#so I think it’s likely to be renewed if he doesn’t die

[spideyhexx]

i have been seconds from getting sick all day thinking about this being a series finale simply because it doesn’t get renewed even if he doesn’t die

I think it’ll probably get renewed tbh (I feel fairly hopeful on that) because it brought in so many viewers since tom got a little bigger so !!!

[heliads]

Can you do Peter Pan x reader OUAT? Peter goes to the modern world with Emma, Snow, David and them as they are looking for someone. He meets this girl and takes an interest to her. He’s never seen someone with facial piercings, and dyed hair before, they come to realize she is the girl they’ve been looking for.

'magic finds magic' - peter pan

masterlist

Peter Pan is leaving Neverland. Worse, he’s leaving Neverland alongside Snow, Emma, David, and Hook. In terms of traveling partners, this has got to be the lowest of the low. However, the sand in Peter’s immortal hourglass is running out, and his first attempt at prolonging his life with the heart of Henry Mills didn’t exactly go according to plan. It’s this or nothing, even though Peter is starting to wonder if it would be better to just die than put up with these people any longer.

Never in his life did Peter Pan think he’d be working with the good guys. But never in his life did Peter think he’d be dying, either. A few compromises will have to be made in the name of preserving Peter’s everlasting life, and if that means he has to put up with some princesses and pirates for a few days, so be it. In no time at all, his immortal life will be restored, and he can go back to Neverland and put all of this behind him. Hopefully.

Peter was supposed to die back on Neverland. He was running out of time, anyway. He had set up the perfect scheme:  kidnap Henry, disorient the boy’s rescuers on his island long enough to win the Heart of the Truest Believer, and cut the organ out of the boy’s chest if necessary. He’d almost gotten away with it, too, except he was foiled at the last minute. Heartbreaking. So unlike him.

For some reason, though, he hadn’t been left to die in the caverns of Skull Rock. Emma and the others had needed him, for some odd reason, and although none of them trust him in the slightest, they do trust Peter’s single-minded selfishness to keep himself alive. So they claim, at least, and so they had gotten a spell to give Peter one more week of life in exchange for help. If this plan works out, Peter will have a way to continue his immortal life without needing to murder Henry. If it doesn’t, or if he betrays them, he’ll die anyway.

He can feel it now, the pang of his close call with death. There’s a pain in his chest that wasn’t there before, a certain weakness in his lungs. Peter gets tired more easily. He feels– well, he feels like Henry and Emma. He feels mortal. Like he could die at any moment.

Peter has, obviously, thought about double-crossing them, maybe even triple-crossing them, but it’s no use. He feels shakily mortal right now, and Peter does not much enjoy the possibility of his own demise. This is the closest he’s ever come to being beaten, and Peter hates the feeling. He’ll have to play along for now, but after that, he will have his revenge.

First, though, Peter has to do what the others want. They’ve been careful to reveal as few details to him as possible, but the idea is solid. There’s a magical person somewhere in the modern world, in a city far from Storybrooke. This person is like the embodiment of a true love’s kiss spell, designed to renew hope in storybook characters through small acts of power that ultimately drive two needed people together. They’re like a guardian angel of those on the brink of destruction, which is exactly what Peter needs right now.

Peter has plenty of time to mull this over. They’ve forced him into a terrible, small room with awful carpets– an apartment, Emma called it– while they talk out what to do with both him and their missing spell-person. Peter is trying to focus, but he’s getting stared at by Henry Mills again, which is absolutely ruining his mood.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, glaring at the boy.

Henry just goggles back at him. “Don’t you feel bad for trying to kill me?”

Peter snorts. “Why would I do that?”

Henry shrugs. “You pretended you were my friend. I know you like the other Lost Boys on your island, I thought you would have felt bad for killing one of them. I guess not.”

“I don’t feel bad about killing someone so I would live,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s arguing with a child. “Go preach your morals to someone who wants to listen.”

“The others are busy,” Henry pouts.

Peter eyes him unhappily. “And what, I’m your best option for polite conversation? You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’d say you’re desperate. You’re the one who’s still talking to me.”

Peter can’t really argue with that, so he deftly changes the topic of conversation before Henry starts looking proud of himself again. “Tell me about our target again. You said you saw them before?”

“Only in a dream,” Henry admits, “but it was a clear dream, I swear. I saw a girl who looked about your age. She seemed like any other teenager, but there was something about her that was different. The way she spoke, maybe, or the glint in her eyes. She was magical, I’m sure of it. She can save Storybrooke.”

“And save me,” Peter reminds him. “That’s the important part.”

Henry rolls his eyes again. If he keeps that up, they’re going to get stuck like that forever. “Yes, I know, you’re only interested in keeping yourself alive. So long as it helps us find this girl, though, I don’t care.”

Peter leans forward. “What’s your plan for finding this girl, then? A little scouting party? This city is big. You’ll never find her.”

Henry shakes his head. “Magic has a way of finding magic. Somehow, our paths will cross.”

“That’s a terrible strategy,” Peter grouses. Why is he entrusting his life to this boy again? He remembers something about having no other options, but it doesn’t seem as good an excuse right now.

“Ask the adults, then,” Henry tells him, and gestures towards the miniscule apartment kitchen, where Emma, Snow, Hook, and David are currently huddled around a table, talking in hushed voices about what to do.

Not wanting to mess with the kid anymore, Peter pulls himself to his feet and heads over. “Tell me you have a plan,” he says.

The adults look up at him. “Find the girl,” Hook says shortly. “That’s our plan.”

Peter scoffs. “You could search this city for months and not find her. What if she doesn’t want to be found? If this girl has any brains at all, she’ll know that people will want her magic and she’ll hide. It’s what I would do.”

Emma sighs. “We don’t even know if this girl knows that she has magic. She’s probably just living an ordinary life, and we’re about to drag her out of it with all of our trouble.”

“Don’t tell me you feel bad for her,” Peter scolds her. “You want this, don’t you? So go get it, or I will.”

Snow tries to tell him to calm down, but David, so quick to anger when it comes to Peter, surges out of his chair. “How about you do something helpful and think with us instead of just insulting us?”

“I will do something helpful,” Peter informs him. “I’ll find her first.”

With that, he lunges for the apartment door, and is out of the tiny room and down the hall before they can stop him. Peter hears the thunder of footsteps after him, but he hurries down the stairs and out of the building. He has the advantage of being quick on his feet; if Neverland taught him anything, it’s how to run when you don’t want to be found.

Peter emerges into the bright sunshine of the city and stops dead in his tracks. He’s not used to the modern world, how the knives of its buildings slash up into the sky, how loud it is with those cars and signs and people. Peter swears he can even see metal things in the sky, soaring along predestined paths. It’s all so much compared to the world he used to know. No wonder some of the others had a hard time adjusting. His mortal heart lets out a pang of sympathy.

The door of the apartment building flies open, revealing Emma and the others hot on his trail. Peter curses under his breath and takes off in one direction, hurtling around pedestrians and shooting down the sidewalk. He heads for smaller streets, hoping to lose them in a swarm of alleyways. The others, more used to the terrain of the modern city, are gaining on him, and Peter is just starting to think that he’ll never be able to shake them when someone grabs him and pulls him into a nearby building.

Peter’s first instinct is to defend himself, but when he isn’t attacked, he realizes that the stranger is only trying to help him. There’s a window just to his left, and Peter watches Emma and the others appear seconds after him. They didn’t see him enter the shop, and keep sprinting down the road in the direction they thought he’d gone. Peter waits a few more intense moments, then decides that he’s lost them for good and turns back around to see who’s gone to the trouble of rescuing him.

He’s greeted with the sight of a girl about his age. She’s eyeing him cautiously, although the corners of her lips begin to prick up with a wicked grin. “Sorry for the rough introduction, but you looked like you needed some help,” she tells him.

Peter lets out a short laugh. “I’m glad to be rid of them, that’s for sure.”

The girl arches a brow. “What, did they catch you shoplifting? I’ve never seen people run that fast unless they were getting chased by the cops.”

Peter narrows his eyes, trying to figure out how on earth he would lift a shop, then decides it’s probably some slang term he doesn’t know. “Something like that,” he says evasively.

He studies the girl’s face to see if he’d answered correctly, and, judging by her impressed grin, he had. “Nice,” she says. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Peter,” he replies. He gets the urge to introduce himself as he usually would– Peter, Peter Pan– then remembers at the last second that Emma had warned him about telling people who he was. Apparently, telling people he was a fictional character in their world wouldn’t go over too well.

“Peter,” the girl repeats. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Peter says, and realizes belatedly that he means it. He feels like how he had at the start of it all, when the Lost Boys had first started appearing on this island, but this feeling is far stronger. He wants to get to know this girl. He certainly doesn’t want her to leave.

“I’m new to the city,” he says abruptly. “Any chance you could show me around?”

Y/N laughs, surprised. “You’re new and you’re already in trouble? You’ll fit right in, Peter.”

He grins, in on the joke a half beat late. “I like to have fun, that’s all.”

“Well,” Y/N says, starting to lead him back towards the door of the shop, “I like fun, too. Maybe we should stick together.”

“I’d like that,” Peter says, then wonders why he’s being so honest all of a sudden. When he sees Y/N’s smile– real this time, not sarcastic or joking, but genuinely because of him– he thinks he knows why.

The two of them step back out into the light. “Where to first?” Peter asks.

“I was going to ask you that,” Y/N replies. “What do you want to do? Sightseeing, maybe? We can get some food, or just talk.”

“Anything,” he says. He’d follow her anywhere. The feeling in him right now is like nothing he’s ever felt before. The pain in his chest, Peter realizes with some surprise, is gone. He feels immortal. Like living in this one moment could last forever.

They end up spending the next few hours together. Y/N shows him around the city, taking Peter to her favorite spots. Peter stares at the vast cityscape and finally starts to understand why someone might choose the modern world over the natural one. He’ll always pick Neverland first, of course, but seeing the world through Y/N’s eyes, it makes sense.

The two of them get along like a house on fire. Y/N’s got this rebellious streak to her that fits in perfectly with Peter’s, well, Peter-ness. No joke is too dark, no sarcastic comment too caustic. They feel the same. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who thinks so much like him.

As the sun starts to set in the sky, Peter feels his spirits sinking. He doesn’t want to let go of this day, not when he knows it can never happen again. He’s supposed to be finding Henry’s spell-girl, but all Peter wants to do is spend more time with Y/N.

His mood is especially ruined when they turn a corner and find Henry Mills walking towards them. Peter’s eyes widen and he tries to steer Y/N back in the direction they’d come, but it’s too late. Henry lets out an audible gasp and starts hurrying towards them.

“Peter,” Henry calls out when he’s close enough to talk, “We’ve been looking for you all over! Where have you been?”

Y/N glances at Henry dubiously. “Who’s this?”

“My little brother,” Peter blurts out.

At the same time, Henry chimes in, “My friend from school.”

Peter shoots the younger boy a quick glare, then turns back to Y/N. “Both, actually. He’s my step-brother. Recent marriage. We’re still getting acclimated. Our family is a little chaotic.”

“You can say that again,” Henry mumbles. Peter fights the urge to butcher him.

While Peter silently advises himself on why murder would be bad at a time like this, Henry stares openly at Y/N. All of a sudden, the boy’s mouth hangs open. “Oh my gosh, it’s you.”

Y/N’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, Peter feels a sick sensation in his stomach. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“You’re the girl from my dream,” Henry announces. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Y/N looks back at Peter. “What’s he talking about?”

The open, carefree expression, which had been on her face all day, is starting to be replaced with deep, unsettled fear. Peter hates to see it directed at him. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he begins. “Something about yourself.”

“You’re sounding a little creepy right now,” Y/N warns him. “Get to the point.”

“Alright,” Peter says. “You’re magical. So am I. We need your help to break a curse and save my life. How about that?”

Y/N shakes her head quickly. “This is crazy. Magic isn’t real.”

Peter can’t lose her, not like this, so he leans forward and holds out his hand. A ball of light appears inside his cupped fingers, glowing and bright. It’s a simple charm, one of the first he learned, but it has the desired effect. 

Y/N stares at it, transfixed, and when she speaks again, her voice is hushed. “That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Peter says. “Not magic. Not even the fact that you would find me in this city by accident. Magic is drawn to magic.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly raise to meet his. “This is real, then. I have magic.”

“You have magic,” Peter confirms. “Come with us, we can show you. They’re good people, Y/N. You can trust them.”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to honesty. For once, Peter isn’t playing a game. He isn’t trying to trick Y/N over to his side. He just wants her to be safe, and he knows that isn’t through lies.

Y/N smiles at him. “I trust you, Peter. That’s enough for me.”

She reaches over and takes his hand. Now that he’s focusing on it, Peter can feel the slow loop of her magic when they touch. It feels like power, but more than that, it feels like life. A life with her, maybe. A life for both of them.

ouat tag list: @loveanimals0000, @eclliipsed, @w1shes43, @lost-ender

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[guabie]

Wait so the wild hunt is following traces of lenores blood not scent seeing as it zeros in on the misfits hands (they did their blood pact) and not other places like dukes entire back from when he slept side by side with Lenore.

so now I wanna know why was the ring bloody? Is it something to do with their deaths like her blood got on it through splatter? But that wouldn’t make sense since Annabel would have blood on herself too and the stag would be more inclined to chase her rather than the ring.

