#stuff like this makes me feel so trapped. this isn't real.

[bittersigns]

two thousand words of ian making his husband feel good and loved. no plot found here, just self-indulgent p0rn.

It's to the quietness around the bedroom that Ian slowly awakes to.

He feels himself being forcefully pulled away from sweet unconsciousness, and, refusing to pry open his eyes just yet, he lets his limbs roll over groggily to the side. Stretching his arms out a bit, Ian frowns as he nuzzles his face on his pillowcase because the mattress is cold and the spot beside him is empty.

Fighting off the sleepy haze from his brain is an arduous task, but he manages it, although begrudgingly so. He is facing the wall when his eyes blink open, and just like he thought, there is not a warm, sturdy body next to him, being embraced by his arms. 

Instead, there is a soft, Mickey-scented pillow, and Ian can't help but to grumble discontentedly. He inhales his husband's deep, slightly sweet cologne as his eyes shut for a second. It's not physically him, but his smell is enough for now, and Ian is drifting off before he can even think twice about it. 

Fuck it, it's sunday anyway.

Eventually, the bane of his existence—the fucking alarm in his phone—has him getting his ass up, and he scowls at the reminder that flashes on his screen and turns it off. Fucking “meds!!!!”. As if he needs a fucking reminder.

In the bathroom, he takes a piss and brushes his teeth, takes a brief moment to look in the mirror, rubbing a hand across the stubble growing along his jaw and deciding that he can deal with that later. Probably get Mickey to shave it off for him again, if he's in a good mood today, or maybe let it grow into a beard. He's been thinking about doing it someday.

Shaking his head, he downs his meds and checks the watch on his wrist. 8:08AM, it reads, like it always does because he fucking nails routine, and his own mood only seems to only get better. Sure, it would be even better if he had woken up cuddling with his husband. A good morning bj, perhaps. Get nice and handsy while they are still sleepy and stuff.

But, somehow, finding him in the kitchen, wearing only a pair of boxers and a shirt and fumbling with their brand new coffee maker has Ian's good mood skyrocket to perfection, and he's smiling as he creeps behind him, his hands firm as they slide down to hold Mickey by his hips.

“You're up early,” he says in lieu of a greeting, and the quality of his voice is slightly raspy from sleeping, deeper than it normally is.

Mickey merely rolls his eyes, and Ian knows he is smiling too, feels it as he leans to tenderly kiss the skin of his nape. His eyes look down over Mickey's shoulder to watch him pour coffee into their mugs, the steam curling around them, the aroma of coffee rich and familiar.

“Hard to do shit with you hangin’ onto me, man,” Mickey huffs, pretending to be oh-so-bothered by it.

He isn't. 

Ian hums in response, fingers digging into skin, pressing his weight into Mickey's back until he has him trapped against the countertop. 

“Almost made me drop my coffee, dumbass, lemme—” and Mickey is cut short when Ian's lips find his earlobe, body tensing up at the sensation of a warm, wet tongue licking around the shell of his ear. “Ian—”

“I know you're angry because I got home late yesterday,” Ian declares and rests his forehead where Mickey's neck meets his shoulder. “I wanna make it up to you,” he continues, satisfied as he feels Mickey's body giving in, opening up to his touches. “Gonna make it up real good to you, I promise.”

Despite what his body is screaming for, Mickey loves to be a little shit, so he says, “Fuckass Philip doesn't need you today?” and tries to get away from his hold.

Lip ringed yesterday asking for help—turns out that renovating a fucking house isn't a task meant for one person, especially if said person has 1) a toddler and 2) a goddamn newborn to take care of—and Ian, sweet, thoughtful Ian just couldn't turn his brother down for once and make him shove a hammer up his shitter (obviously, in Mickey's kind words).

So, a perfect saturday meant for fucking like rabbits was ruined again. Last week they had to babysit Franny. Fucking Gallahers man, Mickey had complained, can't live without tormenting everything and everyone.

And Ian wants to make it up to him because he misses him—a man can't live off of quickies and rushed handjobs and half-assed head forever. He misses that drawn out intimacy, the foreplay, that sweet reward he feels when he tears his husband apart just to pull him back together again with the white-hot pleasure he provides him. 

Knows Mickey misses it just as much, judging by the way goosebumps rise in his skin when he trails small, indulgent kisses all over his neck, paying a little bit more attention to the small, practically healed hickeys that are normally obscured by the collar of his shirts.

Laying his tongue flat against a faint mark there, the one that is barely noticeable, all tiny and yellowish and forgotten about, Ian sucks at the skin and then sinks his teeth into it just because he can. Just because the sound that makes its way past Mickey's lips is a low, throaty thing that shows him—proves to him that he's right. Mickey can act all high and mighty, so fucking bratty and stubborn, but he can't deny what his body wants. What his body craves.

And when Ian hears him set his mug on the countertop with a shaky exhale of breath, he knows he's won.

“Gonna let me make you feel good?” he asks, and the answer is yes, yes, yes, he knows.

Because Mickey is now smirking as he pushes himself backwards, effectively creating a sweet type of friction between his ass and the tented front of Ian's sweats, and it colors his voice as he answers, “Fuck yeah.”

It's an easy thing to do, getting Mickey out of his boxers, but Ian feels like taking it slow today—lets his hands explore a bit more, tracing the expanse of pale skin under the fabric of Mickey's shirt. He hears a soft sigh when his fingers brush over a small, pink nipple, his touch light as a feather, and a satisfied hum when he takes the nub between his thumb and index finger and pulls.

With a body so pliant like Mickey's, so giving, Ian just can't help but to marvel every single piece of him. Wrestling-as-foreplay is fun and stimulating and so them, but this slower, I-have-to-fucking-worship-you intimacy is always going to be in the podium for him. How wouldn't it, when Mickey groans so beautifully as he slips his boxers down his legs, making it pool at his ankles, and grabs two handfuls of ass in his big hands?

“C'mon,” it's all Ian makes out of his husband's words. “Ian,” he continues, urging, impatient.

Ian thinks about shutting him up, but deems it unnecessary—all he needs to do is get on his knees, spread Mickey's fat cheeks with purpose, holding him open with both thumbs to get a good look of that tight furl of muscle, and dart out his tongue to lick at him.

Mickey's knee jerks, knocking accidentally on a drawer handle, and a hiss slips past his spit-coated lips. “Mmm, God, again,” he's already pleading, bent over the countertop, trying to get Ian to stop with his kitten licks around his hole and actually get on with it.

Just so goddamn impatient, always. Ian loves him.

“Open your legs a bit, baby,” he instructs, petting his ass. “Yeah, that's it, c'mon,” and just as Mickey obliges, Ian dives in, lapping sloppily all over him.

He hums at the taste of him, clean and shaved and fuckin’ perfect, unhinges his jaw to prod around his hole with the tip of his tongue, applying just enough pressure to feel Mickey's legs wobbling. It's addictive, the way his husband sighs, immersed in his bliss as he shoves his ass shamelessly in Ian's face, fingers gripping tightly at the corners of the countertop.

It really is such a shame that Mickey took so long to get used to this. It took him someone to do it right. Someone that eats him out good until he's panting, desperate at the sensation of a pink, experienced tongue pushing past the tight ring of muscle of his hole, getting him nice and wet and wanting.

“Yeah,” comes a breathy drawl from above just as Ian begins to circle Mickey's hole with his thumb. 

He finds himself grinning, sinking his finger slowly inside, feeling the body he manipulates so well get accustomed to the intrusion. 

A thumb is nothing compared to the grand scheme of things, really, but Ian pushes it dry—spit can only lubricate so much before it dries up—and Mickey practically sings at the sting he feels, “Fuuuck.”

“You love this,” Ian rasps out with certainty.

Mickey nods, not ashamed in the slightest. “Damn right I do,” he says, looking over his shoulder, down so their eyes could meet, and smiles that nasty, lost-in-pleasure smile.

Fuck.

This time Ian spits directly over his rim, pushing his finger deeper inside. Mickey brings a hand to grab one of his ass cheeks, presenting more of him to Ian's hungry gaze, and gasps as another thumb starts to sink in. It's a stretch, a more painful one, but spikes of pleasure are running wild in his veins, his sharp eyebrows pinching together, mouth going slack.

It's filthy—Ian licking over both thumbs where they hold Mickey's hole open. It's even filthier because Mickey loves this shit. That fine line between pain and pleasure that leaves him deliciously on edge, heat pooling in his guts, his cock twitching as it stands proudly and untouched. 

Ian laps at his rim again and again like he's a starving man, has Mickey trembling and whining because it's so good, so messy, and his stubble offers a new type of sensation as it scratches the sensitive skin of his perineum when he goes down to suck it too. 

“Shit, Ian,” Mickey curses, eyes slipping shut. His tip is drooling, pre sticking to his fingers when he reaches down to tug at his cock, mind malfunctioning a little because he doesn't know if he wants to push his ass back and get Ian's tongue deeper inside his hole or thrust into his fist. “So good, fuck, 'm fuckin’ close.”

Humming, Ian pulls back, and a string of crystalline saliva connects his chin to Mickey's rim. “'m gonna make you come on my tongue, baby? You want that?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah? With your sloppy hole stretched on my fingers?” Ian punctuates his question by pulling both thumbs apart just so, stretching him open. 

Knows it stings sweetly because Mickey cries out, “Yes, fuck, get your fuckin’ mouth back on me n’ make me come.”

And Ian doesn't need to be told twice.

Using just his thumbs and his tongue, he makes Mickey's legs tremble—when he spits in his palm and wraps his hand around Mickey's aching, weeping cock, he gets him shivery and moaning, and it blends with the slick sound of his hand sliding up and down. So goddamn filthy, so fucking good.

Ian just needed to press the pad of one of his fingers up and grind it against Mickey's prostate. That's all it took before he heard a long groan, a “Shiiiit,” and felt Mickey's body spasming in his hold—muscles flexing and straightening, strings of cum spurting between his fingers, down his wrist.

Mickey is leaning on his forearms, breathing in shallow gasps of air as he comes down from his high, when Ian pulls back again. His knees hurt, his back too, but he can't find in himself to complain when his husband gazes down at him with a lazy grin, not yet fucked out but definitely satisfied.

“Good?” Ian hums, smiling, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

Mickey nods his head. “C'mere,” he tells him.

Ian goes, adjusting the front of his sweatpants where his cock is still very much hard. Just as he's on his feet, Mickey is already on him, bringing him down with a hand on the back of his head to crash their mouths together.

It's a slow and passionate kiss, tongues sliding against each other, teeth nipping at each other's lips. Ian feels Mickey smile against him, small hands trying to tug his sweats down, and he reaches out to link their fingers.

“I'm good,” he whispers into his mouth. “Just want to make you feel good."

Mickey huffs, clearly not content with that. “Not even a handie?”

With a shake of his head, Ian leans down to pepper kisses along his jaw. “Nah,” he decides, “Down to fuck you good after breakfast, though. I'm starving.”

That makes Mickey snort. “Okay, tough guy. Get some protein in you before you nut in me, then.”

And he says it so casually that Ian can't do anything but laugh, pecking him on the lips. “Love you.”

“Mmm, love you too.”

