll send a train ticket.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“Don’t worry about that.” 

“George.” 

“Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do, but I need to know what to pack.” 

“We won’t go far…And you won’t need much clothing.” A devilish, warm smile curled George’s lips as you reached up, gently whacking his arm.

“Go on,” He urged, letting go of you. 

“We’ll take care of this tonight?” “Why must it be tonight?” When you didn’t answer, George sighed. “We will. You have my word.” 

You nodded, darting in to kiss his cheek before pulling away and hurrying out of the office.

— 

George didn’t try to stop you as you left, and you didn’t turn back to see if he was watching you leave. As you hurried down the stairs to the street, your lips tingled with the brush of George’s beard against your lips. You needed to go home, pack quickly…You surely couldn’t bring your ladies maid, Ann, with you, wherever you were going. 

You climbed into your carriage, knocking lightly on the ceiling and settling back as it jolted forward. 

Servants talk. 

George made a good point. For as much allegiance as your house staff had to you, your husband’s name was on their checks, not yours. It would look suspicious if you didn't bring Ann, and more suspicious still if you brought her and put her up in an inn alone somewhere—wherever you were going. 

Where were you going? 

George had told you that it wouldn’t be far. Somewhere just outside the city, perhaps? What could he be planning? He surely wouldn’t take you all the way out there just to change his mind and humiliate you. 

You leaned back in your seat, drawing in a deep, steadying breath as nerves buzzed through your body like bees. It had to happen tonight. You were certain you would lose your nerve, otherwise. You could hardly believe that you had managed to ask him at all—but you knew that it was what you had to do. Your husband had divorced two women before you for failing to give him children. You couldn’t be a third. Your life depended on wooing your husband to bed and giving him a child. What you had tried so far hadn’t worked. You were desperate to take charge, and there was only one person in your life that you knew you could trust with such a delicate matter. 

For as much as you trusted and cared for him, going to George had been no easy feat. He had been wholeheartedly against your marriage, but had sworn his support when you’d been determined in your choice. You were certain that when you told him you’d accepted your husband’s proposal, he couldn’t know that you would one day ask him such a favor. 

You looked up at your home as the carriage pulled up.

You would bring Ann, you decided. You would get her a room of her own, tell her that you had a migraine and that you didn’t want to be disturbed.

—  

The town was quaint, quiet, and so obscure that you’d never heard of it before. The inn that George had chosen to stay was only a few blocks away from where he’d made arrangements for you and Ann. He had chosen well—her room was practically palatial. You’d left her in the middle of her dinner, and you felt a guilty for tempting her with the promise of a good meal, a delicious dessert, and a night off in a comfortable bed. She’d tried to insist on coming with you twice, but relented when you insisted that you could very well manage your migraine on your own—you just needed rest.

Clay had shown you to George’s room right away. He hadn’t given you a wink, any hint of knowledge or teasing. He’d simply shown you in, told you that Mr. Russell would be with you shortly, and left. The room was nice. There was a small high-backed loveseat close to the fire, and a large, plush bed (which you had made every effort not to look at since you'd entered).

It was a little chilly, but that surely had more to do with the fact that you had arrived with nothing beneath your cloak but your nightgown and satin robe, your hood raised to hide your face from any locals that spotted you on the way in. The night clothes had been made for your wedding night, but never seen by your husband, as he'd refused to leave the reception and join you in bed. 

You shifted on the loveseat, eyeing the fire as you curled and uncurled your toes in your slippers. What could be keeping him? 

Your heart leapt into your throat as you heard the door open. You whirled around, half-rising from your seat. George took a step inside, closing the door behind himself. He waved for you to sit, and you nervously lowered yourself back down. He was similarly attired in a pale gold robe, his crisp white pajamas winking at you from beneath it as he grew closer. You forced yourself not to track his movements as he neared the loveseat. 

“Would you like a drink?” 

“Please,” You nodded. You waited patiently as he poured some wine for the both of you, taking it with a murmur of thanks as he offered it. He’d hardly had a chance to sit before you’d raised the glass to your lips and drained it. You winced slightly at the bitter tang as you lowered it, holding it out to George. You fought back a swell of nerves as he slowly lowered his glass, eyeing yours. 

“...We won’t go on like that,” He warned. 

“I was simply—” 

George silenced you with a look as he took the glass from your hand. 

“If that is how you intend this evening to be, we’ll stop now.” 

You pursed your lips in irritation, leaning away as his chastisement settled over you. 

“Don't give me that look.”

“Don't treat me like a child, George.”

He set your glasses aside, shifting closer.

“I want to help you, dearheart, but we must set terms.”

“Such as?”

“That we go into this without muddled minds, for one.”