So maybe before that in the manor when she burned everyone and ran away with the ring but again the ring seemed intact and was even covered by the ring box.

Or was there an incident in their lives where her blood gets on it that is yet to be revealed? Like maybe she made a similar blood oath with Annabel but swore on her engagement ring or sum. (I’m pulling shit out of my ass but it’s a pretty cool hc)

or is it a history with her ancestors rather than her since the curse is generational and that was a family ring.

Maybe the stag isn’t following her blood but more so her devotion? Like a strong presence of herself, For example with the blood she doesn’t touch everyone (but her blood could trickle onto the others hands) but regardless if we focus in on that maybe it’s not the blood but the simple act of devotion. Her faith and whatnot since it is a curse maybe it targets a certain aspect of herself. Or it’s that devotion that she gives and pours out that sticks like in a concentrated area.

That would make more sense as to why her ring is what the stag followed because she put a lot of hope into her plan of marrying Annabel and running away, (she would most likely die if the plan didn’t work) and so strong emotions would naturally stick. Especially when in an afterlife aspect because if we think about it both events (the burning manor stuff and blood oath) happened in states of I wouldn’t really say mortal panic but in the sense that death was prevailing. And a renewal of life, when she runs away Lenore dies and becomes Leo, when the blood oath happens it’s that she’s no longer alone and has people by her side? I’m a bit iffy with the oath on that, I’ll have to go reread that chapter but I think yall get what I’m tryna reach, it’s a new way of living for her who was alone most of her life, to have people by her side willing to stick by her.

And people just before their death or in their lives always have items that they kept dear to themselves or latched onto, e.g. the stuff in their briefcases. These items often become haunted in movies or resolve conflicts in media yk like Annabel the doll. So I think she put so much of her will or herself or soul or whatever you wanna call it into these acts/items that they latched onto her and became apart of her yk?

So yeah 👍

I just woke up and read the chapter as soon as my eyes opened so I don’t get spoiled and I need to get this word vomit out asap and can’t quite find my words. It’s 5:00 am when I’m writing this so bear with me 😭🙏.

Can yall tell I like to hyper fixate on shit?

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐅*𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑.

-ˏˋ. 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˊˎ-

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — FWB!matthew tkachuk x f!reader 𝐰𝐜 — 1.7k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — "old habits die hard..." — or, your boyfriend won’t fuck you right, so you run to the one person who always does.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — patrons know the chokehold this toxic sin-fest has on me and probably always will... in all seriousness, this is one of my favorite things i've ever published and i am so insanely proud of it. i hope you love it as much as i do <3

(spoiler — not possible teehee)

18+ MDNI — content warnings under the cut.

𝐜𝐰 — profanity, innuendo, matthew’s filthy mouth and lack of morals, cheating (not on matty or the reader), outdated/incorrect information about having sex for the first time, borderline too much degradation, some objectification to add a little spice, unprotected sex w a cheeky creampie (what did you expect from two morally bankrupt individuals written by me, a retired whore?), matthew being a noncommittal, possessive piece of shit joking about knocking people up for funzies

────────────

“D’you think you’re so addicted to my cock because you know I don’t give a fuck what you think about me? Or care if you think I’m a Nice Guy?”

Even buried to the hilt—bare with nothing between you and far too fucking close for comfort—Matthew Tkachuk runs his mouth like he’s got nothing to lose and even less to prove. He’s insufferable, his only redeeming quality being the pulsing appendage threatening to split you in half as you buck in his lap.

With your hands braced against his hard chest for leverage, you drown out his grating voice, chasing the white-hot surges, bolts of lightning leading you to the brink of collapse with renewed vigor.

The sooner you come, the sooner he’s gone.

“All I care about, sweetheart, is fucking you good and hard. Giving it to you like the hungry, cockdrunk whore that you are.”

Debonair attitude. Sly confidence. Vulgar demeanor.

Filthy fucking mouth.

You were warned about Matthew Tkachuck. Repeatedly. Warned about him and his complete lack of a filter, about his total disregard for anyone’s feelings but his own. His aversion to commitment, to monogamy, to propriety.

All the things that repulse you about the man lounging on expensive hotel sheets beneath you—as you do all the work—lure you back to him in equal measure. He shouldn’t turn you on, but that’s exactly why he does. He’s all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Which makes him just right.

“I bet if your fiancé walked in right now, you’d just keep riding me. You wouldn’t even notice, would you? After all, you haven’t cum yet. And that’s all you care about, right? Using my cock to get your rocks off because Billy Boyfriend’s too scared to give you what you really need. Lucky for you, I’m not a fuckin’ pussy. I don’t treat you like a fragile doll because I know you’ll take anything I give you—and beg for more. I treat you like what you are, not some chaste little princess.”

You’ve been with Bill for nearly a decade, engaged for more than a year. It’ll be a spring wedding, probably. If the venue pans out, and the caterer finally calls you back with a final quote.

Perfect on paper.

He doesn’t pay attention to you the way he used to. Just throws money at the problem until he can bury himself in work again, undisturbed by you or nagging obligation.

Flowers for being three hours late, a necklace for missing dinner entirely. A trip overseas when he had to go into the office on your anniversary.

But he’s nice, so fucking nice it hurts, and more loyal than the Golden Retriever he wants to adopt after the honeymoon. After you’re settled into a custom-build nestled comfortably in the suburbs and far away from the city. White picket fence, manicured lawn, barely-there speed limits.

It's all so nauseatingly idyllic. So perfectly attuned with what you thought you wanted, what you spent your childhood coveting.

All your single friends are jealous; your committed friends are resentful. Your family loves him, and even though you’ve got a fucked up way of showing it, so do you.

And he loves you too. He’s just busy. It’ll be different once we’re settled, he says. You try to believe him, though not as hard as you should. You tell yourself it's because he doesn’t either.

Bill’s gotten lazy. You’ve gotten bored.

You’re no angel, and never claimed to be. You just want to feel good.

Matthew barks out a dry laugh, almost like he can read your mind.

“You haven’t been since I first got you on your knees at his birthday party. And definitely not after I popped that sweet cherry you were so adamant about saving for him."

Bill doesn’t fuck you. He never has.

He makes love to you. It’s that romance-novel tenderness that got you here in the first place. Slow, sweet, and nearly devoid of passion. It’s so gentle you have to think of him just to come.

How he fucks you.

How tightly he yanks your hair, craning your neck until it aches. How hard he kneads and smacks your ass, bullying the skin until you sob. How deep his cock reaches. And how he takes, takes, takes without forethought. How could you accept a lifetime of only tame rutting in the face of Pavlovian depravity?

It’s awful, and it's so profoundly selfish, but his everything has you in a bind.

Matthew’s everything is ruining your life.

An uncharacteristic wave of guilt and sadness washes over you, and before you can catch yourself, you’re staring down at the engagement ring. The band constricts, digging into your finger like it's out for blood when you glimpse the indentation it left behind on Matthew’s peck. You wince, then choke down the shame lodged in your throat, screwing your eyes shut to will it away.

“If it's bothering you that much, take it off. I’ll keep it safe for you.” —wink— “I can’t imagine the weight of a rock like that, especially one you don’t even deserve. But, if you actually felt as guilty as you claim to, you wouldn’t be this wet on another man’s cock. Don’t play saint now. You’ll ruin the fun.”

You can’t do this right now; you can’t have this worn-out fight. So, you say what you always say even though you’ve long since stopped trying to mean it.

“You keep saying that, sweetheart. We should stop. This is the last time. But no matter what you say, you always come crawling back to me sooner or later because I have what you need. Because I’m not him. Because I fuck you better.”

His words light you on fire. You hate it, but how deeply your body enjoys them is undeniable. How tightly you squeeze and flutter with every degrading line, choking his cock as you use him to satisfy your own perverted needs. How his brutal honesty, his refusal to let you forget your zealous participation in the affair for even a second, arches your back and hardens your nipples.

Even without all that evidence stacked against you, the blitzed-out look on your face says it all. One look at you and everyone would know just how right Matthew is.

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl.

You say it for the sake of saying it. To know, when you curl into Bill's side tonight, that you said something to deny his assessment of you.

But the last thing you want is for him to shut his mouth.

Not right now, not when you’re right there—

“You can’t hide from me, sweetheart, and you can’t lie to me. You can’t fool me, either. I see right fucking through you. It terrifies you—and you love it.”

His raspy voice swims freely through your hollowed-out mind. It unwittingly thumbs through every unforgivable memory, like some sort of pornographic Rolodex.

Matthew’s hips grinding against yours in darkened corners and dive-bar bathroom stalls and poker tables.

His hands fighting against hard-earned sweat in the foggy backseat of his car, battling to find purchase anywhere he can so he can keep rutting with reckless abandon before you’re expected home.

His fingertips burrowing into the sides of your throat, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to silence, hard enough to hurt.

Him spilling inside of you, ropes painting the sacred place white with no remorse or expectation of responsibility.

Matty’s hand over your mouth, urging you to be fucking quiet as he pistons in and out, in and out, keeping you pinned against the bathroom door, against the only thing standing between Bill and the worst discovery of his apple-pie life—

Old habits die hard.

Especially when it’s one that always feels that fucking good. No matter how lecherous or immoral.

Or how badly the betrayal would hurt someone underserving and innocent.

“Even if you walk down that aisle and take his last name, you’ll still belong to me. Wedding or not, this pathetic, weeping cunt belongs to me. But it’s all gonna be okay, though. Don’t you worry that pretty, empty head. I don’t mind sharing my toys. Especially with someone who could never compete.”

You can't compete where you don't compare.

He doesn’t want to be your boyfriend. He doesn’t want to be anyone’s boyfriend. He isn’t the Relationship Type. He doesn’t even want to be exclusive. That’s part of his appeal, no matter how fervently you deny it. He doesn’t want more than pleasure—primal, deviant pleasure—and that’s all you're looking for.

That's all you need.

“Where do you want my load, dirty girl?”

“Inside. I-Inside me, please, Matty.”

“Right answer.”

The burst of warmth is like getting a perfect grade you didn’t earn. Or feeling the cash your sibling gave you in exchange for not ratting them out sitting in your back pocket. It's hard to feel bad about the wrong you’ve done when the payoff is so deliciously worthwhile.

Matthew twitches, still hugged by your sensitive walls, and you shudder.

This is the high you chase every time you bend your morals until they splinter. The still nothingness that lays beyond the denouement, where everything is glowy and the pit inside you appears not-so-bottomless for once. The lack of expectations and obligations. The sheer freedom that stringless pleasure, that sensual self-indulgence provides.

Matthew doesn’t owe you anything, you don’t owe him anything either, and neither of you pretends otherwise.

And you sure as fuck don’t trip on his dirty laundry every time you walk into the bedroom.

“If that doesn’t take,” Matthew flicks his hips in emphasis, “…let me know when and where you want your wedding present, sweetheart.”

You don’t answer. You push his hands away and roll off of him unceremoniously. But he keeps talking.

Matthew is always talking.

“Oh, and before I forget, would you be a dear and let Billy know I won’t be able to make it for his bachelor party? I don’t know why, but I have the oddest feeling that something desperately needing my attention will come up.”

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[defectivevillain]

chatterbox

pairing: Deadpool/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: You get threatened at gunpoint, meet a vigilante clad in red spandex, and get a concussion all in the same day. At this point, it seems like the universe is spiting you.

word count: 1.7k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, robbery, murder, etc; hospitals, suggestive remarks

You’re having a relatively uneventful day… until you find yourself being held at gunpoint in the nearby convenience store. You’re nothing more than an innocent bystander—you just wanted to buy some snacks before you left. It appears the universe had other plans for you, though. The robber—a guy dressed in all-black—yanks you towards him by the collar and holds a gun to your head, demanding the cashier hand him all the money in the register. For a moment, you’re terrified that they won’t give it to him. Then they snap out of it and shakily hand him the money. 

Somehow, that’s not enough for the intruder—as he proceeds to slam your head against the counter in frustration. You immediately feel a jarring pain searing through your temple and traveling down your face. Suddenly bolstered with a renewed fear for your life, you manage to stun him with a harsh elbow to the gut and escape his grip. Head spinning and heart racing, you run away from the register and duck down one of the aisles, frantically looking around for something that could help you survive this encounter. Unfortunately, the gas station is painfully small and the robber catches you quickly. You’re scrambling backwards through hazy vision as the guy points his gun at you… And you come to the unfortunate conclusion that this is it. You’re going to die here, in the candy aisle of this cramped and grimy store.   

It happens in a blur. There’s suddenly a katana impaled through the robber’s chest, making him drop his gun and fall to the floor as he gurgles in pain. The newcomer is wearing red and black spandex, with numerous weapons scattered across their form. Somehow, you’re on the ground now—your back to the wall as you stare at your savior in disbelief. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, sounding concerned. You stare at the man in shock, still struggling to process everything that just happened. You think the robber’s blood may be splattered across your face. And despite this new guy’s seemingly kind demeanor, you can’t bring yourself to trust him. Your adrenaline is still pumping, leaving you breathing hard and staring at him warily. “I know this is probably a lot, getting saved by a sexy vigilante and all.” You’re entirely unable to comprehend what he’s saying, through the ringing in your ears and throbbing in your temple. 