[killbenedictcumberbatchagain]

sigh. why are you doing this to me

[arolesbianism]

I wanna take a crack at making some fake screenshot graphics for my Sif Odile duo loopers au but I do not feel confident enough in my ability to mimic isat's art style and I also have a crippling fear of drawing backgrounds

[dottyistired]

The missing Journal 3 pages in TBOB are so interesting to me in further contextualizing Ford's mindset of shame regarding Bill. We'd gotten a snippet of it in the original J3 release:

But Bill shows us the less pragmatic motivations behind his actions, the mushy feely stuff he was too embarrassed to properly journal, putting certain series events into new context. Particularly this scene where after a whole episode of dancing around it, he finally opens up to Dipper about the nature of their relationship:

"Bill wasn't always my enemy, Dipper. I used to think he was my friend, long long ago..."

But does he really tell the full truth here? The cat's out of the bag, Dipper knows they had a deal, there's no reason not to tell everything. But Ford proceeds to explain his reasoning for summoning Bill as a purely practical, scientifically-driven one.

"I had hit a roadblock on my investigation of Gravity Falls. Until I found some mysterious writing in a cave. Ancient incantations about a being with answers. It warned me not to read them, but I was desperate."

Desperate...for what? Ford would have us believe it was for the sake of knowledge. Yet TBOB shows us that this is the entry immediately preceding his and Bill's first meeting.

Ford isn't some unfeeling robot powered solely by knowledge, he has human needs. He was lonely, lonely enough to summon a demon for companionship. A companionship so intimate, he describes his meeting Bill as the best day of his life, and laments the periods of absence from him.

That desire for intimacy is ultimately what drove him, and even with all his dirty laundry laid out he can't admit that part to Dipper. Maybe he doesn't even realize it himself, at least not until the post-Weirdmaggedon sections of TBOB:

Under the shame of unleashing Bill Cipher's destruction on the world, there's a much deeper shame: that Stanford Pines is not a lone-wolf, unfeeling sci-fi hero, but a fallible human being, capable of illogical sentimentality and longing for approval and (in)human connection. The exact nature of this sentimentality and longing is left to interpretation, but the efforts he goes to to conceal it make me lean towards something beyond platonic. Alex Hirsch seems to agree:

"I think he is deeply, deeply hiding from his real feelings about things, because at some point early on, he decided that he could run from hurt by achievement and by creation, and has dug that hole so deep that he has no relationships. He doesn't have friendships, he doesn't have romantic relationships, he is someone trapped in a tower of his own mind and estranged. Ford shows none of that. He has sublimated himself romantically so, so deeply. (…) I really thought of Ford kind of like Tesla in that realm.”

TL;DR Ford is up in his feelings about Bill and repressing hard. This is also eerily reminiscent of the self-blame abuse survivors engage in, the hesitance to tell others, and shame over persisting feelings for their abuser.

[centrally-unplanned]

To talk about monopoly & antitrust, I want to start off with your first day in Econ 101, when you learn "how prices work". The toy model that nearly everyone learns as one of the first things ever is that classic supply-and-demand graph of price and quantity; you know it, I don't need to show it. And in relation to how firms set price in a market, the explanation you get is something like:

"In a world with perfect information, zero transaction costs, rational agents, and no barriers to entry, new firms and/or increased output will enter the market until marginal price equals marginal cost"

This (seemingly) portrays a model where new companies "entering the market" is how prices go down. Like say there are Firms A, B, and C, engaging in oligopolistic pricing for a normal good; what happens is some new Firm X (with the same production costs) emerges with the sole business strategy of "offer prices lower than them because they are skimming" and it drives everyone's prices down in a race to the bottom. That, in a sense, competition between identical firms drives the price equilibrium.

That isn't very true, not in practice and not even theoretically; the 101 stuff just sort of biases you to see it that way. Firm X above is being rational in one way but silly in others; why would it enter a market where its competitors are making healthy profits just to fuck that up, knowing it has no advantage they can't immediately replicate in response? And pay all the fixed costs other firms have already paid to make that 0.1% profit? In real life firms almost never do this, they compete over (actual or perceived) advantage or market segmentation. And it also means that - if all firms are truly the same in a market - cooperating on price, far from being aberrant behavior, is the natural thing to do. Why would I look at my rival firm and lower my price to "undercut" them, knowing that they 100% can just lower it too? We both lose, immediately. In practice, companies often set their prices by looking at the prices of competing firms and matching them!

Many things actually drive the price equilibrium of course, but one of the biggest - and most useful for our purposes - is the substitution effect. If companies defacto cooperate on prices all the time, why is the price not infinity? Well because if you are selling steaks and set the price to infinity, I'm not gonna buy it! I can just buy chicken, for me it's pretty much the same. And chicken is cheaper to make than steak. As a chicken firm, I totally can set my price under your steak and you can never, ever match it; that is a real advantage, one from asymmetries of production. The price of steak is driven by the need to compete with chicken much more than it is driven by the need to compete with "other steaks". And so on down a chain of a million desires and costs and needs.

So to wrap this around to antitrust, there is a common idea out there that monopolistic pricing is increasing from the past because if I look at different industries, so many of them today are consolidated into 2-3 big firms. Your grocery stores are all Giant or Safeway or w/e it is in your city, if you are buying a TV Samsung & LG are half the entire US market. How could these companies not collude on price? Of course they do, and they don't need explicit agreements that would violate extant FTC regulations to do it; they can just softly communicate and feel out cooperation. So you gotta break them up and change the rules so they can't do that.

The trap is thinking this is any different if it was 10 firms - it really isn't! Maybe marginally, sure, and if it was 2000 firms yeah okay the sheer chaos would probably create some price churn; but in the past prices were not driven down by the diversity of firms making price cooperation impossible. The long history of guilds, business associations, chambers of commerce, and so on shows that they had plenty of avenues for cooperation - and often did straight-up set prices. Meanwhile, when Wal-Mart, Target, Aldi, and others all cut prices at around the same time, they are not mainly competing with each other. If they were they would just mutually agree to not do that, without even saying anything! How stupid do you think they are? That isn't hard to do. Instead they are competing with Amazon; with boutique local stores; with restaurants; with the changing price of labor; with shifting consumer sentiment and expectations. The industry concentration doesn't matter.

Until it does of course! Because what is the substitution good for oil? They exist of course, but they ain't cheap; people will still buy gas at gigantic ranges of prices. Here, the fundamental structure of the market is monopolistic - and also a geopolitical clusterfuck, but let's not get into that. Producers openly rig prices sometimes, and antitrust actively regulates against it, and it is a hot mess of governments and companies and all that. Are people who hold patents engaging in monopoly pricing? Obviously, that is the point of patents! It is by design; but there are tons of arguments to be made around creeping exploitation of the IP system. Sometimes hundreds of firms in a dominant market niche will offer complex, bundled products where the price of each piece of obfuscated and the value is subjective, but consensus is you can't not buy the product or you will be screwed and since you can't tell what the product even is, let alone how valuable it is, you can't object when they set the price - I hear these are called "universities", but they go by other names in other sectors.

All of the above are something like "monopolies", which maybe are getting worse over time, but they are monopolies for different, product-specific reasons. I think there is a good deal of FTC work and other reforms that could be done in the US to identify areas where this kind of rent extraction is happening. But what it doesn't look like is opposing blanket industry consolidation. And in fact the correlation is honestly pretty weak. Because identical firm competition does not drive the price equilibrium.

[genderkoolaid]

I'm not really familiar with it/its as pronouns. Like I've heard them from people before, but never truly understood why someone would feel that way. Like it's it not feeling like a person? Or is it something more than that? Idk. I really like knowing this kind of stuff because it makes me a better person so an explanation would be super useful! Appreciate you!

For some people it's related to their experiences with dehumanization and nonhumanity.

It's a little bit of that for me, but honestly I like it/its for the same reason people usually like they/them. It's non-gendered and that makes me euphoric. But it's also different than they/them. IRL I often tell people I use she/he/they, but people don't get alternating pronouns and will they/them me exclusively, which makes me dysphoric and trapped. So I like having a pronoun set that ISN'T any of the typical options because it reinforces that I am not being put in one of three boxes.

Plus it/its isn't a neopronoun, its already standard English, so hypothetically it's easier for people to pick up. But unfortunately people get Real Weird about it/its pronouns & even progressive people will try to like. save you from yourself by misgendering you

[stolitzsings]

It's just SO fucking good and so fucking gutwrenching how much sense both of their mistakes make for them

And how backed into a corner both of them felt

It's completely understandable that Blitz would feel blindsided by Stolas’s confession- from his perspective it's coming out of nowhere

But this is something Stolas has been wrestling with for months now, and it's slowly killing him. He starts off his day with an anxiety vomit bc of how stressed he is about this conversation, and he also thinks this might be his one and only chance to tell Blitz how he feels. He's giving Blitz the crystal, no strings attached, so for all he knows he might not ever see Blitz again after tonight. He needs to lay it all out there if he wants Blitz to understand

Also Stolas has been trying to show Blitz he cares for so long: inviting him to hang out for things, suggesting movies and comfort after the turmoil of Ozzie's, letting Blitz take the lead on whether to see him for the full moon each month, plus everything Blitz mentioned to Fizz! Liking his pictures and asking him how he is and all those things that Blitz dismissed because he simply couldn't fathom that Stolas would actually be interested in him. Stolas has been giving him space and checking in on how he's feeling and offering to talk about things, presumably for months now, all in a bid to show Blitz they could have more than a transactional relationship.

And he'd been hyping himself up to have this conversation, telling himself it could go great! Maybe Blitz would be just as happy as he was! Maybe he felt the same and this would all work out!

But even though Blitz does care about him, he's fucking terrified to show or even acknowledge it, because feelings mean getting hurt. And he's been shutting himself off from the possibility of Stolas having those feelings for months as well. He can't allow himself to hope for anything more, and anyway it would just complicate things, so best to stick to nice, safe sex stuff like he's sure Stolas wants to anyway.

So he completely misses all the times Stolas is trying to give them a way forward, and as a result he just can't believe Stolas’s confession could be real. And then he REALLY fucks up. This has to be a sex thing, right? The one thing he's convinced himself Stolas wants, especially tonight? He's thinking "there's no way anyone could love me like this," but all Stolas hears is "there's no way YOU could love me like this."

Because while Blitz has been shutting out any hope that Stolas could love him, Stolas has been CLINGING to scraps of hope that Blitz might love him, in order to give himself the strength to have the conversation they're having now. I don't think he understands why Blitz wouldn't leap at the chance to believe him.

To Stolas, this is confirmation that Blitz still sees their relationship as the same as it was after Ozzie's, when he said their relationship was just sex and Stolas SAW how unhappy he was. Clearly, Blitz still feels this whole thing is about Stolas wanting Blitz to fuck him, and it's not fair to keep him trapped in that dynamic. He thinks the conversation is over, he has his answer because Blitz wasn't happy then so he clearly isn't happy now.

Stolas spends the rest of the scene trying to bow out gracefully. He thanks Blitz for changing his life and tries to escape before he really breaks down. Remember, he's going through an acrimonious and, to be frank, VIOLENT divorce right now, with the person that he's terrified of becoming in his relationship with Blitz. He would do anything to get out of his shitty relationship quietly, so clearly the kindest thing he could do is let Blitz go without making a fuss.

But Blitz is only just realizing that he read the situation so wrong. When he chases after Stolas, Stolas might see it as just another person following him around his house to yell at him. For Blitz, though, he's scared, he's angry at Stolas for springing this on him, and he feels like Stolas is trying to discard him because of one dumb thing he just did. Stolas doesn't know how many times Blitz has been dropped before because of one fuckup. He doesn't get how close he's gotten to Blitz's past trauma. Meanwhile Blitz is trying to get Stolas to give him a second to figure shit out, to just stick with him and not expect him to have all the answers right away.