“I would not have been muddled after two glasses of wine,” You grumbled. 

“I’m glad to hear it.” George reached out, sweeping his fingers along your jaw. “How else shall you remember what I teach you?” 

Your skin tingled with his touch, nerves sending the butterflies in your stomach whirling. You would have to rid yourself of that, and soon. 

“Is that your only qualification?” 

George’s head cocked to the side like a confused pup. 

“You haven’t any?”

“I do not, but even if I did, I wouldn’t feel right imposing them after you agreed to such an outlandish request.”

He frowned, and you felt yourself wanting to shrink between the couch cushions. 

“On the contrary,” He insisted. “While I may not have initially agreed with your…Method, I understand your concern. I want you to leave this room with whatever it is you want, and whatever it is that I can give you.”

“Is that one of your terms, too?”

“It is.”

“I agree to it. Anything else?”

“One more thing.” George took hold of one of your hands in both of his. “If we begin to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, or if you change your mind altogether, you’ll tell me.” 

You mulled it over. You were certain that nothing would steer you from this current course, save your husband storming into the room and declaring that he wanted a divorce there and then. But at the sight of George's kind concern, you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree or mock his request. You knew that it was logical, and that George had the cooler head between the two of you, given the circumstances. 

“Alright,” You nodded. George smiled, dipping his head to press a kiss to the back of your hand. You pulled in a soft, surprised breath as he turned your hand in his grip, brushing another sweet kiss across your wrist. 

“Well,” You swallowed thickly as the caress swept further up the inside of your arm,  “Where shall we begin?” 

“I think…” George lifted his head, lips brushing along the line of your jaw, “That a kiss would be an excellent place to start.”

“I’m familiar enough with that.” Your eyelids fluttered as George nosed gently against the apple of your cheek. You bit your lip, tipping your head to rest your forehead against his. His gaze tracked the shift, and he raised his hand, gently loosening the lip from your teeth, tracing along the swell. The urge to take his thumb into your mouth arose, and you fisted your fingers in the fabric of your robe, nails digging into your palms through the slip of satin. 

“Show me?” He requested. 

Show him. Did he not believe you? You tipped your chin, kissing him with a defiant firmness. Before you could lean away, ask him if you’d shown him enough, George cradled your cheek, keeping you close. His lips slipped against yours with unhurried gentleness.

For as educational as this was meant to be, you let yourself lean into him and just...savor. How long had you dreamt about this, with this very man? You had forced yourself to ignore your romantic interest in George early in your friendship, when you'd been certain that all he would ever care for was building his business, his empire, his legacy. Your family had been in dire straits, and you'd been forced to make a choice that benefited them, and damned your heart.

Now, being drawn into George's arms and kissed and cradled so sweetly made you want to cry. You hardly received any affection from your husband besides the odd peck on the cheek to keep up appearances among your peers. You had married for security, not love, and you regretted that every day.

Now, you were taking further drastic measures for safety, and you forced yourself to remember that as George curled his arm around your waist and drew you closer. He tugged you into his lap, and you settled on his thigh hesitantly. George gave you another kiss before you could second-guess yourself, teasing his tongue against your lips. You parted them, sighing as his tongue swept into your mouth. You shifted against him, stilling as you felt a stirring of feeling at the apex of your thighs. 

You could hardly focus between the way George's kisses consumed you; the slide of his hands gently smoothing your robe off of your shoulders prompted you to let go of him long enough to shake it off. You hardly had a chance to notice the chill of the room as George's hands swept warmly over your bare arms. His hands smoothed broadly over your shoulders and down your back, and as you leaned into his hands, your core brushed against his thigh again. It sent a pulse through you, and you broke your kiss with a soft gasp, your brows furrowing. 

You became more acutely aware of the way your heart was pounding in your chest, and tingle of your nipples hardening, surely growing visible beneath the sheer fabric of the nightgown. You looked at George for some understanding, some explanation, but he just slid his hands further down, grasping your hips and spurring you on. You shivered at the warring sensations: the urge to hide as George watched you, and the intrigue of the new feeling. You closed your eyes and let your head fall back, resolutely avoiding George's gaze as you let him guide you against the soft fabric of his pants. George's lips were trailing and sucking kisses along the line of your throat within seconds, his chest brushing against yours. 

You bit your lip to quell a moan as your nipples brushed against the fabric of your clothes, and the hard expanse of his muscled chest. You felt George undo the laces at the front of your nightgown, tugging it down and exposing your chest. Your hips twitched at the roughness of his beard brushing along your clavicle. A kiss followed there, chased by the feeling of him turning his head and brushing his lips against one of your breasts. You were certain it wouldn't go on, certain that nothing he was doing would be pleasurable for a man—but his tongue swirled around one of your nipples, drawing it into his mouth as your thigh shifted around his. 