“Do you normally talk?” he continues, tilting his head curiously. “You need a throat lozenge? Just cough a few times, get the frogs out of your throat. Or maybe some water? Don’t sweat it, even I get shell-shocked sometimes. You should’ve seen me when I came across—”

“You talk a lot,” you interject before you can stop yourself. This guy’s constant rambling isn’t helping your growing headache. Not to mention, he’s speaking so fast that it’s impossible to comprehend what he’s saying. 

“Oh, so you can talk!” the man exclaims. “And wow, rude. I guess that means you’re fine, then,” he huffs, actually seeming a bit offended. You immediately feel guilty for the remark; you’re about to apologize when another bolt of pain runs through your forehead and down your cheekbone, breaking you from your thoughts. 

You wince and bring a hand to your aching head, frowning as you find blood splattered across your skin. “Need a hand?” the masked guy asks. You take his hand and allow him to pull you to your feet, surprised at how easy the feat seems to be for him. “Easy does it.” He warns, evidently noticing your unsteady footing. Your vision spins tauntingly around you as the walls of the store twist and morph in unnatural patterns. Something doesn’t feel right. You blink and suddenly your knees are crumpling under you. The last thing you see before your vision fades to black is a crimson blur. 

You wake to find yourself surrounded by nondescript beige walls. There’s something digging into your arm and you frown, reaching out in an attempt to remove it. You’re stopped by a nurse, who introduces themself and explains the situation. You’ve been unconscious for several hours now, on account of everything you experienced at the convenience store. You don’t have any serious injuries, aside from a concussion. 

As for the man who saved you… his identity remains a complete mystery. You attempt to ask the nursing staff, but they all seem to be just as confused as you are. They claim that the paramedics who arrived on the scene didn’t see anyone who matched his description: red and black suit, katanas… Safe to say, they think your head wound conjured up some mystery hero who saved you. But you know what—or more accurately, who—you saw. After all, your imagination isn’t that inventive or creative. You can vividly remember the gruesome sight of the katana piercing through the robber’s chest; and the rapid-fire sarcasm of the man who wielded it. 

As if summoned by your thoughts alone, you hear a familiar surprised voice. “You’re awake.”

“Jesus!” you instinctively hiss, your chest lurching as you look around the empty room. The heart monitor at your side is beeping like crazy. You have to squint in the dim lighting; then you catch a glimpse of a familiar crimson suit and your panic begins to subside. It’s the guy who saved you—he’s crouching in the window. Isn’t this room pretty high up? You frown. 

“Nope, just me,” he responds cheekily.

“I don’t even know who you are,” is somehow the first thing that falls from your lips. Perhaps you should’ve asked why he’s here… or how he got here. 

“I’m Deadpool, obviously,” he answers, breaking you from your thoughts. “Remember? The convenience store? I saved your ass; then you fainted into my arms. It was pretty embarrassing for you, but it made me look badass. So… thanks, I guess.”

“…What are you doing here?” you decide to ask, your voice slightly raspy. You cough a few times; in the blink of an eye, the guy is standing at your bedside and handing you a glass of water. You thank him and take a few sips, before he places it back on the nightstand. 

“Making sure you don’t snitch,” he says sincerely. “Snitches get stitches and end up in ditches. We clear?” You’re staring at him in disbelief, struggling to process everything that’s happening. The guy speaks almost inhumanly fast and it’s hard to keep up. 

“I won’t say anything.” It takes you a few moments to utter the words, your tongue feeling strangely thick in your mouth. The guy—Deadpool—looks relieved, his shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Good,” he huffs, crossing his arms. 

“Also, I’m sorry,” you say. The vigilante stares at you in evident confusion. You’ve given up on trying to rationalize what’s happening, or the words that are coming out of your mouth. Blame it on the concussion. “For earlier,” you supply. He had been kind enough to save you and inquire about your wellbeing… and you returned that kindness with an insult, and then promptly fainted in his arms. Embarrassing. 

“No prob,” he brushes you off. “I’m annoying, I get it. Not the first time it’s happened, won’t be the last.” And maybe you’re imagining things, but you swear you can hear the slightest hint of vulnerability in his voice.

“You’re not annoying,” you reassure him. “You saved my life. I just couldn’t really process anything you were saying.”

“Oh,” he remarks. You can’t discern his facial expression through his mask, but he sounds a bit surprised. “Oh! Okay then.”

A very awkward silence suffocates the room. “Thank you,” you hear yourself say. Because despite the absurdity of the situation and the man standing in front of you, you are truly grateful. “For… you know.” You struggle to say the words. 

Deadpool seems to understand regardless. “Don’t mention it,” he says easily. Then his tone turns more sincere. “Seriously, don’t.” He looks at you pointedly.

“I won’t,” you promise. “But thanks. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there. You’re… a pretty good guy.” And wow, you must’ve gotten hit harder than you thought. 

“God, how can you just say those things?” Deadpool mutters to himself, almost sounding embarrassed. Your suspicions are confirmed as you watch him awkwardly climb out the window, the movement far more stilted and clumsy than the previous stealth he’s displayed. He remains crouched in the frame, regarding you for a moment. “I’m glad you’re okay though. Just… let me know if you ever find trouble again. I’ll stab a bitch. Or several bitches. And I mean bitch in the gender neutral, non-misogynistic sense. Obviously. Okay, I really need to go now. See ya!” He blows you a kiss and promptly leans back as he dives out of the window. You stare in disbelief, admittedly a bit concerned for his safety. But judging from the fading sound of footsteps, he landed just fine. 

You suppress a laugh at his dramatic exit, before thinking back to what he just said. “Let me know if you find trouble again.” You appreciate the offer, and you can only hope you won’t have to use it. But… How are you supposed to find Deadpool, if something ever were to happen?

You muse on the thought as you stare at the open window, before sighing and pushing yourself to your feet. The effort is laborious and takes a bit longer than it should, but before long you’re able to walk over to the window and close it. On your way back to the bed, something on the nightstand catches your eye. It’s a card. You frown and grab it, opening it to find a simple message written in unmistakeable red ink: 

Get well soon! Signed,  Your Favorite Mercenary  PS: Here’s my number.  PSPS: Not in a weird way. Just in a friendly, heroic way. I mean, not heroic… I’m not a hero. And I know I said not in a weird way, but I also wouldn’t be opposed…?  Jesus, what am I saying? Right, contact me if you’re ever in trouble.  PSPSPS: Is “PSPS” a real acronym? Probably not. It sounds like something I’d say to a cat to get it to come closer. Anyways, bye! :P

You stare down at the card for several moments, before finding yourself laughing in disbelief. Moments later, you’re saving his phone number under a new contact named “DP⚔️” and smiling foolishly. 

Deadpool is quite the interesting guy, to say the least. You almost hope that, as time passes, you’ll get to know him better. Although, at the same time, you hope you don’t ever need to contact him for his work. But regardless, you’re overwhelmingly grateful to the talkative, sarcastic vigilante who saved you.

author's notes: I have a bad headache as I post this, which feels like poetic justice somehow. lol.

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[darkintothedawn]

DAY THREE || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — Day three of 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE'. Stiles is confident Batman would win in a fight against Superman but Scott begs to differ. You're not exactly all too interested in the argument but you do find it fun to stroke the flame, especially when Stiles gets annoyed.

3. Thou shalt never, under any circumstances, team up with Scott against thy boyfriend in any and all debates, disputes, or Nerf wars.

Memo— You can find the rest of the 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE' here.

Word Count — 4084

Warnings — Fluff. Stiles getting pressed. Me showing off my very limited comic book knowledge.

Masterlist | Stiles' Adventures

“That’s ridiculous, Scott,” Stiles said, his voice teetering on the edge of exasperation as he waved his free hand in the air. “You can’t seriously think that Superman could beat Batman in a fight. It’s not even about powers—it’s about strategy, intelligence, and preparation. Batman has plans for everything, dude. Everything.”

Scott rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “And I’m telling you, no amount of prep time is going to help when Superman can literally throw him into the sun. Game over.”

“Throw him into the—are you even listening to yourself!?” Stiles gestured wildly, his words tumbling out at breakneck speed. “You’re talking about a guy who’s best friends with freaking Lex Luthor and still manages to survive every stupid plan that bald maniac comes up with. You think Batman doesn’t have, like, fifty contingency plans for Superman? Kryptonite ring, red sun lamps, whatever weird Bat-tech he has stashed away in the Batcave—he’s got it covered.”

Scott raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “So you’re telling me Bruce Wayne, a guy with zero superpowers, can beat an alien who can shoot lasers out of his eyes and fly faster than the speed of sound?”

“Yes!” Stiles snapped, his tone indignant. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Batman doesn’t need superpowers—he’s got brains and gadgets and, you know, the ability to think more than two steps ahead. Superman would show up all smug, ready to throw a punch, and bam—kryptonite dust bomb. Fight over.”

Scott sighed, shaking his head. “You’re seriously overestimating him. Superman’s too fast, too strong, and too durable. There’s no way Batman could even land a hit before he’s down for the count.”

“Oh, come on,” Stiles scoffed, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as you kissed the back of his hand to calm him down. He took a deep breath, his words slowing just enough for him to sound less frantic. “You’re forgetting the most important part: Superman’s weakness isn’t just kryptonite. It’s his morals. He’s always holding back. Batman would use that against him—he’d go for the mind games, not the physical fight.”

Scott frowned, clearly considering it for a moment before shaking his head again. “Okay, but what about the time Superman beat Batman in Hush? He didn’t hold back then, and Batman still lost.”

Stiles groaned like Scott had personally offended him. “Are you serious? That wasn’t even a real fight. Superman was being mind-controlled by Poison Ivy, and Batman was still holding his own. If he’d been trying to actually win, it would’ve been a completely different story.”

“You’re reaching,” Scott shot back, smirking slightly. “Superman’s just better. Admit it.”

“Never,” Stiles declared, his voice firm and defiant. “I would rather die on this hill than admit that Superman—an overpowered boy scout in spandex—could beat Batman in a fight.”

Scott snorted, shaking his head as he leaned forward. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re wrong,” Stiles retorted, leaning in just as much. “Super wrong.”

You squeezed his hand again, pressing another quick kiss to his knuckles. He glanced at you briefly, his expression softening for a split second before he turned back to Scott with renewed determination. “Look, I’ll say it one more time for the people in the back: Batman. Always. Wins.”

Scott groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “You’re hopeless.”

“And proud of it,” Stiles said smugly, leaning back in his seat with a victorious grin.

“Scott’s got a point, though,” you chimed in casually, leaning back and resting your chin on your hand. “I mean, Superman’s speed alone is a huge advantage. He’s not exactly going to sit around and give Batman time to strategize mid-fight.”

Scott perked up immediately, a smug grin spreading across his face as he pointed at Stiles. “See? Even they agree with me. Superman wins.”

Stiles’ head snapped toward you so fast you were surprised he didn’t pull something. His eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening for just a moment before he forced a laugh. “Oh, sure,” he said, his tone light but with an edge that Scott immediately caught. “Throw them into the debate. That’s fair. They’re obviously just trying to keep the peace.”

“Are they?” Scott asked, leaning back in his chair with an amused glint in his eye. He rested his elbow on the armrest and propped his chin on his hand, studying Stiles like he’d just uncovered a juicy secret. “Because it kinda sounds like they’re agreeing with me.”

Stiles scoffed, but there was a tension in his shoulders now, the way they hunched just slightly forward, like he was trying not to look too affected. “Yeah, well, that’s because you’re oversimplifying things. They probably just feel bad for you because your argument is so weak.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between them as Scott’s grin widened. “Weak? You mean like how Superman would crush Batman in two seconds?”

Stiles’ grip on your hand tightened slightly—not enough for you to notice, but Scott definitely did. “You’re acting like Batman’s just going to walk into the fight unprepared,” Stiles shot back, his voice a touch sharper now. “That’s not how he operates. He’d have the entire battle planned out before Superman even showed up.”

Scott hummed, the teasing glint in his eyes growing brighter. “I don’t know, man. Sounds like you’re getting a little defensive. Are you sure you’re not just mad that they’re on my side?”

“I’m not mad,” Stiles said quickly, a little too quickly. He shifted in his seat, his free hand gesturing wildly. “I’m just saying, they’re allowed to be wrong. It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “You just said I was trying to keep the peace. Now I’m wrong?”

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly trying to backtrack without looking like he was backtracking. “No, no, you’re not wrong. You’re just… misinformed.”

Scott chuckled under his breath, watching the way Stiles’ jaw clenched as he avoided looking directly at him. “Wow, Stiles. You’re really laying it on thick, huh? You okay over there?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles bit out, his voice tight. He leaned forward slightly, his thumb stroking absentmindedly over the back of your hand as if to ground himself. “I just don’t appreciate you trying to drag them into your losing argument, that’s all.”

Scott smirked, glancing at you briefly before looking back at Stiles. “Right. Sure. That’s definitely what’s bothering you.”

You blinked, glancing between them again, confused by the sudden shift in tone. “Wait, what’s bothering him?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said quickly, his voice a touch higher than usual. “Absolutely nothing. I’m just fine. Totally fine. Can we get back to the debate, please?”

Scott raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Instead, he leaned forward again, resting his arms on his knees as he threw out another point about Superman’s strength, fully expecting Stiles to fire back.

You, oblivious to the subtle dynamic shift, chimed in again, nodding along to one of Scott’s arguments. “Yeah, that’s a good point, actually. I didn’t even think about that.”