And when Stolas doesn't give him that, because he's convinced that Blitz is still unhappy and is now just trying to make this hurt as little as he can, Blitz retreats back into anger. Finally Stolas is discarding him just like he always knew he would eventually. Their relationship has been such a rollercoaster for both of them and he just needs a little time, dammit! So now this feels like just another case of someone throwing him away for not living up to their expectations.

Stolas can't hear him asking for time, though. All he sees is Blitz following him to curse him out, to yell about how shitty he is, just like Stella has always done. And Blitz is right!!! Stolas was so crushed by the initial rejection that he didn't give Blitz the space he needed to process things. Blitz wants to talk and yell and fight through things and get all the shit out there. But Stolas is so focused on holding himself together for just a little longer.

Stolas's biggest fear was that he'd trapped Blitz in their arrangement, and the way Blitz tries to ask for time and engagement unfortunately hits directly on that. Blitz is yelling that Stolas doesn't get to just dismiss him, he deserves a chance to be heard and to figure shit out, and to have an actual conversation about this. But Stolas fixates on Blitz’s accusation that he's treating him like a servant, and assumes that he's referring to their entire relationship. It confirms, in his mind, that Blitz was never with him willingly and would never want to be with him willingly.

And it must hurt so much to hear Blitz call him a "pompous, rich asshole" in that moment, when he has been trying so hard to be selfless about this. He made himself so vulnerable with this confession and the gift of the crystal. He put everything he had out in the open. But if Blitz thinks he's an asshole, well, there's no way he could share his feelings, right? He's being vulnerable, and probably expected Blitz to do the same and lay his true feelings out there as well. And Blitz really is trying, but he's still using anger and insults because they're familiar and safe. PLUS there's the added panic of "Oh fuck, how badly did I hurt him that he thinks of me like this?"

Stolas doesn't know how many times Blitz has been abandoned for fucking something up, and Blitz doesn't know how many times Stolas has had to shut down and endure tirades of abuse he couldn't escape from. Stolas thinks he's done all of this and Blitz still can't see him as anything but a stuck-up, frigid jerk. And if this desperate, grand gesture wasn't enough to get Blitz to see how much he cares, well, what hope is there?

He's still reeling from what he perceived as Blitz’s mockery of the very idea that Stolas could care for him. He tried to leave peacefully but Blitz won't let him bow out, still wants to yell at him and tell him how shitty he is, won't even give him the dignity of breaking down in private. Never mind that those weren't Blitz’s intentions at all. Stolas was so scared, so tentative about this, that Blitz’s almost inevitable incredulous/messy reaction was bound to hurt.

Both of them are working off their own assumptions, their low opinions of themselves, and their past traumas, and can't see enough of each other's histories to understand that's what they're doing.

[ko-existing]

Hello Ko! I'm so glad you joined Tumblr, I think out of everyone I know and follow, you are the most trustworthy person to get information from. You truly know what you're talking about and you're very very helpful to us with questions. ❤️ I'm gonna try to make this as short as possible because I don't want to make you read a long, rant-ish question. Basically, I really really need some guidance/advice. Like I need some serioussss help..

For about 6 years, I've been "trying" to manifest, reality shift etc. I was focused on desires and getting. I was focused on doing methods to get things and "trying" things. would look all the time for information and "how to's" because I just wanted to shift realities so badly so I could experience all of the crazy things I would imagine. Nothing ever worked for me, not once in those 6 years. I eventually started to panic and think I was wasting years of my life on stuff that wasn't real (yet I'd still hope and try anyway) however I found non-dualism. Like I said, I was VERY focused on desires and getting, so as much as I told myself that I understand non-dualism, deep down I was still attached to ego and understood nothing. I viewed nondualism as a method. I still wanted desires deep down, even if I tried to say "No I want to be free!". I've now come to accept that if I truly want to be free, I need to genuinely STOP seeking desires and things of the ego. I need to accept that if I'm gonna be stuck on desiring, then ND isn't for me. So with that said, I told myself I'd follow non dualism properly and I wouldn't use it as a manifestation or shifting method.

This is the part where I ask for advice. When you're someone who has been stuck up on wanting to shift realities and get things so badly, for SO long, it's hard to let it all go suddenly. I don't know how to drop these thoughts that I get. I feel delusional and depressed because I hate this "life". I remind myself that it isn't real but then I feel insane and I tell myself I need to accept reality and stop hoping for miracles. I no longer wish to fulfill desires or use methods, I want to be free from feeling like this, I want to genuinely not live as if I'm ego anymore but it feels like my thoughts never stop. In the back of my mind, I always think "but I just wanna shift" "I'm delusional" "I am this body/mind"

Ko, I need any kind of guidance. Is there some materials I should read? I'll honestly read whatever books necessary. I don't know what to do 😅 I want to have the same understanding you do. I go to sleep every night thinking "maybe I can wake up in a new reality" and it completely defeats the purpose of me having no duality. I'm always hoping and trying, even when I don't want to "hope" or "try". I get so confused so easily and I think about going back to manifestation, but it never worked and I got depressed because of it. I want to free myself from these ego emotions, free from thinking I need this or that, free from having duality. I want to TRULY understand nondualism and live that way. Forgive me if this is long! I didn't intend to trauma dump or vent in your ask box, like I said before you're just one of the people I trust most. You're very knowledgeable on nondualism and I appreciate your posts very very much 🤍

First step, understand that Non dualism is ONLY(!!!!!!!!!!) a POINTER to what 'you' are. Being fixiated on 'trying to understand ND' is a trap you shouldn't fall into. I used it as a pointer(!) i do not "practise" any concepts.

I cannot stress enough how it is ONLY A POINTER, NOT THE "SOLUTION" NOR "ABSOLUTE TRUTH". "THAT" which you fundamentally are, IS Absolute.

Who has been "trying" all this time? -> The 'person' you THINK you are.

Who "wants" to understand? -> The 'person' you THINK you are

Use it as a pointer and then drop it.

I'm so serious, NEVER see it as the solution, it is a trap to do so. It will help as a start but go BEYOND that. It is nothing but another concept TO HELP.

A lot of you speak about the "ego" like it is some separate entity causing confusion and suffering but it is not. It is ONLY(!!!!!) who you THINK(!!!!) you are. If you stopped thinking about it, could you tell me who you seemingly are?

There are no books needed to """understand""" the basics of this concept, even if you read it, to drop it and be beyond such illusory concepts, is something that is done with or without books.

What you are can NEVER be defined. "THAT" has no name, no label, no characteristics. Nothingness. Yet it seems(!!!!!!) to contain "everything".. but "everything" = "nothingness".

By repeatedly returning to "Nothingness", it becomes clear that you never actually left that "Nothingness" and that it is everywhere.

Drop every label and concept. Everything you SEEM to know. What are you left with?

-> " "

If 'you' want to, you can listen to "YourHigherSelf" on YouTube or the shorter videos of Swami Sarvapriyananda on YouTube.

But again, seeking continously for the Absolute, is a funny game and an even funnier trap. Have enough discipline to not do that and simply BE.

[partycatty]

DUDE THE DARK JOHNNY FICS ARE KILLING ME you ate them up please write more pookie!! It can be any concept but if you can’t think of one I was thinking, Johnny went to go shoot a film and just wanted you sitting at home being pretty, until you decided to pack everything that was yours and leave like entirely(let’s say to a different state or smth) clothes,shoes,bags, everything gone and he goes bonkers trying to find you or whatever LOVE YOU POOKS😘😘😘😘

OOOOHHHHHHH LOVE U MORE POOKIE BEAR

dark star!johnny cage > i'll find you

you hit your limit with johnny and abandoned the life he trapped you in. to say he isn't happy is a major understatement.

warnings: yandere johnny boy, abusive relationship

notes: i love how collectively mentally ill we are, love you babes

part 1* / part 2* / part 3* / part 5* / part 6*

*parts are one-shots, this is not a consistent series.

masterlist <3

• things were going okay, so johnny thought. gifts were pouring in, the media seemed happy, and you were quiet. quiet was good to johnny. it meant you ran out of energy to protest. what he didn't realize, though, was that you were quiet to avoid raising suspicion.

• "i'm locking the doors, baby, so no parties for you," johnny would tease often about you running away or hosting parties while he was gone, but regardless he always remote locked the doors when you were left on your own. to him, you were like a puppy that was raring to leave at the crack of an open door. "they've got me filming a night scene and i told them i'd rather kill myself than film in a fake night studio, so we're gonna be out late. remember the rules?"

• johnny had rules with you, to make sure you stayed in line. you nodded and recited them. no leaving without permission, call before bed, and to not cover the security cameras. johnny nodded with approval, kissed your cheek, and was gone with a quick "good girl. love you."

• your smile faded away when the door shut. you instantly sprinted into the master bedroom, locking yourself in the joint bathroom. it was the only place without cameras.

• he had a habit of searching through your personal spaces and devices. however, one of the places he didn't check was your sink cabinet. he found feminine products gross. remember when i said he was immature? yeah. this was the best time to take advantage of that.

• behind the wall of pads and tampons was a large duffel bag cramped between the sink pipes. in it was all of your necessities and then some you purchased with his credit card. you'd sneak them into the bag using one of the designer purses he once gave you after cheating on you.

• after removing it from the cabinet, you set it atop the toilet and squeezed in one last shower. lord knows when the next one you'll have will be, or if hotel bathrooms are as luxurious as the mansion. perhaps it'd be the one thing you'd miss truly.

• when you get changed, you put on three layers of clothes and stuff the rest in the empty gaps in the bag. the expensive clothes and absurdly elegant jewelry stays behind. nobody needs that to be happy. freedom would make you happy.

•you had been periodically depositing money from johnny's account into your own secret checking account, one you opened without his approval. he needed to monitor your purchases, so he instead just gave you a credit card in his name. over the last year you'd move small quantities over until you had enough to run away and sustain yourself. sure, it was stealing. but is a multi-millionaire going to miss a few thousand?

• when you were sure everything was packed and ready, you squeezed yourself through the small window in the bathroom and took off as quickly as you could, careful to stay in the blind spots of the cameras you'd studied prior. you then climbed onto a long distance bus, showing the ticket you purchased weeks in advance, and you were off.

• it didn't feel real at first. you watched malibu fade from the bus window, glancing around at the ordinary people sitting alongside you. you were so disheveled and definitely not dolled up, people probably wouldn't recognize you. you purchased the first ticket available, one that was taking you to arkansas. hundreds of miles away, and loads of people to blend in with. nobody would think to find you there, since it had nothing awaiting you. you managed to stabilize yourself and recollect your plan you meticulously planned in your head while the hills rolled with you.

• after a couple hours of shooting, johnny sat in his little diva throne and opened his phone to his surveillance app. tapping through his home, panic set in when you didn't appear on a single camera. maybe you were in the bathroom, he thought. after waiting, you never emerged. the house was empty.

• one new voicemail.

• "hey-y-y," johnny's nervous, gritted laughter played through your phone. "i'm not seeing you on the cameras. call me."

• one new voicemail.

• "seriously, woman. where are you? this isn't funny."

• one new voicemail.