You pulled in a stunned breath at the swell of his length hardening against you. He hummed in encouragement, the vibration making you tingle. Your hand seemed to lift on its own, sliding them into his neat, dark curls—as if you needed to keep him close, as if you needed to urge him on. He turned his attention to the other breast, his grip on your waist drawing you more tightly against your thigh as your hips rolled in small circles. You felt so slick and needy, a coil in your belly tightening as you chased the feeling.

"George," You warned, "I'm—Oh, god, I don't know what it is, I—"

"I know," He soothed, tipping his head up again, "It's alright."

"But you—"

"Chase it," He urged, and you gasped as you felt him tensing and pressing his thigh up against you. Your mouth fell open, unable to stop the stuttered, embarrassed moan that left you as you coil seemed to snap, sending your hips bounding down against him. Your entire body moved with it as wave after wave of sensation wracked through you. You finally came to a stop as you became more sensitive, pulling in greedy breaths as George dotted kisses along your heated neck.

"George," You mumbled. "How...How precisely does that aid me in my task?"

"If you are to give your husband pleasure, you must know where to seek yours," He murmured. You rested your head against his.

"I'm not sure that that is what he wants for me."

"It is what any good husband should want for his wife."

"It is what you would want for yours?"

"Yes."

"And it...Is something that you enjoyed?"

George chuckled softly, taking one of your hands in his and lowering them to his lap. You gasped at the warmth beneath the fabric, his length twitching beneath your palm.

"What do you feel?"

You swallowed thickly, hesitantly giving his cock a gentle squeeze, and reveling in his throaty groan.

"You," You breathed. "I feel you."

-- 

He wouldn't have you on your knees, despite the fact that you had begun to lower yourself to the floor. He wouldn't hear of it—especially not of the way that you'd heard your husband discuss a similar dalliance with a friend of his when you'd eavesdropped on them just a month ago. George had instead guided you to the bed and directed you to lay down as he undressed.

You didn't bother shying from watching him. You may as well let yourself look, to have something to think of when you were with your husband. Your gaze swept across his broad chest, his thick arms, down his waist to...Your tongue swept across your lips as your mouth grew dry, watching his hard cock bob between his thighs. He climbed into bed beside you, laying on his back and beckoning you closer. 

You shifted against his chest. He took hold of your hand again, drawing it down to his length. He was far bigger than your husband—thicker and longer. You trailed your finger hesitantly along the side of his cock. You watched George take himself in hand, grasping his foreskin and drawing it down. You shifted against him, sitting up a little to get a better look at the flushed head. You trailed your finger over the head, tracking through the bead of pearly fluid there. You glanced back at George for approval before turning back to his cock.

"You've seen your husband's, haven't you?" He asked.

"The room is usually dark."

George hummed, letting go of himself as you wrapped your fingers around him. You mimicked his movement, sliding the foreskin up and down again. You leaned closer, unable to help your curiosity, and swept your tongue across the head. He grunted softly, and when you looked at him again, expecting a warning, he nodded, murmuring, "Go on." 

You shifted, laying with your head by his hips and your feet by the headboard before lapping at his cock again. You took his head into your mouth curiously, giving his head a suck. George hissed softly, and you began to recoil, certain that you'd done something wrong.

"Keep going," He urged, wrapping his hand around yours again and guiding it over his length. You could hear his moans growing more strained as you worked his length and head in tandem, stroking steadily as you swirled your tongue along the head of his cock. He sighed as his hand fell away from yours, instead raising to rest on the nape of your neck.

"That's very good," He insisted, hips pushing up subtly into each down stroke. You could feel the tingling sensation between your thighs again, and you squeezed them together, humming gently around him as you reveled in the dull throb. 

"Take in a little more...Just like that," He groaned, the low drawl of it pulsing through you. You took more of George into your mouth, laving him with your tongue as you drew your head up. You sucked at the head, drawing off of him as you felt George shift. He smoothed his hand beneath your nightgown, fingers skimming between your thighs.

"Is this alright?" He murmured. You considered for a moment before you spread your thighs just a bit more. George smiled, smoothing his thumb along your slick folds. You leaned in, brushing a kiss to the side of his length. You began to lean up again, but went still as he carefully eased one of his thick fingers into you. Your hips shifted down toward him as you continued to stroke him. He eased his finger in and out at the same speed, letting you adjust before he pressed in another. 