Stiles groaned softly, his fingers tightening around yours again as his free hand gestured in frustration. “Okay, first of all, you’re supposed to be on my side,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Scott to hear.

Scott chuckled again, shaking his head. “Stiles, I think you’re fighting a losing battle here.”

Stiles shot him a glare, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Oh, I’ll win. Don’t you worry.”

Scott gave you a quick, knowing glance, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You sure about that, buddy?”

Stiles straightened in his seat, his determination written all over his face. “Positive.”

And just like that, the argument was back in full swing, with Stiles throwing out point after point, his body language still a little tenser than usual as Scott sat back and enjoyed the show.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles said, holding up his free hand as if to call for a ceasefire, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t surrendering. “Let’s take a step back here. You’re saying Superman’s heat vision would be enough to take Batman out? Are you hearing yourself, Scott? Batman would have a countermeasure for that. Probably some Bat-reflective shield or whatever.”

Scott shrugged, an infuriatingly calm expression on his face. “It doesn’t matter what gadgets Batman has if Superman just flies him into orbit. You can’t prep for being tossed into space.”

Stiles threw his head back with an exasperated groan. “This again! Dude, he doesn’t need to be in orbit for Batman to win! Batman would—he would, I don’t know, build a space suit or something. He’s got, like, NASA-level tech at his disposal.”

“Sure,” Scott said with a smirk. “Because Batman can definitely fight in space while Superman just stands there invincible. Sounds fair.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles muttered, his tone now more incredulous than ever. He looked at you, his thumb rubbing your knuckles as though silently begging for backup. “Are you hearing this? He’s just—he’s just making stuff up now!”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “I mean… Superman could just fly him into space. It’s a valid point.”

Stiles blinked at you, his jaw falling open slightly as if he couldn’t believe the betrayal. “Are you serious right now?”

Scott laughed, shaking his head. “I think it's called being logical, Stiles. Maybe it’s time to admit Batman’s outmatched.”

Stiles turned back to Scott, his lips pressing into a thin line as a new wave of determination flashed across his face. “I’m not admitting anything, okay? Batman would win. Superman’s just… a glorified alien Boy Scout with a god complex.”

“Wow, okay,” Scott said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of hostility for someone who’s supposed to be defending the ‘better hero.’”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Stiles shot back, his voice growing sharper with every word. “This isn’t even a real debate anymore. You’re just trying to mess with me.”

Scott leaned back, his smirk widening. “Maybe. But you’re kind of making it easy.”

That seemed to be the final straw for Stiles. He suddenly stood up, still holding your hand, his grip tightening as he glared down at Scott. “You know what? We’re done here. This debate is over. We’re leaving.”

Scott blinked up at him, his smirk faltering for just a second before he looked at you. “Wait, 'we’re' leaving?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, letting Stiles pull you toward the door. “Looks like it. Bye, Scott.”

“Bye,” Stiles added curtly, already tugging you toward the exit.

Scott leaned back in his seat, watching as Stiles practically dragged you out of the room. “You two have fun,” he called after you, the amusement clear in his voice.

Stiles didn’t respond, his steps quick and purposeful as he led you away from the argument—and, apparently, Scott’s smug grin.

Stiles practically stormed out, his steps quick and purposeful, dragging you along with him. The screen door creaked and slammed shut behind you as his sneakers hit the pavement in rapid succession. His grip on your hand was firm—almost too firm—as if Scott’s smug grin had burned itself into his brain and he was marching away from it as fast as humanly possible.

You glanced at his determined expression, biting back a smile at the sheer focus radiating off of him. “You know,” you began casually, “I think this might be the first time I don’t have to slow down to match your pace. I should be thanking Scott for this.”

Stiles threw you a sidelong glance, his lips pressing together as he groaned in frustration. “Don’t encourage him,” he muttered, his steps speeding up slightly as if to prove a point. “He’s already unbearable enough without you stroking his ego.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your fingers tightening around his for a brief moment as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m kidding, Stiles. You know that, right?”

He slowed down—barely—but the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely ease. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he mumbled, though his furrowed brow and slightly flushed cheeks told you he wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

“You’re still mad about Scott messing with you, huh?” you asked gently, your thumb brushing over his knuckles as you walked in step with him now.

Stiles huffed, his free hand gesturing wildly. “It’s not just that. It’s—it’s the way he does it, you know? Like he’s just waiting for me to freak out so he can sit there and laugh about it. It’s infuriating!”

You chuckled softly, leaning closer to bump your shoulder against his. “That’s because it’s so easy to rile you up. You’re fun to mess with, Stiles.”

He shot you an incredulous look, his steps faltering slightly. “Great, now you’re on his side too. Fantastic. This is just my life now, isn’t it? Stiles Stilinski: Professional Punching Bag Extraordinaire.”

You laughed again, your voice light and teasing as you leaned in closer. “Oh, stop. You know I’m always on your side.”

That earned you a small smile, though it was still tinged with the annoyance lingering in his expression. “Yeah, well, you’ve got a weird way of showing it sometimes.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand again. “I think you’re just too cute when you’re grumpy. It’s hard to resist.”

Stiles groaned, though the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you said with a grin. “But you love me anyway.”

Stiles sighed, his expression softening for a fleeting second as he mumbled, “Yeah, I love you anyway.” But then, as if the thought had struck him like lightning, he suddenly halted in his tracks. His hand jerked yours to a stop too, and he turned to you with a mix of betrayal and disbelief etched across his face.

“Wait a second,” he stammered, his words tripping over each other in his rush to get them out. “No, no, no, this is your fault too! You—you agreed with him! You’re supposed to be on my side! You can't just manipulate your way out of this with warm kisses and your love!”

You blinked at him innocently, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “I am on your side, Stiles.”

“No!” he shot back, his hand waving in the air for emphasis. “Rule three! Rule three of the Boyfriend Code! ‘Thou shalt never, under any circumstances, team up with Scott against thy boyfriend in any and all debates, disputes, or Nerf wars.’” He pointed at you accusingly. “And you broke the Code! Again!”

“Again?” you echoed, feigning confusion.

“Yes, again!” he huffed, his voice pitching higher as his frustration mounted. “First, it was the curly fry incident—rule one!—and then you didn’t laugh at my jokes, which, might I add, was rule two! But this? This is serious!”

You tilted your head, your lips twitching as you tried not to laugh at how worked up he was getting. “Serious? It’s a fictional debate about Batman and Superman.”

“It’s not just about Batman and Superman!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly as his gesturing grew even more frantic. “It’s about principle! You’re supposed to back me up, no matter what! That’s—that’s literally the point of the code! You—” He stopped mid-sentence, his cheeks flushing as he realized how desperate he sounded. “I mean, you’re supposed to—ugh." He groaned loudly as he ran his hands through his hair and down his face, "I don’t even know why I bother sometimes.”

He crossed his arms, looking away from you with a pout that would’ve been adorable if he wasn’t so clearly annoyed.

You couldn’t hold it in any longer and started laughing, stepping closer to tug on his arm gently. “Stiles, come on. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous!” he argued, though his resolve seemed to waver slightly under your amused gaze. “You broke the rules—again! And now Scott’s gonna think he’s right, and—and I’m just standing there like an idiot while you’re practically high-fiving him!”

You cupped his face, forcing him to look at you as you smiled softly. “I didn’t high-five him.”

“You might as well have,” he grumbled, his pout still firmly in place.

You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, which seemed to short-circuit whatever angry retort he was about to throw at you. “I’m sorry, okay?” you murmured against his mouth. “I’ll never break the code again. Scouts honor.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously but didn’t pull away. “You said that after the curly fry thing.”

“And I meant it,” you replied with a grin, “Until I didn’t.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but he quickly schooled his expression into something resembling sternness. “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“I know,” you teased, lacing your fingers with his again and giving his hand a playful tug. “Now come on, let’s keep walking before Scott comes out here to gloat.”

That seemed to snap him out of his sulking, and he let you pull him along, though he made sure to grumble under his breath about broken rules and betrayal the entire way.

Stiles continued grumbling as the two of you walked, his free hand gesturing wildly as he replayed every perceived injustice from the past hour. “And another thing,” he muttered, his voice dripping with exasperation. “Scott doesn’t even read the comics. He watches the movies and acts like he’s some kind of expert. I mean, did you hear him try to say Superman’s heat vision could—”

“—melt the Batmobile’s armor,” you cut in, your tone casual but laced with amusement. “Yeah, I heard him. And I also heard you shut that down by explaining how Bruce Wayne uses tech from alien materials that can withstand literal explosions. You were right. Totally right.”

Stiles blinked, mid-step, like your words had knocked the wind out of him. “Wait—what?”

You kept walking, tugging him along when he faltered. “I mean, c’mon, Stiles. You’re basically an encyclopaedia of Batman knowledge. You broke down Superman’s vulnerabilities better than anyone could. Kryptonite’s obvious, but that whole thing about using red solar radiation to neutralize his powers? Genius. And don’t even get me started on how you explained the contingency plans Batman’s got for literally everyone. It was a slam dunk. You won the argument before it even started.”

He stared at you, slack-jawed, while his feet moved automatically to keep up. “You… you think I won?”

“I know you won,” you replied easily, glancing over your shoulder to give him a reassuring smile. “Scott was just being loud to make it seem like he had a point, but you had him beat from the first sentence.”

You kissed the back of his hand softly, once, twice, three times, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “And for the record, I’ve always sided with you and Batman. Superman’s overrated.”

Stiles stopped walking completely this time, tugging you to a halt with him as he turned to look at you with wide, stunned eyes. “But you—you said—”

“I said Scott had a valid point,” you interrupted, a small smirk pulling at your lips. “I never said it was better than yours. I just wanted to keep things interesting.”

He squinted at you, trying to figure out if you were messing with him, but the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed his embarrassment. “You’re evil,” he muttered, his voice softer now, almost like he was sulking.

“I prefer the term engaging,” you teased, leaning in to press another kiss to the back of his hand. “And I’m on your side, Stiles. Always.”

His lips twitched, fighting a smile as he let you tug him forward again, his grumbling finally starting to fade. “You’re really lucky I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you replied with a grin. “I do.”

Stiles was walking a little taller now, puffing his chest out ever so slightly as his free hand adjusted an imaginary tie. “Well, of course, you always side with Batman,” he mumbled half to himself, clearly pleased. “I mean, it’s a good thing I convinced you to read my entire comic book collection when we first started dating. Otherwise, you’d—”

“You convinced me?” you interrupted, eyebrows raised as you turned to look at him. “Stiles, I had to pry them from your hands. You didn’t want me to touch them because they were ‘collector’s items.’ You were practically shaking in fear that I’d ruin them.”

His steps faltered, and the flush creeping up his cheeks was immediate. “Okay, well—yeah, but that’s only because you’re not supposed to touch them without gloves! Or bend the pages! Or, I don’t know, breathe too hard near the first edition ones!”

You laughed, squeezing his hand as you leaned closer. “Sure, Stiles. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but then his expression softened as a faint, wistful smile tugged at his lips. “For the record,” he said, glancing at you shyly, “I fell in love with you all over again watching you read them.”

Your teasing grin faltered slightly at the sincerity in his voice, and you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. “You’d sit there, all curled up on my bed with one of my comics, so focused you didn’t even notice me staring half the time. And then when you did notice, you’d ask me these questions about the plot or the characters, and I’d—” He paused, his ears turning red as he looked down. “I’d stay up all night researching just so I could give you the perfect answer.”

Your heart clenched, and you stopped walking for a moment, tugging him gently so he turned to face you. “You really did that?”

Stiles shrugged, looking sheepish. “I mean… yeah. I didn’t want to mess it up. You were taking an interest in something I loved, and I didn’t want to blow it by giving you half-assed answers.”

The words hung between you for a moment, raw and unguarded, and for a second, it felt like the world had gone quiet. His gaze flicked to yours, and you could see it—how exposed he felt, how the vulnerability of the confession lingered in the air, matching your own.

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t, not when your heart was stumbling over itself, not when it felt like anything you could say would fall short. Instead, you tugged him closer, your hands finding his shoulders as you leaned up to kiss him.

It was soft and warm, a gentle reassurance that you didn’t need to hear any more to know exactly what he meant. When you pulled back, there was a slight tilt to your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips that eased the moment just enough.

Stiles blinked, wide-eyed and flushed, before the words started pouring out of him at warp speed. “Okay, right, um—let’s go home. Like, now. It’s too cold out here anyway, and I don’t know why I thought storming off like that was a good idea because, clearly, it wasn’t. I’m freezing, and you’re freezing—oh, my God, are you freezing? You must be freezing. And I—I regret this. I regret all of this.”

You smiled, biting back a laugh as he gestured animatedly with his free hand.

“And when we get back,” he continued, his voice climbing an octave, “You’re reading another comic with me. No arguments. This one’s even better than the last, and—and you’re gonna love it. I’ll even get you snacks! Blanket burritos! Whatever you want, okay? Just—let’s start moving again. Please.”

“Okay,” you said simply, the warmth in your smile making his frantic rambling come to a screeching halt.

“Okay?” he repeated, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“Okay,” you confirmed, squeezing his hand. “But only if you promise to let me pick the snacks this time.”

“Deal,” he said immediately, tugging you forward again, the faint flush on his cheeks deepening as he mumbled, “God, you’re cute when you do that head tilt thing.”