• "i'm coming home. you're making me leave work early. i'm gonna call the fucking cops. you think you're so smart? you've got two hours to come home, and if not, i'll find you, whether you like it or not."

• you snapped your phone in half, discarding it at the bus's front trash can.

• johnny arrives home, slamming doors open and turning every piece of furniture around. chairs fly across the room, your once neatly organized closet is torn to shreds. he finds your belongings short of his usual counting and puts it together. you ran away, you—

• johnny sinks to the ground, gripping his hair so tight he's nearly pulling chunks out. he's laughing so hard from mania that drool is rocketing from his mouth with the Textbook Crazy Eyes.

• he texts and texts, probably well over a couple hundred times. the messages remained undelivered, yet he kept barraging the deactivated number in hopes that the next message would come through. surely he couldn't get the police involved. "hey guys, my girlfriend ran away from me because i controlled her entire life!" yeah. that'd end in handcuffs.

• so instead, he lies. it's his specialty. he dials 911, and channels the mania into a false desperation. he sobs into the phone, claiming that you're extremely mentally unwell and must be returned to him ASAP.

• johnny spends the next week posting your face everywhere on social media. you and him become, yet again, the talk of the country, but for once it seems like a genuine concern. with the way he painted things, you were insane and in danger if you were away from him, and you needed him to protect you. johnny painted himself as the savior, making charity campaigns to raise money for search parties. his home is full of gifts in your honor.

• he'd drink and smoke, something he didn't usually do, just to relieve this insane stress. he felt like his other half became untethered, like his entire world was falling apart. as much as he controlled you, he really did love you in his own fucked up way. he needed you, more than you needed him. you were the one person that would agree with him no matter the situation. he loved how you made him feel.

• meanwhile, you're basking in the sun by the hotel pool as you browse nearby apartments. it felt foreign to make your own decisions, and you had zero concern over whether or not the place would be up to his par. it was up to you now, and you loved it.

• you just had to hope that johnny wouldn't find you himself. lord knows what he'd do to you.

[i-cant-sing]

Naoya becoming a yandere after reader breaks up with him (because why wouldn't she? He's an ass). Naoya realises how terribly he misses you, he misses how you would dote on him, give him all your attention even when he was a jerk, how you would look at him so lovingly like he was your entire world.

But you had just about enough of him berating you and when you finally found him cheating, you turned around and left without saying a word.

It wasn't supposed to bother him- he is above having something as trivial as "girl troubles".

But it does bother him, more so when he sees how quickly you've moved on, going on dates. It hurts- no, no, stupid shit like this can't hurt him. It's INSULTING how easily you've replaced him.

Yeah, insulting. How dare you try to sleep with other people after like what? 2 months after your breakup? What about all the crap about you saying how he's your soulmate? Huh? What the fuck, Y/n? And why the hell does this coffee taste like crap? He made it the same way you did- HE WAS THE ONE WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO MAKE IN THE FIRST PLACE SO WHY WONT IT TASTE THE SAME?!

By the sixth month, Naoya was a mess. One night stands don't hit the same, dating isn't fun anymore, he can't sleep without having a dozen pillows on the bed(if only to feel like you were still there) and everything tastes like shit (even if they were made by Michelin starred chefs)

He's miserable without you. He understand that you left him because he was a selfish bastard who cheated but... he doesn't deserve to be punished like this, especially not with you enjoying your life as if he never existed.

So... he'll be selfish again.

He kidnaps you, locks you in his room, and then joins you on the bed, making sure to position you so that your head rested on his chest and he finally fell at peace as his heart beats matched yours.

Of course when you wake up, youre screaming and trying to pull away. Naoya simply grunts, pulls you closer to him until his chest muffles your screaming, and traps your lower body between his legs.

"Geez, shut up, will ya? I'm trying to sleep here."

You bite at his chest (tiddy hehe), and be recoils back. "NAOYA, WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING HERE?!"

Naoya sighs, leaning down to kiss your nose. "I missed you and your childish antics."

"Oh you missed me? Then text or call me instead of fucking kidnapping me!"

"Why are you yelling?" Naoya glared. "I didn't kidnap you. I just... surprised you by bringing you back home."

"Home? Are you on drugs? You do remember me breaking up with you, right?" You asked.

Naoya shook his head. "Ahhh, technically you didn't break up with me. You walked in on me-" "-cheating" "- Yes, stop interrupting me, and then you packed you stuff and left without saying anything. So, technically, you did not break up with me."

You look at him, perplexed. Is he for real?

"Oh well, my bad I guess. I just thought you'd be smart enough to figure out that our relationship went down the drain the moment you decided to sleep with someone else!" You closed your eyes, still struggling against. "Well, I'm informing you now. I'm breaking up with you, Naoya."

"I refuse."

"What? This is not how it goes-"

"Yes it is. You proposed to break up with me. I rejected your proposal. Now, we're a happy couple again."

"NAOYA-!" But he muffled you again with his chest.

"Shh, go to sleep. And if you bite me this time, I'll bite back darling." He whispered, kissing your ear lobe.

"I don't know what I ever saw in you." You mumbled.

Naoya smiled smugly. "It was probably my big dick."

You looked him dead in the eyes. "I've taken dumps bigger than your shrively, little worm, Naoya. Stop lying to yourself-" He shoved your face back into his chest, hoping to suffocate you.

^naoya after your fell asleep and he thought over your words.

[niichanism]

another throwaway-ish acesabo fic i might finish eventually maybe not. the logic and characterization started bugging me but also this ain't about that. i wanted to write alpha sabo wearing a muzzle while rejection-sensitive omega ace is extremely pissed to be denied kissies

Me in 2014, unenlightened: omegaverse is just a cheap tactic to make stoic blorbos pathetic Me now: I think ace one piece should experience PMS 

set ambiguously after marineford but ace lives + nothing huge is going on with the RA

TW: omegaverse, pre-heat pms??? lmao, this one actually isn't that spicy it's just silly summary: ace: what if you helped me with my heat. hahaahaha jk. unless sabo: (malfunctions)

“Another meeting?”

Even Ace is surprised at the sharpness in his voice. It's been jumping out of him these last few weeks. He wants to swallow it back down, this twitchiness, but as Sabo turns his good eye back to him, he tries laughing it off instead.

“Yep.” His brother shrugs, smiling. “Duty calls.” “Hmm.”

Ace had his responsibilities as second division commander, but they so rarely involved paperwork. Everything was hands-on, on the go. Meetings were like rallies or even parties more often than not.

He misses it a lot. It feels wrong to sail under any other flag. But Pops was good at protecting people, and that's something Ace can do. Besides, Sabo is here. Sabo, who still has a way of keeping Ace relatively sane– up until recently, at least. There’s a moment where Sabo catches his withered expression, but neither of them say anything. 

Ace falls back on teasing, hand on hip. “I’m just wondering if you ever get to have any fun is all.” “I have plenty of fun, Ace,” Sabo huffs, “especially when you’re around.” “Oh, yeah?” Ace is fairly sure— Sabo must be thinking of the fun they had a few weeks ago.

They’d saved a coastal town from some shitty pirates, which was already a good time in itself. They went to the tavern to drink– the place had good stuff, on the house for good deeds– went back to a good room– it’s actually pretty foggy from there. The emotions remain more than the specifics.

But he remembers riding Sabo stupid. Lighting the lamps so he could see when the sky went dark. And how pretty he looked, panting, his golden hair haloed on the bed. His bruising grip on Ace’s thighs. The sensation of his cock swelling like he could knot Ace outside of a mating cycle. He remembers Sabo’s face, lost in pleasure– growling, even– eyes scrunched tight, the flash of his white fangs in his open mouth.

He remembers thinking that it was so good. In the morning, though, Sabo was gone. He’d left a note on the nearest surface, in a rough scrawl: gone on mission

S

The total lack of specifics was somehow just like him, so Ace had huffed and climbed back into bed. Half-conscious, he’d searched the sheets for the elusive scent so often trapped beneath Sabo’s stuffy, high-necked outfits. And he tried to pull together soft little shreds of memory from the previous night. He hadn’t meant to ruminate. Just to check. Because no matter how he turned it over in his head, it all still seemed like a dream. And if it had happened, should it have happened at all? They never talked about it. Busy, busy days in the Revolutionary Army. Normal, normal brothers who were still learning each other a year after meeting again. Maybe Ace had made a mistake. All those vivid images were  tiny embers that refused to die– for weeks now, he was plagued with curiosity. Then shame. 

When they first met again, Sabo hadn’t reacted to his second sex beyond a small, almost comical lift of his brows. Ace had been equally cool about it on the outside, and he held himself to that, but the fact that Sabo was an unclaimed alpha had gotten under his skin.

If he was going to be honest with himself, it was posing a real fucking issue. 

Ace had always been on the more impulsive side, but he really thought he smoothed that out– if not in terms of danger, then at least when it came to getting along with people.

Of all people, Sabo should test him the least. 

And it sucks because he doesn’t, really. He and Ace still get on well. Better than well. What he's testing are Ace’s instincts.  Ace had always been able to ignore them in the past, so their constant pounding in his head had surprising power and he ended up blurting out stupid shit like never before. He hadn't even been that clingy when they were kids. He knew and yet the antsy energy remained, dunking his moods and driving him crazy.

“That’s a relief,” Ace says, throwing him his utmost charming, normal smile. Sabo doesn't seem to take it at face value– figures– but past the semi-concerned twitch of his brow, he manages not to fuss over it for about three seconds. 

“I’m glad, too. Are you… is everything good?”

“Everything's good,” Ace assures, a little too quick. The last thing he wants is Sabo looking at him like that.  “Go on, don't be late,” he urges good-naturedly, sending him off with a lazy wave. “You just let me know if you need any countries set on fire or anything, yeah?”

Sabo looks like he wants to ask something else, but they have another half-conscious second of conversation with their eyes. Sabo’s face crinkles slowly into a smile, and he leaves, taking part of Ace's peace of mind along with him. 

*

A week later, Ace visits Sabo in his room. “G’morning,” he yawns, hand on the doorframe. Sabo looks up from his desk– coffee in one hand, paper in the other.

“Ace. Good morning. Where have you been?” Sabo asks, casual enough. 

Ace closes the door behind him and leans against it, nearly clenching his teeth against the nerves in his gut. “Sphinx,” he replies cheerfully. “To visit Pops and Marco.”

Sabo turns away to set his newspaper down. “I see. How's Marco doing?”

“Good,” Ace replies. “He’s on top of things as usual. I just help out here ‘n there.”

The revolution lets him come and go as long as he's smart about it. Well, Sabo lets him come and go. Most of the world still thinks Portgas D. Ace is dead, and the RA thinks he should keep it that way until it's the right moment for a blaze of glory. 

No way that's happening until Ace gets his head screwed on straight again. But it's different when he has to be an omega about it. Show up at Marco’s door like a twitchy stray to ask what the hell his body is doing and how to make it stop. He's got a mind that’s too fond of bad ideas, but this sleep with Sabo or else one is throwing him for a loop. 

First of all, stop taking suppressants, Marco had said, way too coolly. You haven't had a mating cycle in– two years now?

Can't I just sleep with people and get it out that way?

Sorry, Ace. You have to pass a heat. 

Ace had gone quiet then, stomach dropping through the displeasure of it. 

You know, there's ways of making it easier, finding a safe partner…

No, I can handle it. I mean, I'll figure it out. Marco. Thank you.