You turned your head into the muscle of his thigh, trying to hide a whine against his skin, as if you could hide the sound from him. He hummed gently in turn, thumb sweeping across the sensitive bundle of nerves. The tantalizing tingling that you'd felt on the couch swept through you again, and you lifted your head in shock, only to be greeted by George's self-satisfied smile. He curled and scissored his fingers, making your thighs twitch around his arm. 

Maybe he could see the tense pull of your thighs, hear the way your toes were curling against the sheets by his head. Maybe he simply knew you well enough to know that you were doing your damndest to fight off another wave of whimpers as they bubbled up in you. He gently drew his fingers back, patting the inside of your thigh gently.

"Here," He urged, curling his hand around yours and leading you back toward the pillows. You pouted.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, dearheart." He grasped your chin, pulling you in for a kiss. "But I think it's time that we moved on to your next lesson."

"Oh?" You shifted against him. "What is it?"

-- 

George's cock nudging against your core made you shiver, your fingers curling in the sheets. It was daunting enough to have fully stripped out of your nightgown, to be bared to this man in a room where he could fully see you, but to feel him like this was nerve wracking. 

“I’m as familiar with this as I am with a kiss,” You warned. George smiled, bracing his hands on either side of your head. 

“We’re here to make it better, aren’t we?”

You nodded, warily watching George adjust to prop your hips up with his thighs. His smile wilted a little as he smoothed his hands over your waist.

“He’s taken you this way before, hasn’t he?” 

You shook your head, and George’s gentle smugness melted to confusion. 

“From—from behind,” You clarified with a mumble. His lips pursed into a flat line before he gently patted your hip, turning you over onto your belly. You went as you were urged, relieved to hide some of your lingering nerves and embarrassment. 

“This way?” He asked. 

“Mhm.” 

You felt George shift back, and you immediately mourned the lack of heat from his body. He slid his arm around your middle, urging you up with a murmur of, “Get onto your hands and knees.” 

You did as you were told, shivering as he brushed against you again. You opened your mouth to apologize, but your jaw dropped as George pressed into you. Your fingers curled in the sheets, a shuddering breath dropping from your lips as he stretched you. You couldn’t help the way that you pulsed around him; your arms tensed, fighting to hold yourself up when you simply wanted to lay flat and take. 

But George grasped your hips again, giving them a gentle squeeze as he drew his hips back until you were clenching around the tip. 

“Push back,” He urged. Your face went hotter with embarrassment and want. For a few moments, you couldn’t move—it felt so surreal, so filthy. George’s hand smoothed up your spine, and you arched up into the touch like a kitten welcoming a stroke. 

“Do you want to stop?” 

You could. You knew that George would let you retreat, whatever that may look like—settling down and taking a break; cuddling up and helping him finish off; hurriedly dressing and darting from his room, with Clay trailing you back to your hotel, or getting you a cab to ensure that you made it back to your inn safely. 

But for as embarrassed as you felt, your growing want for George’s touch won out. You shook your head as you ground back against him. You heard George’s breath hitch as your cunt greedily pulsed around him. His hands settled on your hips, fingers flexing in your skin as he gently guided your movements. You bit your lip to hold back a whine as you adjusted to the stretch of him. 

“Roll your hips, a little.” He used his grip to guide you. It felt stilted and awkward at first, but after a few passes, you felt yourself getting the hang of it. George’s hands fell away as he urged, “Keep going.” 

You shifted your position carefully, widening your stance to find better purchase. You could just imagine George’s view—the sight of you wantonly arching back against him, your hands fisted in the sheets—

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to banish the idea from your mind. It didn’t matter. You had to focus on the task at hand—commit the movements to memory—the movement, not the comfort, or the sound, or the affection that George offered you. You gasped softly as you felt him curl over you, brushing tender kisses along your spine, as his cock grinding even deeper still. Your mouth fell open with an embarrassed moan, unable to hold it back. You were certain that he would admonish you for how loud you were, but he pressed even closer, curling his arm around your shoulders and plastering his chest against your back. Your arms shook as you fought to chase George’s cock and hold yourself and your pace consistently. 

“Lay down,” He urged. You let your arms give it, giving a relieved groan as George remained flush against you. His hands smoothed over your arms, over your forearms to grasp your hands, intertwining your fingers. His thrusts slowed to a devastating grind, his breath panting hot against your skin. You began to push back against him, but he tutted softly, shaking his head as he pulled out. 

"Enough.” 

You went still, heart leaping into your throat. Had you done something wrong—?

George wormed his hand beneath you, turning you onto your back. You hardly had a chance to reposition your legs before he curled over you again, grasping your thigh and drawing it up around his hip. The swift, filling press of his cock made your jaw drop in surprise as his body pressed flush against yours. Your hands flew up to grasp his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle there as he began to thrust and roll his hips. George pressed his face into his neck, a moan rumbling against your skin. 