You grinned, letting him lead the way as the two of you hurried toward home, warmth blooming between you despite the chill in the air.

[wtfdemother]

Strawberries and Cream

CW: Day 1 of Kinktober 👻🤝 and i’m already late. nvm. Foodplay + cunnilingus + your boobs in his mouth. chubby!reader doesn’t shave, plus König likes rainforest pussy. divider by machveil 🫶 NSFW

What had gotten you out of the conversation that morning was you tossing the covers over your husband’s head before scurrying out the room, calling out for him as you dash down the stairs. Blinding him was the sole, full proof way of getting his grubby paws off of you so early in the morn’. “Breakfast will be done in 15 minutes!”

“What’s for breakfast?” Your big boy shouts from your shared room. Lazily König stretches while his lungs expand with renewed air, slowly exhaling out through his nose. A soft grin spread across his otherwise weary features, he let his arms sink to his side as he awaits your reply.

There was a pause, a long one with some odd shuffling coming from the kitchen, a nagging feeling crept its way into his head as to why you were taking your sweet time answering him and he began to worry. König opens his mouth to call out for you, but the light creaking of the floorboards settled his heart as you made your way up the stairs again, then his brows furrowed.

So soon? König wonders why he was hearing you coming back up the stairs when it hasn’t even been 5 minutes since you left. He quickly shrugs it off, deeming that maybe you’d forgotten something in your haste and simply came back to retrieve it.

“Meine liebling, haste du etwas vergessen?” His words come to die on his tongue when you turn the corner and enter with nothing on but black underwear with an intricate design and a can of whipped cream with strawberries in either hand. König got even more confused, but not necessarily in a bad way, more so along the lines of intrigued, aroused; possibly hungry.

You let your bra fall to the floor, “I was thinking for breakfast…how about me?”

While you answered his lingering question, it came out as more of a statement. The hissing air from the canister as you applied a healthy glob of whipped cream on both your bare tits fill the air, you clear your throat. “You wanna…?” You beckon him with a subtle tilt of your head, popping the tip of a strawberry into your mouth.

“Sit on my lap.”

His voice is hoarse and his accent heavy, almost coming out as a command. The sight of your perfect tits on display for him this morning, he thought he died and went to heaven. König pats a hefty thigh twice, the firm sound filling the silence as he gestured for you to come sit in his lap.

He’s met with your loving enthusiasm, letting out a squeal and a quick stim you toss the canister onto the bed and rush to your husband’s side, sending a wave of satisfaction coursing through König at the sight. Setting the strawberries to the side for now, you cradle your husband’s face to plant four little kisses: one on his nose, both his cheeks and finally his forehead. “I love it when you go along with one of my kooky ideas.”

König couldn’t help the smile, chuckling softly at your words. You’d think it was from pure affection if it wasn’t for that damn glint in his eye.

“So you had this planned all along?” He drawls out, gently freeing himself from your grasp to kiss down your neck, causing your breath to stagger and halt in your throat when you feel his fingers gently knead the ample fat of your ass.

“Call it spur of the moment…?” You choke out.

König grins against the warmth of your skin, finding your answer both adorable as well as very typical for the likes of you, his wife. He shook his head slightly, amused by the fact that not only were you trying to play it off as a spur of the moment thing, but you were being sneaky about your desires. How dare you. Luring him in with a cold treat when he would’ve sucked on your boobs if only you had asked.

He’d have to coax you out of your shyness somehow, one day. For now, König dipped his head lower and complied without pushing it, eating and sucking the cream right above your areola. Who was he to deny such a delicious snack when you presented yourself so perfectly?

The anticipation stirs something within you, a warmth like no other began pooling down to your core. Both are aware of your increasing heart rate, it only climbs up when you feel his lips latch onto your nipple, his mouth full of you, relishing the warm tongue swirling around the puffy morsel. A muffled sound escapes him, loving the sting at the back of his head as he feels you cling to the locks of his hair while his head is halfway buried into your cream covered tit.

“What’re you doing, big guy?” You huff out, dizzy already from getting your tits sucked. König's hands roam all over your body, his fingers deftly teasing the other nipple, causing your back to arch into his touch. “Tasting…” he mutters, his voice deep with need, and thick with lust. “And claiming…”

He proceeded to lick and suck at your sweetened nipple, his tongue tracing the outer line. “Und ich bin... bereite mich auf das Hauptgericht vor, meine Liebe.” His lips met with yours, a kiss that traveled up your spine and down your cunt, making the sticky situation you had going on even messier when his hands roughly gripped at your hips, pulling you even further into his lap.

A low growl emits deep within his chest now that your clothed cunt was sitting nicely on his erection. “For you, Liebchen, are the most delectable dish I've ever had the pleasure of tasting.” He snatched the canister previously discarded on the bed, pinning you down with a large hand pressing down gently on your sternum. He shook the can and sprayed a line of whipped cream down your torso, stopping at the curve of your fuzzy mound.

“Now, I must taste the fruit,” a naughty grin spread across his face as you watch him sink to his knees, first nibbling and licking at the strawberry you’d offered with a trembling hand before he shoved it back into your mouth to muffle your moans.

“Quiet down, taube.” His hands roved over thick thighs, the playful act a prelude to a renewed desire. He delves into your folds like a starved man, the sound of lewd smacking fills the room. He swirls his tongue around your swollen bud, pulling back to give it a little kiss before diving back in. Your legs twitch, your face feels hot, feeling the tip of your husband’s calloused finger tease your crying entrance, circling around the tight hole but never going inside and curling up against that spongy spot that made you cum.

“Meine Liebchen,” König groaned, a note of urgency in his voice, “I need you.” Almost like a plea, his words muffled by your pussy. “Please… I need to taste you more.” His voice comes out slurred, the vibrations from his throat push you further to the edge. “Cum on my tongue, baby. I need you to cum before I enter you, please…”

König's lips wrapped around your throbbing nub, his tongue teasing your sensitivity mercilessly, "Cum for me, liebling," he growled, the sound reverberating against your slick folds anew, your orgasm impending. “Cum, baby… I can feel you, you’re so close…”

You white knuckle his hair as you come undone under his tongue, crying out his name from the toe curling orgasm. He drank in your essence, swallowing your release, the warmth of his lips and tongue lingering.

König licked his lips, revelling in the quivering mess he left behind. He helped you ride out your high, once finally subsided, panting, he rose, capturing your mouth with his. “Für dich, meine Frau…I am no longer a Commander, no longer a Colonel, no longer even your König.”

Your partner continued to whisper his truth against your sweltering skin, his leaky cock seeking entry into your welcoming heat. “I am simply… yours.”

Slowly, deliberately, König sheaths himself within your searing warmth, rocking his hips slowly until you both come undone in each other’s arms.

[shanastoryteller]

happy pride!! dealer’s choice <3

Steve is going to die again just a few short years after waking up in this new world and his death is going to be significantly less glorious the second time around.

“You don’t think he’s going to come,” Duke Rhodes says, tied up next to him and in even worse shape than he is. An unfortunate side effect of not being a sorcerer’s experiment and being nearly a decade older than him, he assumes.

“You do?” he asks, too exhausted to filter himself like he tries to do around him.

Rhodes raises an eyebrow. “I think his champion and his general are tempting enough bait, yes. Listening to their demands and showing up alone is also the most foolish choice he could possibly make, so I’m confident the king won’t be able to help himself.”

Those words would be treason from anyone else, but Rhodes has long been King Anthony’s personal confidant, and the one managing this war for the king from the beginning. Steve supposes that grants the man a certain level of leeway.

Steve is, now and always, exactly what he was enchanted to be. The King’s Champion. From the moment he woke up in a land at once so familiar and so different from his own, he renewed the vow he took seventy years ago. To serve his king and uphold the dignity of the realm so long as a Stark sat on the throne.

King Howard, however, had been an easier man to serve. He’d at least taken the time to meet with Steve, for one, had taken an active interest in the war he fought rather than delegating it and holing himself up in his castle. He’d been cold, and detached in many way from the realities of the war he’d started, but he was a king, and his attention, however brief, had always rallied the troops in a way that Steve admired.

King Anthony at least delegates well, he’ll give the man that. Rhodes does not come from noble blood, something they share, but by the time Steve woke up here it was long past something others were willing to hold against Rhodes. His title of Duke had been a gift from the king. His title of General had been one he earned.

“Steve?” Rhodes frowns, eyeing him like he’s looking for injuries that he hasn’t noticed.

Perhaps Steve is more injured than he thinks, because he doesn’t have the good sense to stop himself from saying, “He did not come for his alchemist.”

He tenses, but Rhodes just sighs, shifting in his bonds as if trying to find a more comfortable position even though if that existed, they would have found it by now. “You hold a grudge for something that happened not only before your time, but for something that Edward does not.”

“Edward is too forgiving,” he says stiffly and doesn’t say the same of Rhodes even though he thinks it often.

He sees the warmth and tenderness and affection between Rhodes and Edward clearly and it galls him that Rhodes has so easily forgiven his king leaving the man Rhodes loves to die. Edward is often trying to coax Steve and Rhodes into a more affectionate relationship, but it’s a hurdle Steve can’t quite overcome.

When he’d first awoken there had been nothing but mourning and determination and another war and then there was Edward. Infuriating and funny and warm and completely irreverent, the only person who seemed to treat him as more than cursed and made his terrible circumstances feel like home. Alchemist, armorer, blacksmith – he seemed to do everything and anything required by the crown and with a speed and skill that left Steve breathless. Rhodes may be directing and managing the war but without Edward’s tinctures and potions and weapons and armor, the war would have been lost long ago.

And when he’d been kidnapped and held for ransom, their enemy demanding the king’s presence to free him, the king had stayed safe in his castle.

Steve understood it logically. He’d had no queen or heir at the time and was the last legitimate Stark. Even if he’d been the type of king who cared about his people, he could not risk himself for a subject, no matter how valuable, no matter how much that subject sacrificed or gave or how valuable he was.

But that was just as true for him and Rhodes as it was for Edward and the king had left Edward to be tortured. They had tried to force him to make weapons, to betray his king, and Edward had refused. Steve saw some of the marks of that torture even now, years later, and he could not bring himself to love a king who did not care for that devotion, who hid away in his castle and let better men fight for his kingdom.

He was not required to love his king, only obey and serve him, and that Steve had always done.

He’d earned his title too. Both under King Howard and King Anthony. Being the King’s Champion did not mean being his friend. Not that was something he could claim to be, when he’d never even met the man.

“The Iron Mage saved him and the Iron Mage serves the king,” Rhodes points out, as if Steve doesn’t know that. “Isn’t that enough?”

The Iron Mage is his battle brother and his friend and yet another pillar keeping the kingdom steady while King Anthony can’t seem to be bothered. He holds the light of a star in the center of his chest and uses magic like a blunt weapon, the elements of the star sliding over his body, shifting and changing metals as he brutalizes the battlefield. Those that had captured Edward had found their base reduced to rubble and the Iron Mage appeared wielding a power that not even Sorcerer Strange could explain.

They said he was Goddess blessed, sent from the heavens as a shooting star to aid the king in his war, to ensure victory for the Starks who ruled by divine right of the Goddess Herself. Steve wasn’t sure of all that. The Iron Mage seemed man enough, for all he was constantly covered in his strange shifting, shimmering metal. His voice came out raspy and too low, as if he was in pain, and Steve often wondered if holding the core of a star was worth the consequences, but he was the last one to ask questions like that, considering what he’d allowed Sorcerer Erskine to do to him. The Iron Mage’s humor was wry and ever present despite that, and Steve often thought that he and Edward would get along, if the Iron Mage could ever be coaxed into spending time off the battlefield with the man he saved all those years ago.

But he couldn’t quite lay that victory at King Anthony’s feet. If anything, it seemed like the Iron Mage had used saving Edward as a way to secure his place at the king’s side, rather than that he’d been sent by the king in the first place. No one had heard of such a mage before that, after all.

“Perhaps the Iron Mage will come for us,” he says instead of answering. It’s possible. But the Iron Mage is supposed to be on the other end of the battlefield by now and by the time he hears of his and Rhodes’s capture, it may be too late.

Rhodes shakes his head. “You need to have a little more faith in your king.”

“Why should I?” he snaps, knowing starting an argument when they’re literally tied together is a dumb decision, but like most of his dumb decisions, he can’t help himself. “When King Howard dragged us to war, he at least let us see his face, he made an effort. I hardly expect a king to take to the battlefield, but King Anthony stays in his castle, with his drink and his women if the rumors are to be believed. Queen Virginia has introduced herself to the soldiers several times but the king has not. What sort of man is he to ask faith from me?”

“Well, I said faith, not trust,” Rhodes says tiredly. “Tony didn’t start this war and he’s doing his best to end it.” It’s rare that Rhodes will slip into the familiar name for the king, but it startles Steve every time, the reminder of just how close the general and the king are, and how little that closeness had mattered when Edward was captured. “Although I’ll grant you that you’re right about one thing.”

Steve is exhausted suddenly, in a way that has little to do with his lack of sleep or his injuries, but he’s too grateful for Rhodes keeping his temper while he can’t to ignore him now. “What’s that?”

“Tony is nothing like his father.”