So there it was. He'd tried to take a vacation from his unreasonable instincts only to find out they had to be confronted.

When he looked at his options, his brain became scrambled eggs. The anger in his heart demanded consolation and so he ended up right at Sabo’s door. 

“Want some?” Sabo asks.

It refreshes his attention, and Ace’s eyes fall upon the mug in Sabo’s elegantly gloved hand. That other kind of hunger stokes cinders inside of him. “Nah. Coffee's gross.”

Sabo smiles against the rim of the cup. “Useful, though.”

“How about we get some food in you down at the mess hall, too?”

Sabo raises his eyebrows. “Wouldn't turn that down. Give me a second.”

Ace glances around while the desk gets organized. “I also wanted to ask a favor.”

Sabo pauses where he's just stood up, and looks over, a little too keen for Ace’s liking. “Yeah?”

“See, I was wondering if I could…” he starts– then shakes his head, laughing at himself. He didn't learn to be polite for Sabo. He comes closer and clasps his hand firmly on Sabo’s shoulder, ignoring the low screech of desire that comes with it. “No, let me start over. Will ya lend me some of your clothes?”

He can't help the light pink flush on his own cheeks, but he's genuinely pleased at how Sabo’s face changes. 

He does the eyebrow lift thing, and his hazel-eyed stare becomes that much more sharp, like this simple question does what the coffee couldn't. Ace likes that he doesn’t look away. But then, he's also at a loss for words, unspoken or otherwise. If they'd never been separated, if Ace wasn't a tough guy and Sabo wasn't a child soldier, this would be an easy script to follow. 

Sabo glances down as if he has to examine what he's already got on. Those tough, tan pants that fall just right and the flouncy undershirt and fitted vest; Ace is vaguely amazed at how well put together he looks when the sun’s not even past the rocky horizon of Baltigo outside. 

“Lend you my clothes?” he repeats. “Here I thought you had such a problem with them.”

Well, yeah, they make Sabo look snooty as fuck and they seem as freeing as a straitjacket, but–

“I do, but nesting’s not about fashion, it's about scents.”

“Oh… that's what you mean?”

Now why is Sabo so alarmed, blushing like a village maiden?

“What?” Ace asks, pinning him with an edgy, somewhat challenging look. He crosses his arms, since Sabo looks like he wants to sink into the floorboards. “Why are you so surprised? Did you think I don't nest?”

“Well, no–”

“I nested even when we were kids. It was like the one normal thing I did.”

Sabo laughs haltingly. “I remember. It's just that you insisted it was for Luffy’s sake–”

“Yeah, we thought it might make him less whiny,” Ace reminds him. What a puzzle that had been. Pups raising pups– that Luffy turned out half-decent was a fucking miracle, and maybe Sabo had more of a hand in it than he did. The angel on his shoulder had a lot more sway when it spoke with Sabo’s voice. Makino had loved the idea of their nesting with the clothes she brought, though. Everyone loved Makino, so if she thought it was a good idea, Ace had figured it was. “I guess I just got in the habit, man. You don’t actually have to give me anything, don’t worry about it.” Bless his heart, Sabo doesn’t let this awful feeling in Ace’s stomach take root.

 “What? No, Ace, I didn’t say you couldn’t have any,” he says quickly, eyes as wide as a skittish woodland creature’s. “Please take something. It just surprised me. Nobody’s ever asked me before.” Ace sits with that for a few seconds. He shouldn’t feel happy that Sabo was deprived of meaningful pack bonds. But he feels light as air knowing that he’s Sabo’s first here, too. “Okay,” he says, grinning. When he catches sight of Sabo’s awkward, half-grimacing expression in turn, he snickers. “Could’ve just stolen some of your clothes to save us the awkward little chat, huh? You have so many, you wouldn’t have even noticed.” Sabo rubs his face between thumb and fingers, flustered. Another stilted laugh bubbles out of him. “No, I mean, sure, if you need something from me, you can have it,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Ace’s smile softens, but it feels like a supernova, a victory. He’s having trouble stripping his eyes away from Sabo, the genuine pleasure on his rosy face. “But I’m glad you asked.” Ace bites the inside of his cheek because he feels like he’s about to start purring and Sabo hasn’t even given him anything yet, hasn’t even touched him. He’s out of joint for sure. “No big deal. Used to nest with Luffy’s clothes, too,” Ace tells him. He wrinkles his nose. “He smells like meat and dirt, though.”

Sabo relaxes. “You love meat and dirt.” “I do,” Ace laughs. “Yeah, Lu smells weird as fuck and I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’ll take your gift too. Much appreciated.” And now that he’s got his consolation prize, Ace yearns to get the fuck out of there. Even if he’s curious about fucking Sabo again– just to check– his upcoming heat is something else. It’s going to be beyond terrible, so much so that he already feels like a sweaty human fireball when it comes to mind, and he honestly doesn’t want to think about it. There’s a reason he hasn’t stopped downing suppressants for two years. Sabo’s clothes and memories of nesting in their treehouse will have to do to ease his fraying nerves. Ace has been through worse, so he should be stronger. He should be stronger. He should pass his heat and then, if possible, have sex with Sabo once more just to get this heavy, cloying attraction out of his system– Ace claps his hands together. “That’s settled, then. Breakfast?”

He needs to do something with his body that isn’t standing here and taking in everything that makes Sabo Sabo. But his brother doesn’t budge or even glance at the door. “When do you need them by?”

 “Hm?” “I mean…” Sabo looks to the wall and back. “It’s soon, right? You stopped taking your suppressants.” Ace frowns, and twists his head over to sniff. “Damn, do I smell rank?” “No, no, you’re fine I think, as long as you don’t go anywhere too cramped or hot…” Sabo’s nose twitches; his mouth thins. “Are you going anywhere?” Ace’s eyebrows jump at the sudden steeliness in his voice. He fixes Sabo with a look on the border of teasing and genuine annoyance. “Sabo, have you never been around an omega or something?” “I have,” Sabo says, somewhat irritably. “Just… older ones, or… subordinates…” “Subordinates,” Ace repeats, teasing. “Well, it’s an army here, Ace, not exactly a family,” Sabo sighs, idly massaging one gloved hand with the other. “But now my brother is about to go through a cycle, so shouldn’t I make sure everything is fine? Are you going back to Sphinx for your heat?”

“Kinda thought I’d just stay here and bolt the door.” Sabo studies his face for a few seconds, then relents, throat bobbing. “Okay. Are you going to need… anything else?” “Well,” Ace starts. He puts his hands on his hips, rocks on his feet. “What’re you offering, Sabo?” Sabo swallows again. Ace almost hears it. Shit, it makes him want to pounce. “Oh.” He shows all his teeth. “I’m low maintenance, promise.” Sabo shakes his head, his smile completely lost on his face. Ace’s head gets foggy and hot and his mouth just starts moving.

“T’ tell the truth,” he admits, “it’s… gonna be a tough one to ride out since I haven’t had one for two years– that’s what Marco said. But it’s short notice, don’t really wanna go through the trouble of finding someone I can trust.” Despite knowing how terrible the heat is going to be– and it’s always worse than imagined– he can hardly think of anything that motivates him less than finding a viable partner out of the blue. The thought has worked like a boomerang, just bringing him memories of Sabo’s hands, arms, lips. Something tells him he shouldn’t trouble his brother with his cycle like this. Something else tells him that nothing in the world would be better. Like Sabo his brother and Sabo an alpha could be different things– and they’re not; Sabo is Sabo. 

Ace the brother and Ace the omega are different things, though, and by the four fucking seas, he should know to keep it that way.  “Are you serious?” Sabo asks. Again with the eyebrows raised way up, his stare both hawkish and disbelieving. Ace’s heart beats like a drum. This is a gamble, he knows. But he’d regret anything less. “Dead serious,” he drawls. Go big or go home, and he’s fearless. He understands very well that he can’t always get his way. Can’t make people want him. He gets that. They do or they don’t. It seemed like Sabo did that first time. In fact, it’s hard to imagine a world where Sabo doesn’t. Kind, loyal, capable, pretty-faced Sabo…

He holds up his hands. “If you don’t wanna, that’s that, but I remember last month– kinda– sorry ‘bout that–” “Don’t be sorry,” Sabo chokes out. Nice of him not to play dumb. Ace nods. “-- it was good! Real good. You’d be helping me out, if you’re up to it.” “Well–” Sabo falters. He shifts his jaw around, looks altogether way too serious, rigid. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Ace.” Ace freezes. “Yeah, you’re right,” his mouth says without his permission. Now his heart’s beating in a bad way. Why’d he say that? Sabo never became a pirate. Maybe he’s not built for that up-front, casual kind of thing– “It’s not that I wouldn’t,” Sabo says with that same hasty voice from earlier. Now Ace recognizes that it’s not an endearing fluster, but a quick course correction meant to coddle Ace, and fuuuuck, he really showed his hand at the worst time.  “I just think– I’m not very available– I couldn’t be any help–” Again Ace’s hand comes down on Sabo’s shoulder. Maybe a little harder this time. “Sabo,” he says heavily, and sucks a deep breath in through his mouth. Sabo shuts up for the duration of his exhale, too, and then Ace smacks his shoulder a few times, grounding them both. “It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re super busy. It’s only a heat. Just forget it.”

Sabo looks more horrified than placated. Damn. Ace is pushing a smile harder than ever before because what else is there to do? Yeah, he’s pissed, but he’d be a prick to take it out on Sabo. 

“Wait, I don't think you understand. It’s not you at all. I just think–” “Yeah, I got it. Not cool of me to spring it on you. Way too short notice. And it’s just a heat,” Ace repeats, also trying to convince himself. His stomach feels like it’s about to mutiny, empty itself of its fat 8am nothing. Like nausea lives there now. 

So Sabo doesn’t want him.

That doesn’t even feel entirely true– But Ace is not going to push it.  No regrets, but also damn him and his bad ideas. Sabo grabs his arm. “Wait, Ace–”

He feels overstimulated and shrugs Sabo off. It takes a few seconds to even formulate a response around his brain mysteriously exploding with something like starvation pains. Sabo looks somewhat heartbroken for him, which is worse. It’s just a heat. Sabo is his own person, obviously. His own person who could probably have anyone other than Ace, what was he even thinking. 

Stalling, Ace ruffles his own hair back into somewhat of a bedhead, and tamps down as hard as possible on what wants to come out. You don’t want me? 

Am I causing problems again?

 Can you just hold me for a while, please, please– “If you feel like you need someone for it, just–” “Damn, don’t put words in my mouth,” Ace manages. He turns on his heel. “‘M hungry. I want food in my mouth. Let’s go get breakfast, Sabo.”

*

They sit across from each other for breakfast in the mess hall. If he’s around, Ace eats there even if Sabo doesn’t; like this, he learns the names of all the dour-faced veterans and bushy-tailed idealists, and they also know not to bug him if he lands face first in his plate. That doesn’t happen today. Sabo sits across from him with that disconcerted look, frowning more than Ace has seen him do in a while– it’s irritating– and Ace stuffs his face like they did not have that conversation. Once his stomach is fuller and he feels stronger, strong enough to hold his instincts at arm’s length again, he reasons that it went as well as it could’ve. Of course he had to ask. Was he just not going to ask? Like a coward? And at least now he knows. Yeah, he feels like a popped bubble or a capsized skiff now, strangled by that rejection in a way he hasn’t been for years, but this time it’s just omega stuff kicked up to eleven. That’s why it feels so beyond his control. 