“Like this,” He murmured, “He should take you like this.” 

His beard scraped against your jaw as he lifted his head, catching your lips in a heated kiss. You wound a hand into his dark curls, surrendering to the heat and press of his body against yours. You could feel the stirring sensation in your belly again, and your hips ground up against George’s, unabashedly chasing the feeling. You broke the kiss, tipping your head back against the pillows as his kisses trailed lower, brushing across the tops of your breasts. He sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, delicately teasing it with his teeth before drawing back with a slick suck. His pace slowed as you cupped your cheeks, thumbs sweeping along the apples. 

“Look at me,” He ordered. You peered up at him blearily, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and kiss-bruised mouth. Your lashes fluttered as he ground deeper, your eyes beginning to close as the coil in your belly wound deeper, but George gave your cheeks and gentle squeeze. 

“Don’t close your eyes, darling.” 

You moaned, twining your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“George,” You breathed, “I—I feel it again.”

“Do you?” 

“Yes. Are you—?”

“I feel it, too.” 

It was a relief to hear—and it made you feel powerful in a way that you’d never felt before. George had given you so much pleasure, but as he held your gaze, you could see him beginning to flag and falter—because of you. You slid your legs over his, squeezing his hips with your knees as you surrendered to his pace. You didn’t bother to hide your moan this time, his name falling from your lips in two broken sounds. 

You just caught sight of George’s sweet lashes fluttering as you felt the hot spill of his seed. His hips stuttered, then slowed before finally stilling. You shivered as he drew back, his flagging cock slipping from you as he settled down beside you, gently drawing the covers up to your neck. You let your eyes slide closed, drawing in steadying breaths as you settled. You could feel the heat of him dropping away, hear the rustle of sheets as he shifted. 

“Are you alright?” George murmured. 

“Yes…Are you?”

“Of course.”

“Mm.” 

“Would you like to return to your room?” 

You considered for a few moments. The return ticket that George had arranged was for the next afternoon. You had already crossed so many lines—and you were tempted to cross a few more. 

“...No,” You finally admitted. You closed your eyes, blindly rolling over and curling into George’s side. You felt his arm lift and wrap around you automatically, keeping you close. You let your hand settle over the firm thud of his heart, thumb sweeping across his dark chest hair. “Do you want me to return to my room?” 

“Not a bit.” 

You grinned, nuzzling against his chest as his grip tightened on you. 

“Could we review our lessons tomorrow?” 

“Twice, if you like.” 

Tag list: @foxilayde ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @brandyllyn ; @nominalnebula ; @kmc1989 @missredherring ; @thembosapphicclown ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft

[prettysweetprettysweet]

So I was thinking further about the issue at the heart of this post regarding how a lot of the audience is put off or puzzled by Achi's way of conducting himself in relation to Karan, how he seems too reserved, low-energy, or minimally invested in their relationship. I've been thinking on another circumstance that I think influences it beyond the issues I had talked about in my post.

At the beginning of our story, Achi seems to be completely adjusted to a life without romantic love or sexual relationships. When reminded of cultural expectations about all the necessary milestones for men his age, he does feel insecure and unhappy about falling short, but beyond that he probably doesn't spend an awful lot of time in a headspace where he would contemplate romance and sex at a deeper more emotion-based level. I think support for this idea is that he only made an attempt at instigating a romantic relationship (bringing coffee to a colleague) when he was feeling insecure about turning 30. When he overheard her saying essentially that he was undateable, his sadness came more from what he saw as confirmation that he was too boring to be loved rather than the loss of a potential relationship.

Achi's baseline seems to be that he doesn't spend significant time thinking about romance in relation to himself, not with good emotions - he thinks about romance mostly in terms of being a measure of failure and a gauge of character (no person has wanted to even kiss me, so I must really be an unappealing and unremarkable person) - completely detached from what makes love what it is, an incredible feeling of adoration, comfort, safety, etc. At the beginning of the story, Karan's role in his life is solely as a model of what he should be and a daily reminder that, from Achi's point of view, he is not talented, smart, unique, driven, handsome, or likable enough to reach the milestones that Karan has.

Because Achi doesn't invest much in romance, and because the idea of being in a relationship with someone as perfect as Karan is so ludicrous as to be inconceivable to him, there is absolutely zero connection in his mind between the idea of Karan and the idea of romance at the point in time when he discovers that Karan thinks about him in romantic terms near constantly. At the heart of the struggle is Achi needing to transform his view of his worth as a human being, so that he can truly give credence to the concept of he and Karan genuinely being in love with each other.

