#the black mold is claiming me slowly

[thepupeeter]

In my [SODA DUNGEON 2 FLESH MONSTER] era, [SODA DUNGEON 2 FLESH MONSTER]'ing pretty hard rn, I'm [SODA DUNGEON 2 FLESH MONSTER] maxxing

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 5

Summary - Two and a half moons after (Y/N)'s arrival in Kingslanding he must grapple with his new title as a dragonlord, wedding festivites, his grandsire's sudden illness, and his relationship with his father. The prince tries to balance all of this as the royal wedding looms over him.

Warnings - minor injuries, general HOTD warnings, drinking, canon character death, consummation scene (its minor and a fade to black)

I have decided to mold the lore to my own desires because there is almost next to nothing on House Royce during this time period. Also was going to break this into two parts because its so long but wanted all the wedding festvites to take place during one chapter.

(Y/N) winced as the maester prodded at his nose, the maester made humming noises as he examined the prince’s injuries. He applied a few plaster’s to (Y/N)’s nose, before wrapping it in soaked wool. 

“His nose shall heal fine, my prince.” 

Daemon nodded, “Thank you, you may go.” 

The maester bowed to the two princes, gathering his supplies and leaving (Y/N) alone with his father. Daemon watched as the man left the room, and waited until the doors were shut before turning on his son. He crossed his arms leaning back against a chair, and (Y/N) braced himself for a lecture. 

“How are you feeling?” 

(Y/N) blinked, “What?” 

Daemon pushed himself off the chair, making his way over toward (Y/N). He slowly reache

d his hand out, gently tracing the scratches and bruises on (Y/N)’s face, and (Y/N) was too shocked at his father’s actions to react. “Are you in pain?” 

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, looking up at his father. “I’ve had worse.” 

Daemon frowned, and (Y/N) wondered how much his mother had told him of his childhood mishaps. “What were you doing so far off Rosby Road?” 

(Y/N) flushed, “I- uh, snuck out.” 

“You snuck out?” His father’s face lit up, and he took a step back laughing and shaking his head. “How did your uncle react?” 

“Well he doubled my guard for one.” (Y/N) said, remembering his Uncle’s fury when (Y/N) showed up the next morning, face covered in blood and dirt. He had some choice words for the young heir, and (Y/N) was confident Daemon had heard his brother’s opinion on the matter as soon as he stepped foot into the keep. “But he was more interested in the dragon than my misbehavior.” 

“Ah,” Daemon smirked. “Yes, it must have been quite a shock.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes at his father, “I know you did something.” 

“What did I do, (Y/N)?” Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow at his son. “I did not drag Vermithor to you, or you to him for that matter. Vermithor made his choice.” 

“And it’s just a coincidence that as soon as you leave for Dragonstone, Vermithor leaves and seeks me out randomly.” 

“Perhaps it was fate.” Daemon shrugged. 

“You don’t expect me to believe that.” 

Daemon approached (Y/N), placed his hands on his shoulders. “It does not matter what you believe, all that matters are the facts. And the facts are that you have claimed Vermithor, you should be proud.” 

“I did not wish to claim a dragon, I never have.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s face hardened. 

“You are my son.” Daemon said, and (Y/N) hissed as his grip on his shoulder tightened. “You are a dragon, you cannot escape that.” 

His father’s face softened at (Y/N)’s expression. He released the boy, and seemed to hesitate before smoothing his hair back out of his face, “You should rest, you have had quite the number of shocks these past few days.” 

(Y/N) watched as father turned on his heel, and exited the chambers gently shutting the doors behind him.

“Lykirī.” (Y/N) smiled, as Vermithor pushed his snout into his chest. He pet the dragon with a gloved hand, laughing as the dragon continued to push him. “You must relax if you wish to fly.” 

(Y/N) had spent almost a week avoiding Vermithor after the dragon chased him down in the woods. Hoping that if he ignored him long enough the dragon would take the hint and leave, but eventually the Dragonkeepers sought him out, telling him that Vermithor had been untamable since he’d arrived in the Dragonpit. So (Y/N) resigned himself to the life of a dragonrider. He’d spent every day since then with the dragon, slowly but surely adjusting to his presence, and Vermithor had calmed drastically with (Y/N)’s visits. 

(Y/N) had taken to flying easily, much to his father’s delight and, as much as he hid it, his own. Although he had felt sick at the idea of claiming a dragon at first, he had come to find pride in the quick developments in his relationship with Vermithor. 

Rhaenyra too found delight in her betrothed’s new life. 

Anytime (Y/N) was free Rhaenyra was dragging him to the dragonpit, insisting Vermithor and Syrax go flying together. Viserys, at first happy to have another dragon in the family, soon grew inpatient with the two teens. Irritated at their constant absence from court, but (Y/N) paid him little mind. (Y/N) had no real place in his court, and he had not yet raised Rhaenyra, his heir, from the role of cupbearer. 

(Y/N) saddled Vermithor, leaning down to whisper to the dragon, “Sōvēs” 

The wind was cool against his face, blowing the strands of hair that had escaped his bun around in his face. (Y/N) had been wishing for clean and open air since he’d arrived in Kingslanding, this just isn’t how he expected to find it. Vermithor rumbled under him, and he laughed, leaning down so that he could rub the dragon’s neck. 

“I know,” (Y/N) spoke, almost shouting to be heard against the wind. “I am sorry I was late.” 