He’ll get all his hormones sorted with a heat, and then he’ll stop feeling like Sabo’s lost, horny puppy dog. Awesome plan. He slams his bowl down. Sabo’s been talking to some staffers– he really does have his sexy little gloved fingers in everything all the time– and he glances up at the noise. “... No seconds?” “I said I’d help train some recruits today,” Ace informs him, stacking his tray up. Sabo frowns. “Really?” “Yeah– quit that, stop worrying about me.” Sabo takes a deep breath and rubs his neck. “I’m not…” Ace laughs. “Get better at lying. Look, this isn’t my first rodeo, okay? Won't be so bad. And us, we’re fine.” “Of course we are,” Sabo says, and leaves the but hanging in the air.  For now, Ace is fine with that. He whacks Sabo’s shoulder. “See you around?” “Yeah…” 

And the back of Ace’s neck tingles, because he feels eyes on him until the moment he leaves the room. * A nice breeze and a few hours of physical exertion do him good, even if he still feels like a time bomb. At least he can make himself useful until pre-heat starts kicking his ass.  He does indeed see Sabo around. He’s hard to miss at his height, with his stature, having left the top hat behind on this relatively casual day. And casual though it is, he sees Sabo cross from one end of the compound to the other, passing the training yard, no less than four times in six hours. 

Maybe that's not unusual? Except that Sabo stops to look at him every time, arms crossed and not quite focused. 

He's not there when the bell for dinner rings, which raises some questions, but Ace pushes it out of mind. He focuses on the roasted turkey and how he's going to have to ask for heat rations from the cook, who he hasn't quite won over just yet. Maybe in the morning when he’s less sleepy.

He's about to pass out in his room when there's a knock at the door and it opens. Huh. A guy has to question the point of knocking, then. 

“Ace?”

Sabo closes it behind him with his foot, approaches Ace’s bunk– nest half-made and sadly lacking– and waits for him to stand up before holding out a folded set of clothes. Ace can't help the way he perks up at the gift. 

As he reaches for them, Sabo leans in and sniffs. Ace goes still without even meaning to, mechanically closing his hands around fabric. 

“You're getting close.”

“Hi to you, too, Sabo.”

Sabo leans back with a frown. “I really think you should stay in until it starts, Ace.”

“How are you? I'm doing fine, thank you for asking.” 

“Ace.”

His voice is pinched. Briefly Ace traces the shape of his scar again and sighs. 

“I think I've got at least a day or two left ‘til it really sets in and gets, y’know, smelly.”

At age 18 he'd fought off a navy squadron in pre-heat, even, and any pirate in a mile radius knew not to fuck with him. Surely the revolutionary army guys are as disciplined as pirates? 

Sabo apparently doesn't think so. His face darkens. It's tough for Ace not to grin, but he tries. He brings the clothes closer to his chest. Sabo's wearing a whole other prissy outfit– so the ones he brought must've been from today. Ace feels itchy with that knowledge. 

He remembers practically tearing his brothers’ clothes off of them when they were kids, so brashly insistent on tossing them into bed, and laughs a little. Sabo scolded him then, too. 

“I'm not joking, Ace.”

“Obviously not,” Ace says lightly. “I can handle a fever, Sab. You worried about my hot, irresistible pheromones?”

Sabo’s face loosens like a lightning flash before his mouth firms up hard. Ace has the sense he's stepping on something he shouldn't. 

“Yes,” he answers, huffs, and rolls his eyes. “You know, a lot of these people haven't mated in years. If it was anyone but you, I’d probably ask you to use the heat rooms in the infirmary.”

That doesn't make him feel special. He scowls. 

“Don't really wanna be cooped up in any room at all for long,” he edges out. The worst thing is that he trusts Sabo is looking out for him, in his own needlessly intense  way. 

“Please?”

Ace catches the inside of his cheek between his molars.

“I'm telling you, ‘s not even pre-heat yet,” he says. His gland hasn't swollen up, there's no miserable heaviness to his groin, and he still has more than enough energy. So much energy he almost feels like he wants to fight.  

He's so hopeless sometimes. He sits on the bed just to put some space between them, looks dourly at Sabo. 

Sabo's surveying the room. There's a few trinkets, misplaced socks, log pose on the standard issue dresser. He hasn't made a home here, but it's something. 

“I still need to get my hands on some water and food for it,” Ace continues, trying the rational angle.

Sabo shakes his head, tic in his jaw. “I'll take care of that,” he says, and his voice is gentle, reassuring. And Sabo always does what he says he'll do, so. 

Ace frowns though. He feels fidgety, full of tinder sparks. He rubs at his neck, eyes shut. If he hunkers down now, he's just going to be… alone… for a while. And usually that’s no problem.

It's not like this room is a prison cell, but he learned just how slow a few days can pass when there's no one to talk to. He sends another silent thank you to Jinbei for keeping him somewhat more sane for that, but his friends can't do anything about his heat.

It's just a heat.

Sabo says his name and Ace realizes he doesn't know how long he was staring at his lap just now. 

“Ace?” Sabo sounds worried. “You still have your baby snail?”

“…Huh? It's somewhere.” 

“Right. So– that's how we’ll–” Sabo gestures, though he seems confused by exactly what he's doing. He pauses, puts his hands on his hips, and smiles. “You just call me on that when your heat starts.”

Ace’s brow twitches. He's not gonna show that side of himself to Sabo just for shits and giggles. Sabo looks at him and cools down, mouth falling open, smacked with some realization.

“Oh. Right. Sorry, are you still–” Again with the gesturing. “I changed my mind about what I said earlier.”

Ace leans back on the bed, incredulous. His arms are taut behind him. Sabo takes in the line of his body, then looks up. Oh, he's serious. 

“Changed your mind?” 

Sabo nods, all sincere, unflinching eye contact. “Yeah. I can’t just walk around doing business as usual while you're suffering in here. You even told me it was going to be bad. Can't take it lightly.”

Ace hums. Shit, he's getting too used to being saved by his brothers. 

Shaking his head, he pats the stack of clothes. “Couldn't have led with that, chief?” 

Sabo shrugs, smiling helplessly. 

“Will you wait for me?” he asks, voice butter smooth. “I have to get some things ready, and then I’ll be one call away when you feel it coming on.”

“Koala says you never answer your snail.”

Sabo makes a face. “Not fair, she's making generalizations. I can't always answer the snail if I'm sneaking around or fighting–” he takes another breath, pauses. “-- and I won't be– I mean, I'll be right here.”

“So…” Ace looks down. “You want me to hunker down now and just wait for you?”

It seemed like the biggest drag in the fucking world two minutes ago. To himself, at least, he can't deny all the warm, fuzzy feelings dredged up. Sabo also seems happy. They're on the same page again.

“I can bring you some comics tonight?” he offers. Ace laughs. 

He's a world-class wanted man who spent years in the Grand Line, and Sabo thinks he still likes comics? 

He's not wrong. 

“Ehh… just bring me all the papers with stories about Luffy,” he suggests, grinning. The two of them are collecting like crazy. “And the ones about Pops if you got ‘em.”

Sabo smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Excitement grows inside of him. There’s whole-body relief  for the first time in ages. He hates that it's not something he could've accomplished on his own, but– he knows better than that now. 

“Thanks, Sabo.”

Sabo nods. “I’ll take good care of you, Ace, I swear.”

Ace’s ears go hot. He chuckles, looking aside. “You don't gotta say shit like that.” 

“Well, I mean it–“

Ace crashes back into his bed, sprawled over clothes and extra blankets, head tilting back and eyes shut. “I trust you.”

Sabo walks a little closer into his peripheral vision. All serious-faced again. His chip-toothed, wild brat really grew up into a soldier. “Full disclosure, though,” he starts. “I've never shared a heat with anyone.”

“What a surprise,” Ace says breezily. Haha, looks like he's gonna be Sabo’s first again. 

 Sabo doesn't even catch the dig for what it is. Ace clears his throat. “You'll be fine. When was your last rut?” 

“Uh. Not too long ago, actually.” 

Ace looks up at the ceiling, considering that. It means that Sabo’s alpha instincts likely won’t be so intense. Ace isn't sure how he feels about it. He’ll be burning off two years of suppressed heats and also the traumatic stress, according to Marco. 

He worries his lip between his teeth, glances over. “Did ya spend it with anyone?”

He doesn't know why he asked that. 

Sabo sort of stares into the corner of the bed. “Not… really…”

Ace laughs even though he wants to hit something suddenly. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, I didn't,” Sabo says with more certainty. Ace trusts that– and it's not his business, he reminds himself. Sabo’s free, all they ever wanted.  “I didn't share it with anyone. Full disclosure again, I don't like how I get during my ruts.”

Interesting. What does that mean? Ace tongues at the corner of one of his fangs and considers asking. 

He sits up, hunched over his knees. “Sabo. You will be fine. If anyone’s gonna embarrass themselves it's me.” Now that he thinks about it, that's pretty likely. His head dips as if the force of gravity hit it all at once, and he rubs the base of his skull.  “Sorry. I wouldn't bug you with this if it wasn't… believe me, it's just…” 

Something gets caught in his throat. 

“No, Ace, you can always ask.” Sabo is fast to sit down next to him. “I want you to ask.”

“Hey…” 

“You’re my brother,” Sabo says firmly. 

Ace can’t do anything but laugh. That really was one of the best ideas he ever had. He could get half-drunk on it at any time. He lifts his arm for Sabo to cross. Sabo returns the echo of their surprisingly idyllic childhood, then settles back into place, looking rather mindful of… something. That’s the thing with Sabo. He always seems to have a thousand things on his mind, but you can’t guess when or even if they’re going to come up. Ace leans over and nudges his shoulder. “I’d do the same for you if you had a bad cycle,” he swears, “you know that, right? Drop anything to take your knot.”

Sabo’s shoulders shake with his laughter, though it winds down fast and thin. His eyes flit away. “Dude, stop.”

Ace grins, leaning over. 

“Huh, maybe it is starting early…” “Ace, I mean it, please,” Sabo coughs into his hand and then stares at Ace so intently that any playfulness snuffs out. “I need to be prepared for your heat, as much as possible.” Ace blinks a few times. There’s an absurd amount of pomp and circumstance around this. It’s embarrassing, humbling– unexpected. He scoots closer and slaps his hand on Sabo’s back, hard. “Don’t treat it like a chore,” he says cheerfully. “You can have fun, too! I trust ya, and I’m not fragile. I’ve been working on my haki, I could probably kick your ass now–” “That’s not what I mean either,” Sabo says, ruefully shaking his head, but he doesn’t elaborate and Ace is getting sleepy. Sabo pats his thigh and stands up, winding an arm back to loosen up. “Alright, I’ll take care of reading material and the food ‘n water. You’ve got the clothes for nesting. Anything else?” “Nope,” Ace says. He said he was low maintenance and he means it. He shoots finger-guns. “Just you and that dick!” Sabo snorts. Ace tracks his movement and finds himself standing up, walking along to the door. Restless, suddenly. “Good night, Ace.” “Night, Sabo.” They stare at each other. Desire comes to life on the tip of Ace’s tongue. His skin prickles with it.