[hilsonamore]

Equals

One thing i love about house and wilson so much is that they are equals. Like, wilson admires house for who he is and house values wilson’s opinion more than anyone’s, he doesn’t disregard it or calls it stupid, because even if his idea is the same as one of the ducklings’ / or something they’ve already tried, he listens to him so intently and he always manages to grab something enlightening from their conversation to utilise and solve the case.

Also, their love for each other is mutual, both in its size and quality. They both go out of their ways to help the other, even if that costs them their own lives / personal comfort (think of wilson during the tritter arc and house during the finale of season 4). It’s so renewing to see two characters love each other the same amount and with the same intensity, because in most media spaces (mostly mainstream media), it’s obvious that one character loves the other more, they sacrifice more, they bend their own selves more (this is also true for real life relationships). I love that they would both literally (and metaphorically, house i’m looking at you) die for each other, alter the shape of their lives to fit the other person comfortably.

Think of wilson and his enabling tactics, the fact that he knows when to bend and when to stand up to house, because he knows house values him and he’s probably the only person who he’d actually listen to. Wilson isn’t just an enabler, he provides house with the freedom to exist (while also committing malpractice and crimes of various kinds, but that’s the show basically so-), he allows him to unleash and enjoy silly pranks and just- be.

House, on the other hand, constantly tries to get wilson out of his comfort zone, to make him more selfish, because wilson needs that, he needs to be more selfish, for he has literally based his entire personality, his existence, around the foundation of a family or his job. He is so selfless that when he is around other people he mostly doesn’t have a self. He isn’t just kind and sweet, he is deeply insecure and he doesn’t really know what he likes and what he doesn’t, his belief system gets altered whenever he is with his wives or other acquaintances, because getting away from himself is the only thing he feels comfortable with. But house forces him out of that zone, he lets him shout, punch him, be mean, do stupid pranks, let his inner child and demon outside of that carefully crafted cage he’s built inside of him. He allows and encourages wilson to be selfish, even if people say house is the most selfish person. But house lets go of that part of himself (partially, but still) in order to let wilson exist in this bubble of personal satisfaction with him. Or at least pursue it, and enjoy the temporary moments or bliss it gives.

I just- i love that in their own way, they let the other unleash all of the aspects of their being. The good and the bad and the ugly and the silly and the beautiful and the tragic. They are opposites, but are they really? No, they were just forced to hide specific parts of themselves, and for the first time, they found another person, an equal, that allowed them to exist in their fullest.

[jon-sedai]

Winter is coming... All men must die... But I don't necessarily think that makes it a pessimistic world, or perhaps not any more pessimistic than the real world that we live in. And we're here for a short time, and we should be conscious of our own mortality. But the important thing is love and compassion and empathy with other human beings is still possible. Laughter is still possible, even laughter in the face of death. The struggle to make the world a better place. We have things like war and murder and rape, horrible things that still exist in the world, but we don't have to accept them. We can fight the good fight, I think, the fight to eliminate those things. So there is darkness in the world, but I don't think we necessarily have to give way to despair. One of the great things Tolkien says in Lord of the Rings is despair is the ultimate crime, that's the ultimate failing of Denethor, the steward of Gondor, is that he despairs of ever being able to defeat Sauron. We should not despair, we should not go gentle into that good night. So winter is coming, but light the torches and drink the wine and gather around the fire, we can still defy it.

So Spake Martin 2013, Sydney Opera House

I remember a poll on here a couple months back asking how people interpreted the title ‘a dream of spring’. I was among those who had a more positive interpretation of that phrase. I still think that’s meant to be more positive than negative; more hopeful than bleak. To me, ‘a dream of spring’ is like Bran’s last ACOK chapter. The world is burning, a little boy is dispossessed, but he still lives. And there’s something defiant about that. It’s the perseverance of the human spirit, even if it’s just the little hope of an 8 year old boy. It seems bleak at first, but Bran said it best when he recognized that while Winterfell may be burned, it still stood. And while he may have been a “broken boy”, he still lives; plus I think there’s something sweet about that scene because from a Doylist pov this is Bran officially starting his hero’s quest so we know upon reread that there’s a light at the end of this dark tunnel. ‘A dream of spring’ to me is like a continuation of that ACOK ending. Winter doesn’t mean that human beings, even in weakness, can’t be defiant in trying to love or hope. Nor does it mean that they can’t find fulfillment in whatever little life they have for however long they have it. IMO the above quote from GRRM also highlights why characters like Jon (spring deity), Bran (the personification of summer and boyhood), and Dany (fire and light and passion) are especially important to the thematic and magical ending of this series. Winter is coming, but spring comes after it. And what is spring is not the renewal of life? And what is a dream if not hope lingering?

[clerical3rr0r]

I’ve finally recovered from the latest episode of Malevolent enough to actually try to analyze it. It got very long and that’s not even all I wanted to say.

Malevolent 45 spoilers under the cut

First of all shoutout to Harlan Guthrie for making me cry. Was not expecting that tonight but I can’t even be mad about it because the storytelling was so good.

Second of all, the themes. Where do I even start?

As soon as they started talking about the Boy Brigade I knew things were going to take an interesting turn. As John and Arthur both point out, we rarely hear about Arthur’s childhood. He rarely thinks about it. It was a very difficult time for him and to an extent he treats it as if it’s best left forgotten. While it was a difficult time for him and it sounds like he has complicated feelings about much of what they were trying to teach him, it was where he made his first friend. That’s a good memory for him, and it always will be. In that and in other little moments there, he said he found hope.

Hope is a large part of this podcast and the entire point of this episode. When Arthur feels apathetic and discouraged by a lack of meaning, John reminds him that they can make their own and Arthur remarks that he feels hopeful. When Malam explains what he does, he says that children represent hope in this world. Hope is what he saw in the fire and what drew him in.

Personally, I’m seeing connections to season 4 when Arthur referred to John as a child. He meant it in the sense that John didn’t have the same emotional maturity as someone who spent decades living as a human, but it also works in the sense that John is so very hopeful. For all the horrors he’s witnessed, he hasn’t let them beat him down. Even when Arthur dies, he doesn’t stop fighting until he rewrites the narrative to bring his friend back to life. He still refuses to accept that Arthur will (probably) have to die eventually. And when Arthur brings up the admittedly good point that they could be on a fool’s errand, John argues that others might have failed, but they wouldn’t. It’s a simplistic, almost childish argument with no real logic behind it, but it worked. It was exactly what Arthur needed to hear.

Even though the fire had been lit for some time, Malam only appeared when Arthur had been cheered up while he was in the middle of talking about a point in his childhood where he found hope. I’m sure Faroe was a part of what led Malam to that fire, but Arthur’s newfound determination seemed to be the main lure.

And, of course, there’s Faroe. We know Malam can and has killed people in service of children. He did not harm Arthur. He simply spoke with him, granting him information and peace of mind. Faroe didn’t seem angry or resentful. She seems to be sticking around of her own free will. She believes in Arthur so much that Malam took notice and helped her help her father. Even after death, her belief in him empowered him to keep going in a tangible way.

If children represent hope, Faroe’s renewed presence has a double meaning. When she died, Arthur’s hope died along with her. All throughout the story, it was an accepted fact that she was dead and gone. Arthur had been without hope for a long time by that point. At least, he thought he had been. But even though Faroe was gone, she was with Arthur the whole time. Even if he couldn’t hear it or feel it, the hope was always there. The hope will always be there.

[sunderingstars]

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ CHOOSE YOUR FIGHTER! ⌝

sampo analysis m.list

— a silly little overview of different "sampos" i find interesting

— not meant to be taken super seriously or canonically, but can tie in to some of the theories i have

— in the true spirit of elation, these aren't hills i'm willing to die on, just ones that are fun to play around with :3

— feel free to use for writing/art inspiration!

— i add to this periodically as new sampos catch my eye!

— word count: 3k (good lord)

— 🎭s indicate aha!sampo

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

🎭 sampo "midlife crisis" koski

— at risk of losing his aeon/emanatorhood

— doesn’t find anything funny anymore

— tired of being behind the scenes

— becoming a buzzkill (having “lines” he won’t cross)

— taking drastic measures to improve his quality of life (fucking off to a random ass snow planet to scam people)

note: may lead to a villain arc — sampo "renewed vigor" koski — in which he remembers why he used to love tormenting people, conquers his midlife crisis, and returns to pure elated insanity. this is bad for everyone involved for obvious reasons

🎭 sampo "how're you gonna win if you never take any risks?" koski

— aha took drastic measures to secure their success, either through memory erasure, mortal transformation, giving up power, or all three

— under the radar, civilian aha

— trying to circumvent “destiny” through delusional self-confidence

— enter sampo i mean aha i mean sampo i mean aha i mean s

sampo "ceaseless watcher's special little boy" koski

— not aha but aha definitely likes him

— perhaps an avatar or emanator of some sort

— whether he likes aha or not is up for debate

— can easily turn into sampo "ceaseless watcher get their ass" koski, in which sampo becomes a little too fond of invoking his status as aha's favorite to accomplish his own goals

alternate possibility: he’s aha’s favorite due to his pathetic nature and slutty hip windows, he just doesn’t know it. he thinks his luck is due to his own talent & skill (it is literally outside eldritch forces beyond his control)

sampo "close enough" koski

— not an actual aeon, but rather a vessel for aha’s power or consciousness on varying levels

— perhaps akin to caelus/stelle being a stellaron receptacle

sampo "let's get you back to bed grandpa" koski

— the wear and tear of a long life has taken its toll on him

— despite the infinity of time, he has become out-of-sync with newer masked fools members, who regard him as an “old timer”

— isn’t shown much respect, and is frequently asked why he isn’t as cool as he used to be

— also know as sampo "L + ratio + fell off" koski

— “peaked in high school” energy

— can be either aha, emanator, or similar high status

🎭 sampo "in rehab" koski

— aeonic existence isn’t easy and can, in fact, take a toll on those that ascend from human forms

— he finally decided that maybe he should make a change

— and has thus embarked on a healing journey

— therapeutic exercises include: scamming people, starting pyramid schemes, selling artifacts on the black market, and more!

sampo "ultimate dealmaker" koski

— in a contract or some sort of deal with aha in exchange for power, money, or a combination or the two

— possession? who knows

🎭 sampo "i'm not mad i'm just disappointed" koski

— doesn’t understand why his children have strayed so far

— “where did i go wrong? why do they think this is funny? do they even care about the worm?”

— has the energy of an exasperated parent watching his kids flush car keys down the toilet again

🎭 sampo "horrified creator" koski

— aha & the masks have outgrown their creator (sampo) and have gone off to do their own aeonic thing, leaving him behind

— he thinks it’s all insane, actually, and he’s very disappointed and very tired

— trying to pick up the pieces of whatever mayhem the aha!masks cause

— aha!masks keep him around for fun

— “i should never have laughed at that goddamn baby”

sampo "me and aha kiss on the weekends" koski

— just a silly little guy who has somehow wormed his way into the heart of an eldritch being

— in it for the mind-bending sex

sampo "blasphemy" koski

— technically affiliated with the masked fools but doesn’t subscribe to their beliefs

— thinks aha is a load of horseshit but needs to keep up with what they’re doing to circumvent it

— may have been formerly in a high-ranking position, or just another guy with a mask

— aha probably wronged him or did some fucked up shit in the past and now he has a vendetta

🎭 sampo "stole my fucking thunder" koski

— someone stole aha’s power. that’s it

— sampo is salty

— 10/10 betrayal plot

potential inverse: he’s the one stealing aha’s power

sampo "my boss sucks and i want to quit" koski

— tired, overworked employee of the masked fools

— views aha as a sort of fucked up insane ceo that he wants nothing to do with but is unfortunately contractually obligated to work for

— wants to start a union

🎭 sampo "next in line" koski

— can also branch into sampo "formerly in line" koski or sampo "abdication" koski

— wherein aha’s power or masks are akin to titles or positions that are passed down between different people, somewhat akin to how “crowns” and “kings” work

— in this case, sampo would either be currently in line for this power, formerly in line for this power, or has actually been in power but abdicated or otherwise lost/gave up/moved on from his position

— this could be natural or otherwise

note: this does not have to be solely for aha, this kind of power transfer could work for other high-ranking positions like emanator or organization leader

🎭 sampo "this price was too steep..." koski

— got a bit cocky and wagered his aeonhood

— is now in a Not Great position

sampo "i hate owing people things" koski

— owes aha one

— does not like owing people things

— doing whatever he needs to cancel out the debt

🎭 sampo "i was crazy back then lol" koski

— the universe’s idea of aha writ large is based on an outdated version of their personality

— this always annoys sampo because he has to be constantly reminded of his insane college days before he mellowed out

— the type to reminisce over wine and say “yeah that worm thing was wild. i was crazy back then huh”

🎭 sampo "committed to the bit" koski

— one of my personal favorites

— became mortal as a joke

— ended up liking it a little too much

— doesn’t really want to go back

sampo "worm on a string" koski

— what is a man if not just another omniscient worm destined for tragedy?