But something that I think is being overlooked is that Achi has a huge mental and emotional task in transforming how he views Karan. He needs to dismantle the idea of Karan being an idol - a model to aspire to, envy, and resent for his effortless perfection - and reposition this new, real Karan into a romantic and sexual context. That is a very layered, intricate task that can only be worked on by spending more and more time with Karan.

It is funny, though, how often idol worship bleeds into romantic yearning. We've heard Achi say some spin on Karan being the most perfect, most handsome, most prized, most kind and considerate man in the world over a dozen times. The root feelings are there - he just needs to weed out the negative thoughts and emotions that he's associated with Karan for seven long years, and try to view him as a real person with love and desire for him instead of some abstract ideological concept of male perfection.

That would be an arduous process for anyone, but especially for Achi, who thinks he has no instinct for love and desire, and zero experience to draw from. This fact coupled with his abysmal view of himself means that Achi is receiving and synthesizing Karan's overtures at a glacial pace, slow to react and completely unsure about what's right and wrong or what's normal and strange. And, really, he's just getting used to being a person who talks to another person with no masks or airs. He's realizing that he actually can offer words and thoughts from his inner self, out loud -- and that he has an avid, invested, passionate listener in Karan.

Randomly - one of my favorite illustrations of this whole thing is Achi sitting audience to Karan as he's soaking himself in water, and Achi is just...completely silent, hypnotized, deeply studious but also smiling unconsciously from some good feeling he's getting from seeing Karan like this. I was so proud of him for that moment, like yesssss the flames of physical desire are being fanned! You gawk at that boy, Achi!

Anyways I sort of think of it like one of those pictures that changes depending on the angle and distance you're viewing it from. From far away and a profoundly unhappy angle, Karan is the perfect man that Achi will never be. when he moves in close and tilts his head back upright, Karan is now a beautiful, complex, flawed man that is deeply in love with him and inspires those same feelings in return. Achi just has to get himself to that place.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Cowboy Like Me | d.d. | 10

Din Djarin x princess!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: ANGSTTT. Descriptions of blood and wounds. Brief (very brief) mentions of SA (not described).

Author’s Note: Another ✨Woops✨make sure you read PART 9 first!!

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

The Dagger

Her arrival on Senex was not one of celebration. 

Perhaps for her people it was; they were so excited for her to return to them. It seemed that her mother had put out word that she was taken by Din, and that she was saved by Silas and Calisto from an uncertain future. If only they knew the truth; if only they knew what Calisto had done to their Senator, to their princess.

No, her arrival on Senex was not one to celebrate. 

When the doors of her home slammed shut, Calisto pushed her towards her childhood bedroom. Two guards –storm troopers, dawned in their white suits and helmets, with blasters in hand –were posted outside her door. It was an easy thing to avoid; troopers were notoriously bad shots and she had snuck past them before. 

However, she wouldn’t be so lucky again.

“This time,” Calisto hissed, grabbing her daughter’s arm and yanking it forward. “You will not get nearly as far as you did.”

Her lady-in-waiting, Isowen, stepped forward with a tray. The young woman looked sick to her stomach, distraught as she removed the covering. A scalpel and bacta spray sat waiting, with a chip that flashed intermittently. Her eyes widened as she realized what her mother was about to do, and with everything in her, she tried to fight back and drag herself away.

“No, no, no,” she begged, but Calisto didn’t loosen her grip. “Mother, please. Don’t. I’m begging, please. Please, please!”

“You should have thought about the consequences of your actions,” Calisto snapped, calling the guards in. They pinned her down, holding her arm down as Calisto lifted the scalpel. “The less you fight, the less it will hurt. Hold still.”

She started crying, screaming out as the knife sliced into the skin of her forearm. The guards held her down harder, no doubt bruising her shoulders as they pressed their armor clad knees into her. The knife was not the worst part –the chip, which was then literally pushed into her wound, was jagged and sharp. Her body shook from sobs, begging her mother to release her, to stop, to let her go. But Calisto ignored her as she sprayed the open wound with the bacta. 

Isowen handed Calisto bandages, offering to finish the stitches with a soft, shaking voice. Calisto, with her daughter’s blood on her hands, stood and snatched the towel. There wasn’t a response; just a wave of her hand and a release of the guards. Calisto and the guards exited without a word, leaving her sobbing on her bed –blankets stained with blood, the wound on her arm slowly being stitched together by the Twi’lek beside her. 

“Milady,” Isowen whispered, trying to sooth the sobs coming from her mouth. “I am sorry, I did not want to. But your mother –Lord Credence –,”

She just shook her head, eyes screwed tight as tears fell. She didn’t want to talk, she didn’t want to hear excuses. She just wanted this to end. Nothing could fix what her mother had done, and now she was trapped in that Maker-forsaken house with guards at her doors. Even if Din managed to save her, there would be nothing that could stop her mother from finding her again. Not with a tracking device literally embedded in her arm.