 Sabo is helping him. It’s too much to ask for anything else– especially not after all of Ace’s insistence that he didn’t even have his pre-heat yet. This isn’t need. Not his health. It’s just wanting. Inexplicable, childish wanting. Now that he’s going, Ace wants him to stay. With his hands, which touch Ace so easily; and his tough, pretty smile; and his scent, like the high canopies of the forest stretching toward the sun. In this stuttering, overborne moment, for once, Ace is unable to get his head around the feeling they’re sharing. There’s a huff– it could be either of them– and then Sabo nods, turns the knob, and leaves. Ace waves. Stands there, processing. When nobody and nothing else so much as crosses in front of his room in the next few minutes, Ace free falls into his privacy– into that clunky bed that’s so much more agreeable when arranged to soothe his instincts. Sabo’s offerings are washed in his scent. Ace buries his face in them. His heat is going to colossally thrash him this year. Now he’s stuck inside this tiny, sterile room for a while, too. And he is so, so lucky. The longer he has his nose to Sabo’s shirt, the luckier he feels.

It’s unfair of him to want more.  -

Sabo comes in the morning with a box of newspapers and a tray of breakfast. He has enough sense to have brought enough for both of them to eat together– they make room to do so on the floor. It’s surprisingly cozy. Ace cheerfully gnaws on toast and downs orange juice while pawing at the pages, eyebrows raised at this or that headline. He always grins whenever he sees “straw hat” emblazoned on the front pages. Sabo has the same enthusiasm, finding Ace first thing to show him whenever something new comes up. It’s been a little while, though.  “D’you think he’s okay,” Ace asks, mouth half-full of apple as he holds up one of the more recent ones. Sabo looks up, slurps the rest of a ham slice into his mouth, pauses. “... Of course he is.” “Uhuh.” Another bite. “Why’d you have to stop and think about it?” “He’s a little reckless, isn’t he?” Sabo notes lightly. “But you said yourself that it always works out for him.” He did say that. It does seem a little suspect though. Ace runs his hand back through his hair again, frowning. He knows Luffy is much bigger and stronger than he used to be. He’s reliable, in his own way. His friends will take care of him. All things that Ace has thought to himself any number of times, with increased frequency in the last few weeks. He can’t wait to start walking himself back from the edge. 

“Hey, it’s perfectly natural for an older brother to worry,” says Ace. “Sure is. Do you wish he was here?” “Yeah, a little,” Ace admits, since it’s Sabo– then he immediately thinks better of it. “Well. No, he should be out there becoming King of the Pirates, yeah?”

One-handed, he shifts some of the pages aside to find a picture of Luffy– well, a picture of Luffy’s wacky limbs splayed across the sky in some foreign land. How can you not root for him? When he glances up, Sabo’s smiling just the same as he is. “Yeah, of course,” Sabo replies. “You know… you know we can call him, right? Well, call the Sunny to talk to him.” Ace huffs. “What’s he gonna say? It’ll be the same as always. That kid....” He takes a deep breath. “We’ll see him when we see him.” “Alright, well, if I call him I’ll say you’re busy–” “Hey, if you’re gonna call him anyway, that’s different–” Sabo snickers. Ace starts cleaning up, annoyed again that Sabo has to play errand boy for him until his heat starts kicking his ass. “How are you feeling?” Sabo asks, setting the box of newspapers aside. “Fine–” Ace pauses when he feels Sabo’s bare hand on his forehead. He squints at him critically, an incredulous joke on his lips, but again, Sabo’s so intense at random times. It’s less work to just let him tire himself out. “You know,” Ace reminds him, gently lowering his hand, “you can’t really check my temperature ‘cause of the whole–” Sabo almost squawks when Ace makes use of his logia from the shoulders up, torn into red and orange flames licking the still air, then settling back into flesh. Sabo blinks at him, annoyed, while Ace gets his laugh in. 

ummmm ur honor i love them. anyway yeah the idea is like. ace in heat is very Not low maintenance and wait. this:

Ace in heat was boldly confrontational, glaring at Sabo like that.

 He started up with I’m sorry only to realize that Ace was channeling all that mysterious ire at his mouth– or, no, at the dull, thin bars of the alpha muzzle strapped over it. 

“You going to keep the gloves on, too?” Ace asked scathingly.

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

instead of finishing the rest of this fic can't i just.. RP it or smth...

[arolesbianism]

Guys why is rain world so good (<- rewatched some scenes and teared up on all of them)

[alexthebordercollie]

Soooo I made thing. I will probably redraw this in the cannon style in the future. As for my own personal style for drawing GF stuff, I'm still fleshing it out. But I have another AU now. My Hand of God AU has Ford committing to Bill and spending years trapped in a very abusive relationship, also the apocalypse so that's fun. This one's the complete opposite direction. Ford and Fidds accidentally come into possession of a pair of twins, these boys end up being the motivation it took for Ford to cut things off with Bill and do whatever it takes to keep him from ever getting out.

(I've yet to flesh out exactly how these two were born but the boys were created through anomalous means.)

On the left is Nik (Nikola) An adrenalin junkie who loves adventure and is an absolute menace to society as is the Pines tradition. On the right is Newt (Newton), a pastel-loving soft boy who will cry if you tell him pink is a girl color and gets overly attached to every weird critter Ford brings home.

Nick is missing a pinkie because Bill cut it off while possessing Ford when he was a baby as a threat. Trying to scare Ford into compliance by threatening to kill the boys. Ford did some very unsafe brain surgery on himself to make it impossible for him to ever sleep again. Cutting off Bill's ability to control him for the most part.

Portal is gone, still living in Gravity Falls though, and keeping an eye out for anyone Bill might try to manipulate. Fidds and his wife are divorced. Emma has primary custody but Tate stays with them in GF during the summers where he often bullies Nik and Newt. But Nik and Newt don't tell their dads about it because they know how much Fidds loves his other son and they don't want to make things complicated for him. Tate is just taking out his frustration over his parents failed marriage on his half-siblings. Fidds takes the twins with him when he visits Tate and the rest of his family in California for Christmas. Ford stays behind because Emma hates him and he doesn't want to deal with her family.

Ford and Fidds aren't married both cause it's not legal yet but also tbh not sure they ever would regardless just cause Ford is pretty disinterested in those sorts of formalities. Whatever it is they have going for them right now works for him.

Heavy thoughts below the cut.

TBH I made myself sad thinking about autistic people and our relationships. The way we love isn't always obvious to NT people and it can sometimes feel like you're not good enough for anyone because loving people in the way you're expected to is such a struggle.

Sometimes I see people frame Ford^2 as this completely unrequited thing and it reminds me of the experience of loving people very intensely but feeling unable to prove it because it's so difficult to live up to the standards most people have in relationships.

I like Fiddlestan as a ship it's cute and a fun idea and I get the appeal but there's a little nagging thought in the back of my head that it kind of implies Ford's neurotypical brother is better. More capable of real love. That Ford was never good enough. Not to say Fiddleford didn't deserve better but the idea that these two couldn't have worked makes me kind of depressed for kind of personal reasons so I wanted to make up a universe where they do.

Not to say there isn't plenty of material of Ford and Fidds reconnecting as old men and making it work but the fact they lost so much of their lives to bad decisions is still sad.

[betterfettered]

Hello there!

If it's ok, could I request the yandere brothers' reaction to mc getting pregnant? I imagine whether it was purposeful or accidental would depend on the brother, so you can choose whichever you think fits.

I do understand that pregnancy and children can be a pretty sensitive topic though, so it's ok to say no if you feel uncomfortable of course!

In any case, take care!

Hey there! Thanks for the ask! This particular topic isn't my wheelhouse but I would do anything for u anon so I'll take a crack at it. Readers let me know if I missed a tw for anything

(AFAB!reader x AMAB!yandere)(Baby trapping, pregnancy, abortion mentions)(18+ readers only please, mdni)[This is fetish content and rape and abuse are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.]

Yandere!Lucifer most definitely planned it. When you finally get pregnant, it would be one of the few situations where you see him actually get emotional, he'll probably hug you so that you can't see his face while he's crying a little. If you thought he was controlling before, you will think you're losing your mind with how he is when you are pregnant. He measures everything you eat and makes all of it himself, doesn't allow you to use any products that he hasn't approved himself, locks you in his room and will not let you out of the bed during the times he wants you to be asleep. When you're disobedient, his punishments will be more psychological, like his threatening to harm or kill a loved one of yours, because he doesn't want to endanger the baby by doing anything physical to you.

Somehow, yandere!Mammon got you pregnant both by accident and on purpose. The idea of baby trapping you occurred to him and without thinking about it whatsoever he instantly decided that he was going to do it. But then when he finds out you're actually pregnant he gives it .56 seconds of thought and realizes what a huge deal this is. He'd be really happy but also pretty freaked out about it, expect Lucifer to be around a bit more helping you and Mammon out with things when Mammon doesn't know what to do. But you'd see his genuine excitement in things like him buying all kinds of baby clothes and shoes (that are like for all ages of child because he isn't checking the sizes) and the really gaudy nursery that he tries to put together. He would love the feeling of having this special connection with you that no one else has.

Yandere!Levi would definitely have done it by accident. He'd be really, really freaked out, and I think the most likely to ask you to terminate the pregnancy. Regardless of if you actually did or not, you would get the sense that he is almost...competing with his own kid for your attention? Like he'd want you to keep playing video games and watching anime with him as though you weren't pregnant, and if physical symptoms got in the way he'd be annoyed/jealous. Or if you terminated he would want you to act like the whole thing never happened. A lot of his negative feelings come from feeling inadequate and unprepared, so if you and Lucifer let's be honest he will also need a lot of help from Lucifer consistently encouraged him and said he'd be great with the baby and the baby will love him, I think he would really come around on it. Like the first time he held the kid his face would look like he just saw a ghost, but soon after the kid would be like another Henry to him (they always listen when Levi talks about TSL!!!)

Yandere!Satan absolutely planned it, months in advance. You'd know this because he'd have stacks and stacks of books about it beforehand, and feed you all sorts of weird fertility potions and stuff. He's probably also going to fuck you in a bunch of new/different positions that he read are good for breeding. Much like Lucifer, he'll be monitoring you really closely while you're pregnant, and have planned everything down to the last detail. He's prepared little potion kits for any symptoms you may have, he has already read so many books on what your symptoms mean, he like takes your vitals every four hours LOL He may also try to distance himself from you a little because he's worried about getting angry and doing something he regrets, so expect to see lots of cameras all over your living space so he can keep tabs on you.

Yandere!Asmo would have done it on accident, but he'd be really excited, sort of in the same way that an influencer would be excited about it. He starts talking a lot about his legacy and wants to talk all the time about the baby's name and how you'll dress them and whether the baby will have your eyebrows or his eyebrows, etc etc. He gets portraits painted of you two all the time, wants to come up with his own line of maternity clothing for you and wants nudes of you to post on his Devilgram so he can wax poetic about the beauty of pregnant bodies. The only thing is, he has a bit of a dreamy perspective on it and isn't necessarily keyed into the realities of your pregnancy. Like if you kept getting morning sick, he may be a little grossed out by it and sleep in another room from you. Or he may not grasp how painful some contractions can be for you. Eventually he'd get it but it would take a while for his head to come out of the clouds.

Yandere!Beel planned it in the sense that he takes it for granted that that's going to be the outcome of your relationship. He'll randomly be feeding you stuff and say that it is good for fertility then move on without explaining anything. He likes the idea of having a ton of kids and a big family with you. You may be able to get him to defer breeding you for a while, but he won't stop talking about kids or the family you'll have together someday. While you're pregnant he would dote on you constantly, insisting on carrying you up the stairs and getting everything for you so you don't need to get up and becoming aggressively territorial when anyone but Belphie tries to come around you. Once he has started his family with you, everything else will just be a distraction to him.