— he’s a puppet, basically

— & he just gets wormed around like he’s on a string

— hence the name

— another one of aha’s classic cosmic jokes

🎭 sampo "one of many" koski

— ties into my split consciousness theory

— aha split their personality into multiple people (either as a joke or for a bigger reason) and sampo is one of those pieces

🎭 sampo "yeah i heard aha was super cool and hot and sexy and smart and did i mention sexy" koski

— big fan of the rumor mill

— can’t help but try to win people over to the elation even when he’s supposed to be laying low

— he’s not fooling anyone. just yesterday serval watched him laugh until he cried because a kid dropped their ice cream. he is not slick

🎭 sampo "reverted to babey" koski

— someway, somehow, aha got reverted back to who they were before they ascended to aeonhood

— now sampo is just really fucking confused (and annoyed because mortal life is pretty annoying)

sampo "character creation screen" koski

— aha just had a silly goofy lil day & wanted to create a guy

— so they did

— sampo acts as a kind of controlled character who’s self-aware about his position as a playable character

— or alternatively he was turned loose with no purpose scaramouche-style and is now just fucking around doing whatever

sampo "failed clone" koski

— obligatory clone theory

— aha tried to clone themself. it wasn’t as funny as they wanted

— sampo is the result

— aha realizing sampo was a bit of a buzzkill: “i don’t want to play with you anymore”

🎭 sampo "vicarious existence" koski

— part of the split consciousness theory

— aha sectioned off or created a part of themself that can live in a way they can’t (i.e. have free will beyond the elation)

— similar to the focalors/furina situation in genshin

sampo "trojan horse" koski

— is his own person, under the impression he has free will, but is being used as an unknowing vehicle for eventual Big Aha Moment

🎭 sampo "can't remember shit" koski

— he forgor :((

— used to be aha but doesn’t know that

— most likely erased his own memory in order to accomplish a planned endgame

🎭 sampo "you don't wanna see me when i transform" koski

— dual consciousness theory

— sampo koski as a human is much more rational and reasonable than eldritch-form aha

— sampo likes to stay as sampo as much as possible because he doesn’t like what he becomes when he changes forms

— may lead to a tragic arc where, in order to defend belobog, he reverts to his aeonic form knowing he won’t be able to transform back

sampo "lmao got you" koski

— all signs pointing towards aeon or emanator status are red herrings

— he’s just really good at gaslighting to get what he wants

sampo "whoops i got attached" koski

— fucked off to belobog for whatever reason

— got surprisingly attached

— belobog now has an extremely powerful entity/protector without even knowing it

— “it’s just a weird insane little place. very charming” — sampo, probably

🎭 sampo "elias bouchard" koski

— just a shell for aha, jonah magnus style

— used to be his own person, but got yoinked along the way

🎭 sampo "5d mind chess" koski

— knows exactly what he’s been doing from the beginning

— strategic placement on belobog to meet the trailblazer

— has done a damn good job of coming off as “normal pathetic scammer mcgee” to distract from larger plans

🎭 sampo "just like everyone else" koski

— for whatever reason, aha is insistent that they be treated just like any other member of the masked fools; same rules, same hierarchy, everything

— this results in everyone looking at him weirdly but not saying anything and trying to strike up casual conversation with their literal aeon

sampo "gimme your eldritch money" koski

— the final form of scammers everywhere

— he’s scammed everyone he possibly can, and now there’s only one thing left: to scam an aeon

— chooses aha + the masked fools because there’s a good chance he’ll get stuff just because aha is amused with him

— tries to link aha up with a pyramid scheme

sampo "you should see me in a crown" koski

— either on a delusional self-confident power trip or gunning for aha’s power

— can be aha, emanator, or other high-ranking position, but aha works the best if sampo wants to go all the way up the ladder

— thinks he’s the best ever and can never fail, pairs well with “5d mind chess” sampo like fine wine

— drunk on power/worship

🎭 sampo "wine aunt" koski

— also known as sampo "washed up aeon" koski

— he’s out of the limelight, whether that means he passed on his power, had it taken from him in a free for all, or just wants to retire, and now he’s kicking back with a margarita and enthralling the belobog locals with “hypothetical” scenarios that are actually crazy mind-bending stories from his glory days

— he’s not as great as he used to be, nor does he have the power of a full-fledged aeon anymore, but belobog appreciates him all the same (goes hand in hand with sampo "just like everyone else" koski)

— “geez yeah, ix is so annoying. such a buzzkill, really, that guy even hates knock-knock jokes. i mean, who hates knock-knock jokes? … hypothetically, of course.” — sampo, probably

🎭 sampo "zhongli the funeral consultant" koski

— aha is secretly “dead” but no one knows

— perhaps the masked fools know, but either way sampo has either already faked his death, is currently doing it, or is planning to in the future

— he just wants to retire man, and if that means he has to “fall” then so be it

sampo "just a silly guy" koski

— there is actually nothing special to this man at all

— he’s just a guy. just a silly little guy

— aha is laughing at all of us for even making theories about him

sampo "aha jr." koski

— sampo is a doll created by aha like in the simulated universe occurrence, having the same appearance as aha’s human form and sharing personality & path attributes

— most likely wants to break away from the elation’s influence but doesn’t know how

— views aha as a really fucked up dad

sampo "oh my god i'm in a cult" koski

— raised in the masked fools, didn’t realize how batshit insane they were until a Formative Traumatic Event occurred and he went “oh.. oh no…..”

— estranged from most of the members but still deals with them in the way you do when you hate your family but have to put up with them at holiday dinners

— maybe got to a high position of power before, but left when he realized it wasn’t good for him

sampo "partners in crime" koski

— him & aha are friends, besties even

— knows the risks of working with an aeon but can’t say no when that much money is involved

🎭 sampo "for funsies" koski

— if aha can give the entire universe’s knowledge to a worm for fun, then by god they can give all of their power and aeonhood to a silly little guy randomly for no reason whatsoever (especially if he doesn’t want it)

— constantly fighting against increasingly powerful eldritch control

— “young god”

— canon in my heart

sampo "reality tv" koski

— part of the vicarious emanator theory

— aha gave him all their power and basically watches him like a reality show

— *pokes sampo with a stick* “hey why aren’t you doing anything” — aha, probably

— constant voyeurism

sampo "communism" koski

— part of the dual consciousness and vicarious emanator theories

— one of aha’s emanators that they share their entire path with

— “our” power

— perhaps some sort of memory or consciousness sharing

sampo "horse girl" koski

— “but your dream is to be an emanator”

— “no that’s your dream dad, not mine”

🎭 sampo "aeons anonymous" koski

— aeon in rehabilitation

— wants to start a former aeon support group

🎭 sampo "power receptacle" koski

— in which the masks function as the true “aha” and sampo has given them up or put them away for safekeeping

— “sparkle please please i’m so serious just let me put it back on once. no seriously only once i promise i won’t go insane like last time i’ll be so normal it’ll only be for five minutes please” — sampo, probably

sampo "one-sided hate boner" koski

— man absolutely hates aha (probably for backstory reasons)

— aha doesn’t care at best and at worst thinks it’s really really funny

— “you burned my house to the ground!”

— “🤷”

— “my family is dead!”

— “🤷”

— bonus points if aha makes him an emanator or something

sampo "significant annoyance" koski

— dedicated to being as annoying as possible to aha, whether out of spite, a vendetta, or sheer interest

— aha finds this funny so they let him stick around

— “he graffitied my mask with a bunch of dicks and it took me years to get it off. isn’t he just the greatest little guy?” — aha, probably

sampo "god's silliest soldier" koski

— aha gives their hardest battles to their silliest soldiers

— and that is sampo

sampo "true wild card" koski

— he’s not aha, an emanator, or any higher status

— he is quite literally just That Good as a regular human being

🎭 sampo "cosmic irony" koski

— “man, it sure would suck to be aha the aeon of elation. glad i don’t have to deal with that. i love being mortal”

— “🎭🎉👀”

— “HOW DID YOU GET IN MY HOUSE”

sampo "cult leader" koski

— humility is a facade

— “lines” he won’t cross are a facade

— everything is for the purpose of appearing like the perfect leader (or candidate for leader)

— secretly the most insane out of anyone

sampo "secret agent man" koski

— doing aha’s bidding willingly

— a goon. a henchman even

sampo "tainted love" koski

— aha isn’t the most healthy person to be around, on account of the ten billion cosmic torments jokes they throw around on a daily basis

— guinea pig sampo is TIRED

sampo "sacrificial lamb" koski

— may or may not be aware of his sacrificial status

— created or being manipulated into a position where he becomes collateral for aha doing whatever the fuck they wanna do

sampo "impromptu therapist" koski

— the receiver of many rants and complaints unrelated to him within the masked fools

— becomes the “advice friend” even though this man should never be trusted for reliable advice

— but surprisingly he is the most reliable within the masked fools

sampo "sanest masked fool" koski

— just a long-suffering member of an organization whose followers are some of the most insane people you’ll ever meet

— permanent eye bags for having to put up with them

🎭 sampo "michael distortion" koski

— he was a regular guy once, but ended up absorbing aha’s eldritch power one way or another

— potential assimilation into one form

— aha didn’t expect the joke to joke back

sampo "court jester" koski

— similar to "ceaseless watcher's special little boy"

— the king’s (aha’s) favorite little jester

— and also they make out sometimes

— has a semblance of protection afforded to him by being the favorite (he uses this to his advantage)

— “jester’s privilege”

sampo "try me" koski

— aha is physically keeping tabs on the trailblazer

— sampo is too, but only to swat aha’s hand away like a kid reaching into a cookie jar

— usually a mad dash to see who gets there first

— leads to many situations where they make tense eye contact across the street or smth

— subsists off of pure spite & annoyance

🎭 sampo "favored of humanity" koski

— aha is one of the aeons closest with humanity, and has such developed a more “mortal” frame of mind over time

— eventually if you spend enough time around mortals you might just turn back into one

🎭 sampo "hedonist" koski

— why is he doing any of this? who knows

— who can possibly understand the machinations of what an aeon finds funny

— eldritch humor beyond our comprehension

🎭 sampo "cosplayer extraordinaire" koski

— “so this is my humansona his name is sampo koski he likes scamming people and has slutty slutty hip windows”

— likes to stay in character as much as possible

— kinda like playing a dnd character 24/7

sampo "long-suffering host" koski

— somewhat dual consciousness theory

— aha is just up there, and sampo has to listen to their annoying ass constantly

— can be a joke, chill possession scenario, or necessity for aha due to external circumstances

— may be a side effect of emanator status, or may just be another Classic Cosmic Joke™

sampo "unwilling hierophant" koski

— informercial: how would YOU like to receive PERSONAL and INCESSANT psychic messages from eldritch forces beyond your comprehension?

— “geez ew no”

— infomercial: is that a YES?

— “no”

— infomercial: thank you for signing up for our FREE TRIAL service!

— “wait no”

— infomercial: text "NO PLEASE STOP NO" to 69420 to UNSUBSCRIBE from the Laughter’s FREE psychic telepathy service

— “NO PLEASE STOP NO”

— phone: thank you for subscribing to our LIFETIME PLAN of FREE, UNCEASING, TORMENTING visions from AHA THE ELATION. please enjoy your COMPLIMENTARY descent into insanity!

— “god fucking damnit”

sampo "vacant apartment" koski

— possession receptacle that’s no longer in use and is left up to his own devices

sampo "moved to iceland and became a sheep herder" koski

— living off the grid

— only came back because something bad is gonna happen to belobog

— can be aha, emanator, or other high-ranking position

🎭 sampo "undercover boss" koski

— keeping tabs on the masked fools because they’re fanatical

— “what the hell guys this is not what i want” — sampo, probably

— they say or do something and he’s just like “not funny. didn’t laugh”

— y’know when people say “if jesus came down to earth, he’d be disappointed at what people are doing in his name” — yea that’s sampo but like for real

— damage control

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

© written by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[localfanbaselurker]

I’m watching Voltron: Legendary Defender for the first time and here is what I have had to say per each season (this is 1-2) (3-4) (5-6) (7) (8)

Pre-Watch Knowledge

->big transformers type robot

->pretty alien girl that looks like princess yue from A:tLA

->they are the epitome of color-coded characters

->space??

->there was crazy people in the fanbase that sent cupcakes laced with something to the creators

->queer baiting (this one in particular got me)

->klance.

->^honestly I only knew that because people were comparing it to zukka and I wanted to check it out

->my friend really likes it

Post S1 thoughts-

->that cliffhanger was crazy imagine they weren’t renewed for a s2

-> i went on tumblr after and youre telling me they made that show IN TWO YEARS?? EIGHT SEASONS. IN TWO MF YEARS?? that is insane. props to the writers bro they fr must of known what they were doing.

->all of these characters already scream “doomed by the narrative”

->my fav characters are pidge and lance

->I definitely did NOT expect yue Allura to be British

->bonding moment.

->^like yeah okay i get it now

-> the healing pods are a very interesting concept. Like, what if you get some ailment that it doesn’t recognize?? Do you just die??

-> genuinely felt so bad for Not Yue. Allura. Allura when they had to remove her father’s memory thing. Like yeah I know the castle was corrupted or wtv but bro imagine. Your entire race is dead. your mom, who you previously knew alive is now most likely dead. You already had to go through losing your father once, and now you have to lose him again. Any sliver of hope you had of staying connected with him is gone, because the entirety of his essence is now gone. She’s stronger than me, I would have never given him up so easily. I admire that about her.

->I also made the horrible mistake of going on ao3 after

yk for gits and shiggles… and when I go to a new fandom I always search by hits to see the classics first yk

…

WHY are you guys so 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂… I genuinely shed a tear what. I was flabbergasted to say the least.