“All will be well,” Isowen promised, finishing off the stitches with wrapping her arm in a bandage. She ran a soft, blue hand over her hair. “I know why you ran away, milady. I know you were not taken by the Mandalorian.”

“Pl-please leave,” she whispered, voice broken as she curled into herself on the bed. Her eyes were stuck on the blood that stained her sheets, heart threatening to burst from her chest. 

Isowen hesitated before standing, giving her one more pitying look before she slipped out of the bedroom. She thought of Din, and Grogu. Thought back to that night in the hut, with her gown and tiara. Where Din wrapped his arms around her and swayed to invisible music, whispering words in a language she didn’t understand. How he rested his forehead against hers, explaining what the touch meant to his people and why he did it so often. When Grogu returned to the house, tugging at her skirts to be picked up and cooing at her with his wide eyes and smile. 

It all felt so far away suddenly. Like a dream that she could not reach anymore. 

No, her arrival in Senex was far from a celebration. 

*****

The days that followed were a blur. The gowns she wore were long sleeved, covering the scar that had been left behind. People –members of the court, members of the Senate, friends of hers –were in and out of the home. They greeted her, they spoke at her but not to her. Congratulations were given, half meaningful and half just because it was expected. If they asked her questions, they didn’t truly want an answer. They just wanted her to nod and smile. She hardly did that, though her mother would prod at her when she didn’t. Sharp nails would dig into her spine, a silent reminder to behave herself. 

A party was planned to celebrate her engagement to Silas, and her mother warned her that he would make his formal declaration at the party at the end of the week.

“You will say yes. And you will pretend that you are happy,” Calisto warned, pointing a dinner knife at her. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Good,” Calisto concluded, lifting her drink to her lips now. “I have invited Princess Leia and her husband as well. They have a child –you can play with it; I’m sure that will make you feel better.”

She glanced up at her mother, giving her a wary look before excusing herself from the meal. Calisto did not question this, simply returning to her meal without a word. It. The child was it, not him. Not her. Truly, her mother was a cold, unloving person deep down. She always knew that. But stars above, she never thought she was so heartless.

Isowen tried to speak to her as she moved through the empty halls, but she still couldn’t bring herself to interact. The lady-in-waiting mentioned a dress and her circlet, but couldn't find the latter. 

“It doesn’t belong to me,” she said simply, opening her bedroom door. “It never did.”

“Milady –,”

She shut the door, pressing her forehead against it and closed her eyes. If she tried hard enough, she could picture it was Din’s forehead pressed back, promising it would be okay.

*****

It wasn’t difficult to get through the Senex atmosphere without detection. The Crest was old enough, easily forgotten because it was undetectable. It was getting through the capital city that would be the more challenging part. It was infested with storm troopers, carrying their blasters as if they had any sense on how to use them. But he slipped through without detection, keeping close to the shadows.

Finding the palace wasn’t hard either –it was the largest building in the city, ornate and a bit overdone. It was determining which room was hers that gave him the hardest time. With the scanner within his helmet, he shot himself into the air with his pack, scanning each room until he settled on a room that felt like it would be hers, though it was empty. Landing on the balcony, he broke the latch on the doors and pushed them open, slipping into the room without a word.

It was definitely her room. While dark, it showed clear signs of being lived in with an unmade bed and a stack of books on the nightstand. His steps were careful, light, as he made his way into the room further. He glanced at the bedroom door, scanning through to pick up on the guards that waited outside. When he turned his attention back to her room, his eyes caught a glimpse of an imperfection against the otherwise tidy space.

It was close to her bed, and when he stepped over to it –he could see the stain of blood on her sheets as well.

His breathing turned ragged, trying to control himself. There was no way he could take on every guard in this palace if he stormed out now. But Maker help whoever did this to her –they would not make it out alive. Din needed out of the room; needed away from the space and slipped out the door to the balcony once again.

After a while of peering into her bedroom, light flooded the room momentarily and there she stood, head pressed against the door. Her dress was a dark red, loose on her frame with sleeves that went past her fingertips. From behind, he could see she was trying not to cry.

“I think I preferred the green dress,” he whispered, announcing his presence as he stepped back into the room. She whipped around, back against the door, and stared at him with watery eyes.

“Din,” she breathed, tears falling as she crossed the room in two long strides to throw her arms around his middle. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close to him with his hand on the back of her head. Her entire body shook from the sobs that overcame her. “I’m sorry, I —,”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted, pulling back to look at her properly. “The ship is waiting, we can go —,”

“No, I-I can’t.” 