Yandere!Belphie would be very similar in attitude to Beel, but he would be specifically and knowingly trying to baby trap you as soon as he had his hands on you (fans of mating press, rejoice!). He's the most likely to have a breeding fetish and want to finish inside of you as much as he can, even to the point of avoiding you blowing him. While you are pregnant, he would love how your breasts get bigger and will always rest his face in them while sleeping, his arm wrapped around your tummy. He'll be less bratty but more manipulative -- if you complain about anything, he'll ask if you hate your own child and that's why you're trying to destroy your family with him.

TLDR ur probably gonna have to pay child support to lucifer for how much cofathering he's gonna do with these idiots LOLOL

How was that anon? I'm out of my depths but I hope you enjoyed at least part of that. If not feel free to heckle me hahahahaha

[dicenete]

Hey, I'm rambling about IkePri again

Okay, I just need to get these thoughts I have about Gilbert von Obsidian out because I enjoy predicting stuff and overthinking design and narrative choices even tho they might not be right. :P But there really isn't that much predicting other than me overthinking about narrative and design choices. This time there will be most likely spoilers of Gilbert's route so far, and route of Clavis and some thoughts I have just gathered while playing the game in general. I try to put these thoughts in cohesive order, but well... I don't know if I can really, because I just need to get these out of my head. These are my thoughts, ramblings and opinions. Feel free to form your own and certainly disagree with me! I apologize about the lack of art in this post. I'm busy with work currently so no fanart for a while. I'm also not native English speaker, so there might be grammatical errors and such. Sorry about that. Everything under the cut.

To start with Ikemen Prince is a romance visual novel first and foremost. That doesn't mean it can't be deep (and it certainly has been deeper than I initially expect, which left me positively surprised). I suppose there is somesort of thematic vibe that there is no prince whose ideals are the main thesis of the game itself. But that also kinda leaves that fact there is no huge catharsis regarding the world and it's state. Everything so far has been left quite open. And the more I have learned about lore of the world, I really feel like anti-monarchist here xd Clavis really sold me the idea for real. Or atleast throw away the absolute monarchy. That's where I think things should go, but that's my own belief. (really, the last king of Rhodolite... He umm... I have some opinions.) Chevalier and Gilbert First things first: I don't hate or dislike Chevalier as a character. There are just some things that give me Deus Ex Machina feels. But I know it is what they are going for with him. This genius that so far ahead of everyone that it is so alien concept to rest of the people. And well that is a very hard concept to pull off without being a genius yourself as a writer. Or that is what I feel like. But what I do love is what the writers are doing with him and Gilbert in thematic sense! (Hence why Chev x Gilbert sounds so juicy to me)

I really took steps to the deep end as I started to think about why I have enjoyed Gilbert's route or was interested in his story to begin with, but have little interest in trying Chev's one. Because they are so similar but they really aren't.

How I would describe it is that where as Clavis is the complementary to Chev, the purple to his yellow, the emotionality vs rationality, the heart vs the brain, Gilbert is more like right brain to Chev's left brain. If it makes sense like that xd Their color schemes are harmonious. Not opposite. Almost like how Nokto and Licht's color schemes are harmonious with each others.

(Nokto (Blue + white + gold) vs Licht (Blue + black + gold)) Not to mention that their names clearly are meant to mean light and dark. (Licht: variant for light, Nokto: comes form latin nox or noctis, meaning night = dark) But that is a rambling for another time.) Both their crests are tigers. White and black tiger. Chev's color scheme is White + gold and black. Whereas Gilbert's is Black + gold and white. But then the overall color that game devs use to signal about the characters baffles me a bit. Gold/Yellow vs Black/dark red. They don't seem to have too much connection or that of which comes to my mind quickly and without digging deeper. (because I believe that if you dig deep enough, you have digged yourself into a trap of overthinking about things. (Justifying things because you want to justify them, which I'm not big fan of. And sometimes things don't need meaning and we have to live with that. As much as it pains my overthinker brain.)) But here is my impressions about Gilbert so far. I'm at the point where MC has left the Clavis's party (I loved it btw). Gilbert really does give me toxic INFJ villain feels, but let's not get too hang up on terms such as that. But he is someone who is driven forth by his own ideals and desire to change the world better. He, like Clavis, seems to cloak himself in this idea that he is the villain and is okay, even happy, to take that role. He is the one who, like Chevalier, has thrown away emotional attachment out of the window (or so they say) unlike Clavis who makes his choices based more on emotion rather than rational thinking. Maybe that's why I like Clavis and Gilbert, they push MC out of their black and white thinking. That things are not so easy peezy as "choose a right king and everyone will be happy". There will always be someone who is mad about it. That's why I really loved the scene with Gilbert with the orphaned kids and the Clavis's party. He seems to enjoy the company of children (who are not morally corrupted or tainted) and he really empathically listens to those who are angry. He believes in the idea that "no one remembers what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel". (A quote with debatable origin, people say that it was coined by Maya Angelou. But I really love this quote, because I think it is the truth.) Gilbert isn't trying to rationalize against someone's choices with pure intellect. He uses empathy to guide him to the most rational outcome in that emotional scope. But he also uses this to manipulate people with fear. He uses fear extensively and he does it actively. Where as I feel like Chev just has that aura about him automatically. Hence my next thought: Action vs Stasis!

Gilbert and Clavis are action oriented. They shake the gameboard, they make the first moves. Gilbert probably more than Clavis. They both want change. Is it change for the better, we will see, I still haven't finished Gilbert's route but he really gives me this "I'm willing to become the greatest threat so that people unite to defeat me." or "I will conquer all so there will no longer be wars.". Chev, on the other hand, symbolizes stasis. His goal is to keep the kingdom of Rhodolite going. That's his duty and he is willing to take it. (even tho we can debate if that is something he really really believes in or even thinks about that much. I feel like it is out of obligation rather than of personal ideal. But alas, I have not played Chev's route yet.) Chev is reactive rather than proactive. He waits for the opponent to make the first move and reacts accordingly. (I'm not saying he is not reactive once game is on. More like "if there was not threat to deal with, he wouldn't create one".)

Chev doesn't care what you think about him. Gilbert does. He might seem like he doesn't but he is really there to prove a point. (I will pick up his dislike for lying later >.>) Chev is not. Chev knows that his way is the right way for him and that is enough for him. Chev also actively makes a "gettaway plan" for himself in Clavis. He knows that Clavis is the final thread that keeps him from going overboard because he understand that he has to be blind for "individual people" aspect to be a good ruler. Gilbert probably understands this about himself too, but he is trying to prove a point. So he needs to go overboard. Because masses of people need absolutes to react to. If it is something banal, it won't do. His evil actions need to shake the very foundation of ideas. The people have to face those things head on and see it for themselves. They cannot be sheltered. Gilbert gives me the vibes that he is willing to sacrifice himself not for the kingdom, but for the betterment of all mankind. He is happy to become the villain #1 if that means that other people will rise and take down the corrupted Obsidian or the corrupted idea. I would say that he is Lawful Good going on about things like Lawful Evil.

Gilbert asking questions means that he wants you to think, he wants to challenge your opinions and how you look at the world. Same as Clavis. They yearn for change. They want to change the world. Where as Chev wants to maintain things as they are. Chev "If it is not broken, we don't need to fix it" Michel. Where as Clavis and Gilbert want to improve the system. They are idealistic. Gilbert and lying

This is something very interesting. At first I thought that he was all "I dislike when people lie to me." but he really is "I dislike lying in all its forms." And he does say that he doesn't lie. And I'm starting to believe that is really the case. All the things he says are true. But because how other people see him, they are suspicious anyway. Like MC is. Like we all probably are when we start the route and think "So what is your trauma, baby girl?" When he is unsure or knows that he shouldn't say the thing he really thinks or that is true, he will deflect or give a very vague response. Which makes me quite happy to replay his route at somepoint with this in mind. In conclusion: Welcome to my TED talk, with no head or tail, just me overthinking about things about a otome gacha game. If you read this far, thank you for your time. Remember, if I ramble about it, it just means that I'm invested. Have a good day~

[the-siren-in-your-fridge]

So I love gravity falls, don’t get me wrong, but now that I’m an adult and a writer myself, I feel like one of the few things it fumbled was the Ford reveal. Anyone who theorized that Stan had a twin would have been written off for reaching, the “Gideon is a vampire” theory had more substantial evidence (I’m joking but also kinda not). The foreshadowing to the Ford reveal are things like “Stan finds an extra pair of glasses in the spare room” and “Stan’s license plate is ‘Stanley mobile’” which is kinda weak for such a clever show? They make no sense until you rewatch them, I feel like stuff like that reveal had to be something you could guess without sounding insane. No one pre-Ford reveal would have EVER guessed that Stan had a twin which made it feel a little bit like a cop out to me unless you REALLY reached for it.

Don't get me wrong, l like it, but for a show with so many details hidden in the background, it's a surprise that they didn't allude to it any better than that. No photos in the background with Stan and Ford as kids where the Stan half of the photo is covered so all you see is Ford, who looks wayyy nerdier than Stan would look as a kid, but there's no way it's not him, it looks exactly like him, just nerdier. Plus, isn't that weird, it looks like he has six fingers? Maybe it was an animation error. Besides, current Stan doesn’t have six fingers or a scar from a finger getting taken off. Maybe you get one scene where Mabel finds it and goes “HAHAH Grunkle Stan, look at you, you looked like such a dweeb!” And Stan snatches it out of her hand and grumbles something like “I’m the only one who calls Stanford Pines a dweeb.” Dipper gets confused and goes “you know it’s really weird that he was a nerdy kid, I wouldn’t have guessed that” and Mabel’s like “well he was really smart in college, right? People change.” Now the question is “what changed? Why isn’t he like that? It seems so opposite of how he is now.” It makes being hit with “he’s been masquerading as his twin brother” make a little more sense.

And never ONCE did Dipper say "my parents told me you're a well accomplished genius who had a lot of scientific potential and you CANT see how weird this town is?" only for Stan to get all withdrawn and go "that was a long time ago, it was a different life, things are different now.” Dipper, being a nerd, would definitely be intrigued by Stan's past as "an up and coming genius who suddenly went quiet for a while & now runs a bogus tourist trap" SOMEONE WOULD HAVE POINTED THAT OUT. DIPPER WOULD HAVE INVESTIGATED (Mabel probably wouldn't care because "come on dude, people change, and isn't he cool now?" but Dipper would care). And their parents never pointed out how weird it is that Stanford went from this genius his parents were so proud of to this weird reclusive conman?? That's WEIRD, right??? Isn't conman stuff STANLEY-level nonsense??? Maybe they didn’t know much about him since he’s their reclusive uncle or whatever, but surely they’d know the bare minimum about him. “Yeah he was a real genius back in his day, went out to study something, I don’t remember what, and he’s still out there” which would mean Dipper and Mabel finding this old conman who couldn’t even tell you the Pythagorean theorem is Weird For Sure

I just feel like they could have done wayyyy better in the build up. It wouldn’t have taken much time to establish something more substantial than “Stan freaks out when he sees Mabel’s wax figurine” (which I always brushed off as “wax figurines are scary and he’s a weird looking old man”)