On that note the top 23 were about redguy/blueguy getting smoochy-smoochy with each other so I guess that should be a hint as to what you guys like

->the description of the show says the robot (voltron) is operated by “five teenagers” but that shiro guy has to be AT LEAST 25. He is pushing 30 you can’t convince me otherwise.

->for now it’s kinda giving atla except the war is intergalactic and lasted 10,000 years instead of 100.

->all the other characters seem to have a pretty clear background, but we haven’t yet heard about Keith’s backstory, so I want to know (I know now, this was my initial thought)

->shiros backstory/ptsd is very interesting, lots of angst possibilities i see

-> I had an inkling that pidge was…genderly different. (At first I thought she was transmasc)

Post S2

-> WHERE is my man. Where did he go.

-> Pookie please come back. Now. It’s not a suggestion.

->KEITH BACKSTORY I PREDICTED THEY WERE GONNA SHOW US YAY I LOVE BEING RIGHT

-> he’s galra! Soooo much whump opportunity

-> the whole “Allura doesn’t hate you she’s just a little upset to find out ur part of the race that killed off her entire peoples and family and okay maybe she does hate you” scene with keith and hunk is really giving that scene in atla: the southern raiders where zuko thinks katara hates him and sokka reassures him (badly) while he was just trying to get laid w suki.

->^ that’s gay

-> the aliens they met are going to be very important, aren’t they?

->^ oohhh so this is where the “langst” stuff comes from? he’s just kinda insecure i think, but it can’t possibly just be this episode that has that tag so high, unless flanderization is just really popular with you guys, but already suspect that unfortunately

->^Allura high key ate with this

->the “Blade of Marmora” people are definitely gonna be important later

-> the mall episode was soooo fun! fav s2 episode for sure!

->^gay. It’s literally giving “two bros chillin in a hot tub. five feet apart cus they’re not gay”

-> I know of 2 ships now. klance and allurance. I only see the former though, the latter seems more like a running gag/unrequited crush thing (for now i suppose)

-> Coran is an icon. I love that whimsical man. he’s beekeeping age per say.

-> I need pidge to find her brother and father man I feel so bad for her PLEASE DOBT TELL ME THEYRE DEAD ILL LITERALLY DIE.

-> pidge is sooooo cool i love her so much she’s literally the pookiest of the pookies

-> Who tf is gonna be the black paladin now. Keith sure as hell isn’t ready for that. maybe Allura?? Cus yk she kinda already leads them a little bit

These are thoughts I had compiled over a while now. I am on S5E3 as of now (07/03/24) but I wanted to document my thoughts either way. I will post on the tag “laura’s first vld”

[burnwater13]

Grogu standing and looking very sad. Watercolor painting by me. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 5, The Gunslinger.

“Hey, Fennec? Can you give us a hand over here?”

Grogu heard his dad call out to his companion. He smiled because he knew what was coming. 

“What? You can’t handle a little Mandalorian armor? Are you sure you didn’t just take your armor from some Mando who tripped in front of you and hit their head?”

Grogu knew that Fennec liked teasing his dad. Most days Grogu would have scolded her about it, but not today. They were supposed to go fishing and that whole trip had been sideswiped by a pile of Mandalorian armor. That told everyone what was important to Din Djarin. He was glad that Fennec called him out on that nonsense.

She and Grogu walked over to the others. That Fennec kept pace with Grogu, rather than rushing ahead of him also made him smile. She was trying to teach Din Djarin a lesson and Grogu wondered if his dad was capable of learning it. Maybe. Maybe not. 

“I asked you to come over here because I knew you’d spent some time in the Mid-Rim. Have you ever heard of a bounty hunter named Bartlebee? Whoever they are, they had their name inscribed on a piece of this armor.”

“Bartlebee? Hmmm. Doesn’t ring a bell. There was a hunter named Bartnlee. He didn’t last long. Got on the wrong side of the Moog syndicate and ended up in a compactor on Takodana. Maz didn’t like that at all. Can’t blame her really. It made a heck of a mess. Let me see the writing.”

Grogu followed Fennec over to the pile of armor and hopped onto his dad’s shoulder so he could get a better view. Hmmm. The inscription looked strange to him. 

“This says, ‘Barter Fee’, not Bartlebee. I’m guessing whoever this last belonged to had to trade it for something. Given what you Mandos are like, I doubt they were Mandalorian, since your lot would rather die than let anyone else take their armor. Probably a scavenger. Why does it matter? Won’t your armorer just melt it down and start over?”

Grogu shrugged. He didn’t know what would happen to it. The Armorer sometimes melted the beskar down, but other times, she just made adjustments to it. He’d coo’d to his dad.

“What about the other names? It’s possible that some of these folks are on Mandalore or part of another Mandalorian covert. What do you think, Fett?”

Grogu turned to look at the Daimyo, who had been standing there very quietly, while Fennec and his dad had discussed the matter. In fact, Grogu couldn’t remember the Daimyo saying anything since they had entered the room after all the clatter.

“I know who once owned this armor. What I don’t know is why anyone would give it to you as gift. This once belonged to Pre Vizsla. He caused a lot of trouble for Mandalore and Mandalorians throughout the galaxy. I had thought this armor had been melted down long ago. I recommend that fate for it now. No Mandalorian should end up wearing the armor of a man who betrayed everyone he knew.”

Uff. No wonder the Daimyo had been so quiet up to that point. He must have remembered the stories his father had told him as well as what he had learned while that whole mess had played out.

“Sounds like it should be melted down for the benefit of Mandalorian foundlings. No need to keep that lineage alive. Are there anymore Vizslas?”

His dad appeared to be asking everyone in the room that question. 

Grogu shrugged. The Daimyo shrugged. The Major Domo, who had returned with the mech and the droid that brought the stuff to them, shrugged.

Fennec did not shrug. 

“Hey, droid. Who is your master?”

Huh… Grogu hadn’t thought of asking that question. 

“You are not authorized to access that information, human meat bag.”

The Daimyo turned to Din Djarin to ask a question.

“Is that an old HK unit? I haven’t seen them in… never. I’ve only seen them in history vids.”

Grogu looked at the droid with renewed curiosity. HK units would have been incredibly old. Did droids really last that long.

“I don’t know. I know that mech is far more modern. Maybe it knows.”

Grogu took that as his cue to chirp and coo at the mech, who rolled right over to him. The little mech began to chirp and beep back at Grogu. Apparently the droid’s name was ‘thirty’, which was a strange name, and it worked for someone called Muun Bajir and Muun had a friend named Vizsla. 

Grogu explained what he learned using sign language because they were all pretty fluent, except for the Major Domo who was still just learning his numbers and colors. 

“Does your friend ‘Thirty’ know where that Vizsla is? Maybe the armor should be returned to them?”

It was Grogu’s turn to shrug and then re-address Thirty and ask the question. The answer was interesting and Grogu instantly wondered if his dad was going to really follow up on it.

He relayed the information. 

“Mandalore? What do you think, Grogu? We’ll bring this to them and then go fishing there?”

Yippee! 

Grogu nodded his head and began to laugh. Fishing on Mandalore! That was going to be a lot more exciting than fishing on Tatooine, no matter how big and scary the fish there were. That was actually a good part of the fun and excitement. Just imagine… he might actually catch a mythosaur!

To be continued…

[rolandtowen]

Chapter two (the last chapter!) of my first Cherik fic is live! Read under the cut or on ao3 :)

It's the greatest gift we have: to bear their pain without breaking.

***

     Erik feels like a drowned man. The sudden silence, sudden lack of Charles' presence--no matter how painful--is deafening. He tries to open his eyes but can't. Pressure covers his entire body, blanketing him with anxiety. For the first time in decades, he can’t sense any metal, and he’s lost without the sensation.

     Did he...die?

     Erik. You're not dead. You just have to open your eyes. Charles’ voice seeping into his mind.

     I can't—I’m so...tired.

     You can. Stay with me. Open your eyes.

     Are you sure?

     Always, my love.

***

          Air comes screaming back into Erik’s lungs as his senses flip back on full force. There's something soft beneath him, a hand on his chest, he can hear the fire crackling, Charles breathing shakily. Erik opens his eyes to find himself and Charles on the floor of the study, his head in Charle’s lap. Charles lets out a relieved gasp as he sees his eyes flutter open.

          “You’re back. I’m—I’m so sorry, I should have pulled you out sooner. Shouldn’t have done it at all, actually—”

          “No, Charles. Thank you.” Erik sat up, intensely aware of his renewed senses. How warm Charles’ hand on his was, how blue his eyes were in the yellow glow from the fire. “I needed that. I needed to understand, what I did.” He squeezed Charles’ hand. “And you can’t keep all this pain to yourself. You need to share it with someone.”

     “Funny, someone once told me that a telepath’s greatest gift is the ability to bear pain without breaking.”

     Erik smiled sadly. “That doesn’t mean you can’t have help, liebling.”

     Charles ran one of his hands in Erik’s hair. “How did I get so lucky?”

     “I wouldn’t exactly call myself ‘lucky’”.

     “Darling,” Charles chastised, “remember how we said ‘no demented penance’?”

     Okay, liebling. Just for you. “What was that, that void?”

     Charles hummed, the change of subject not lost on him. "My best guess is that when a telepath experiences someone else's death, their mind doesn't know the difference. Your brain shut down, even though your body was perfectly fine. You basically had to restart your brain."

     "So that's what you were talking me through?"

     Charles looked surprised. "Erik, I haven't been able to connect with you since that memory ended until after you woke up.”

     "I heard you. You called for me to stay. To open my eyes."

     Charles' eyes filled with sudden emotion. "Oh my darling, that wasn't me. That was your soul."

     Erik started. "What do you mean?"

     "Well, soul, heart, purpose, conscience—whatever you want to call it. That's what I think calls from the void. The physicality of your brain stops, and yet...something still called me, and called you. I have no other explanation than that there must be something driving us humans other than electrical impulses. I’m not a spiritual man, but someone called out to me in that void."

     "Who—" Erik rubbed his eyes. "Who did your conscience sound like?"

     Charles smiled wetly. "You, my love. I thought you’d taken off your helmet, but we both know how that story went.”

     Oh, Charles. “How much time we wasted,” Erik gathered Charles in his arms, and Charles settled into the crook of his neck. But you’re here now, Charles said softly in his mind. “I am,” Erik conceded. “And I want to be a proper partner. Your joy, your pain, your work—I want to help you carry it all. As you’ve done for me all these years.”

     Charles smiled against Erik’s chest. Perhaps we can start with joy. Though, I fear you’ve already seen my most joyful memories. You’re in most of them.

     And you are in mine, Erik thought. We have so many more joyful memories to make together.  

[sunlightandsuffering]

“Is that my name… on your ass?” Mikasa screams, a high-pitched wail as she turns around, her hands already moving desperately to cover up the cheeks of her ass in her far too tiny bikini that Sasha had forced her to buy. But Eren is faster, knocking her hands away and casually bending her over the large outside dining table for a better look. He doesn’t even bother to hide his amusement, the pure glee in his eyes as he pushes her bikini bottoms away, letting them bunch up between the cheeks of her ass and Mikasa could die right now. Because despite all her protests and squirming it is in fact Eren’s name on her ass, written in dark bold cursive, nondescript but big enough to be noticeable, Eren. 

It’s a brand of ownership if there ever was one, and glancing back at him his eyes are filled with mirth, that grin of his all too smug. “Oh Mikasa, baby when did you get this?” “It was an accident, i’m getting it removed–” SMACK. 

The sound reverberates over the pool deck, and seconds later the pain hits her, delayed sensation as she realizes Eren’s just smacked her ass with enough force for it to jiggle, her cheeks bouncing from the impact. He leaves a red mark in the shape of his palm as he rubs over her butt, and Mikasa yelps, “Did you just fucking slap my ass–” SMACK! He does it again and Mikasa yips this time at the impact, renewing her struggles, “Eren you can’t just–” “I can and I will, this is my ass now baby,” He rubs over her rear with a possessive hand, soothing over the mark, his expression pleased as he takes in her new ink. “Eren you can’t be serious it was a drunken accident we’ve been broken up for–” Another smack and this time Mikasa growls at him, “Stop it you asshole!” “I don’t think I will, sweet cheeks, had I known you were gonna brand my name on your ass Mikasa I wouldn’t have been quite so willing to let you go, takes a special kind of crazy to get my name tattooed on your ass.” “It was a drunken mistake Eren, we’re over it’s not happening again, we’re too toxic together.” “I don’t think we are,” He hums, ignoring her now, his eyes glazed over with lust now, his thumb slipping to the warm crevice of her cunt, skating over the flimsy fabric of her bathing suit. His grin is downright feral when he finds her fucking soaked, “Couldn’t leave this sweet little cunt waiting now could I? A sweet girl like you, my name on your ass, I’m the most wicked thing about you Mikasa and I think I like it.” 

Mikasa is aghast, how has she let the situation deteriorate so much, they’ve been broken up for two months, life has been healthy, she even went on a date. And now here she is, heart throbbing, pussy wanting and all because she got her infamously toxic ex’s name tattooed on her ass. 

Eren rubs a large palm over her butt, humming in utter delight, his eyes expression gleeful, “ God Miki this makes me wanna fuck you all the more, tell me sweetheart, now that my name is here will you finally let me fuck your ass, be the sweet little anal slut I know you can be?” 

She is so very, very fucked, but maybe just maybe she doesn’t mind…