He froze, staring down at her. He didn’t understand –she couldn’t go with him? He had come to save her, he had risked –

But she continued, shaking her head. “I mean, I can’t. I can’t leave the palace, Din.”

She held her out her arm, tugging open the button that held her sleeve. Once it loosened, she slid it carefully over the bandages, trying to keep it from getting caught. His heart pounded in his ears, and he knew now where the blood on her floor and bed came from.

“My mother, she…my first night home —there’s a chip,” she explained, hands trembling now as Din took her arm cautiously in his hands. “If I step foot anywhere she doesn’t seem appropriate, it shocks me and notifies her.”

He unwrapped the bandage, noting it needed to be changed more than anything to avoid infection, and examined the scar that now took up the length of her arm. The skin was healing, luckily, but the bacta spray had not been reapplied, suggesting that whoever did the shoddy job of stitching her up was inexperienced.

“I’m going to kill her,” he whispered. It shouldn’t have been audible, but his modulator picked it up and he felt her tense. 

“Din, you can’t be here –Grogu, Sorgan –,”

“Will be safe,” he promised, looking back at her finally. Her eyes –wide and shimmering with tears still –bore into his and he wanted to steal her away from this forsaken place. But with the chip implanted in her arm, he had to come up with another plan of attack. 

Din guided her to the bed, sitting her down. He kneeled in front of her as he reached for the med kit that sat on her floor, having been left there from when she last changed her bandages. While there was no bacta spray, there were clean wraps and disinfectant cloths, so he settled on simply covering what was there for the time being. She winced as he pulled the old bandages off entirely, setting them to the side. Her good hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing the exposed part of his flight suit as he worked the tender flesh. He wrapped the bandages around her arm again, pulling them tight to protect the wound. 

For a moment, he hesitated. Then slowly, he lifted the bottom of his helmet over his chin and pressed his lips to the bandages. Her hand on his shoulder tightened, surprised by the touch. When he glanced up, her eyes were closed tight —trying to ensure she saw nothing.

“I’m sorry, cyar'ika,” he whispered, lowering his helmet once more before looking up at her through his visor. “Has Credence touched you?”

She shook her head, reaching out to touch the cheek of his helmet. “No, I…I’ve avoided him. But the wedding –,”

“Won’t happen,” Din stated harshly, reaching behind him to pull a sheath from his belt. He held the weapon out to her. When they were on Sorgan, he had considered what it meant to present the blaster to her, if she knew the importance. But the blaster was nothing compared to the dagger that rested in his hands. When he unsheathed it, the plated gold caught the lights of the city and her brow furrowed as she reached for it. It bore the mudhorn signet that he wore on his armor, etched into the blade. 

“Din…,” she whispered, holding the weapon in the palm of her hand cautiously. “Are you…the stories…are they true?”

“Yes.” He nodded once, wrapping his hand around hers to hold the dagger together.

“You’re…you’re asking me to marry you?” Her voice was laced in disbelief, as if she couldn’t understand what was happening.

“Only if you’ll have me,” he murmured, squeezing her hand tight around the dagger. “It’s not an elaborate experience. We exchange vows and that would be it –we can do it now –we’d be married. Then Credence won’t be able –,”

She looked up at him, mouth opening to say something, then she shook her head. “Din…” Then she pulled her hand from his. “I can’t marry you; not like this.”

He thought he stopped breathing. It was like his world had suddenly crashed down around him, and he held the dagger in his hand limply. But she reached forward, both hands resting on the chin of his helmet as she made him look at her.

“Do you love me, Din Djarin?” She asked, searching for any sign of expression behind his visor.

“I do,” he promised, staring up at her. More than anything, he wanted to rip the helmet off so she could see his face. So he could kiss her, and show her how much he truly loved her. “I love you.”

“Then you don’t want to marry me like this,” she concluded, tears in her eyes as she leaned in to press her forehead against his. “You want to marry me when your child can be here to become our child. When your hand is not being forced by my mother, but by your heart.”

“I –,”

“Din, please,” she begged, closing her eyes as the tears finally fell over her cheeks. “I want to marry you. But I want to marry you on my own terms, not anyone else’s.”

He stared at her for a long time before he removed his gloves, tossing them to the side, so he could wipe her tears away. His other hand lifted the dagger once more, wrapping their hands around the hilt once again. 

“Then we won’t get married today,” he whispered, squeezing her hand tight around the handle of the blade. “But this dagger is yours; made from a piece of your life into a piece of mine. If you accept it, then you’re accepting that I will marry you the moment I can.”

“Of course I accept it, Din.”

———

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