He’d been stuck in court all day, listening to his father and uncle bicker over details of the upcoming royal wedding. His uncle, ever the peacekeeper, had wanted Rhaenyra and (Y/N) to be married in the faith of the seven, as he was to Aemma and later Alicent, his father had other ideas however. 

“I do not worship the New Gods, uncle.” (Y/N) pointed out. 

“It is the tradition of the royal family.” The Grand Maester spoke up, as the other lords of the chamber had gone silent as soon as the tensions started to rise, seemingly fearful of angering any member of the royal family. Not that (Y/N) could blame them, he’d heard stories of his father’s infamous fits of anger. 

“(Y/N) follows the Old Gods like his mother,” His father looked pained to speak the words, but (Y/N) gave him an appreciative nod all the same. “And I have not known Rhaenyra to spend her days in the sept. We are Targaryens, they should marry in the tradition of Old Valyria.” 

“The faith-” 

“Fuck the faith.” Daemon spat. “I will not ask my son to forsake his gods so that some fat septon is comfortable, and we cannot bring a weirwood here so this is the only equitable compromise I see.” 

His uncle and the members of his council had grumbled at the idea, but eventually they conceded knowing this was an argument they could not win without insulting someone. His uncle dismissed them all, brows pinched in frustration. (Y/N) had caught his father’s arm on the way out, stopping him from walking away. 

“Thank you.” He did not meet his father’s eyes. “I know faith is not important to you, but it is to me so- just- thank you.” 

His father gently cupped his cheek, bringing (Y/N)’s eyes up to meet his. His father smiled at him, “You do not have to thank me. It is no secret that I hold no love for your mother’s house, but you do, and you are my blood. I will always defend you.” 

His father’s words still hung over his head by the time (Y/N) and Vermithor had returned to the Dragonpit. 

Rhaenyra was waiting for him as he dismounted, accompanied by a slew of Kingsguard and a royal carriage. The Kingsguard watched Vermithor warily as he grumbled, huffing as though he could sense (Y/N)’s apprehension at the sight laid out before him. 

 “Lykirī.” (Y/N) whispered, urging the bronze beast to return to the Dragonpit. Vermithor huffed one last time at the men, causing (Y/N) to chuckle, before returning. (Y/N) walked over to Rhaenyra, untying his hair and letting it tumble down to his shoulders. “That is quite the party, Nyra.” 

She sighed, “Our presence is required at the keep. We must be readied to greet the lords arriving at the court.” 

A Kingsguard opened the door of the carriage, and (Y/N) offered his hand for Rhaenyra to take. She took his hand, using it as leverage to step into the carriage and (Y/N) followed suit, taking the seat across from her. 

“What troubles you?” 

Rhaenyra blinked at (Y/N), “I am not troubled.” 

“Rhaenyra,” (Y/N) said, smiling slightly, “I can tell something is troubling you. Is it tonight?” 

“No,” She shook her head, leaning forward and placing her hand on (Y/N)’s knee. “No, it’s not tonight, it is this morning. My father is still blind to the schemes of some of those present in his court, they seek to undermine our family in favor of the Hightower children.” 

“Your father will not claim Aegon over you. You are his heir, you will be Queen and no scheming lord can change that.” 

Rhaenyra smiled, squeezing his knee slightly before releasing him and sitting back. (Y/N) turned to look out of the carriage, leaning back into the cushions and closing his eyes. He heard Rhaenyra chuckle softly, before the exhaustion of the day overtook him and he slipped away to sleep.

“You seem nervous.” (Y/N) turned, coming face to face with his cousin. He gave his best attempt at a smile, he fiddled with the collar of his shirt, and Gerold stepped forward. He adjusted the leather jerkin, allowing (Y/N) to breathe easier. “It is odd to see you in such formal attire.” 

(Y/N) laughed, “At least they don’t have dragons on them.” 

“No? I have heard a rumor that you’ve become quite the dragonlord in your absence.” 

(Y/N) reddened, ducking his head slightly, “It was an accident.” 

His cousin laughed, patting him on the shoulder, “There is no need to be nervous, cousin.” 

His cousin smiled at him one last time before joining his other cousin in the precession line. (Y/N) frowned at the sight of Gunthor, he’d been informed when his family and their court had arrived that his grandsire had fallen ill not long after (Y/N) departed, and in his heirs absence his cousin Gunthor, second in line, had taken his place as regent. His grandsire had been too ill to make the journey to Kingslanding, sending (Y/N) his well wishes and Gunthor in his place. 

A sudden hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to catch his father smiling, he squeezed his shoulder. “The tailors did well, you look like a prince.” 

“I am a prince.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s smile widened. 

“Yes, you are. Remember that, as there are those that would hope you forget.” His father nodded in the direction of Gunthor, and (Y/N)’s expression soured. 

“I do not trust him, I cannot say why but-” (Y/N) frowned, staring at his cousin’s interactions with the Valemen around him. “He did not write to me to tell me of my grandsire’s illness. I am the heir, I should be regent, not him, and yet in my absence he swooped in.” 

His father nodded, “Good. You must recognize the snakes before they strike.” 

His father stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the Valemen. “I am aware that we do not have the best relationship-” 

(Y/N) snorted, and Daemon laughed rolling his eyes. “Yes I know, but you are my son, my blood. And I would like to be not just your sire, but your father as well. I was not there in your youth, let me be there now.” 

(Y/N) frowned, hesitating. He swallowed before finally speaking, “May we speak of this after the feast?” 

“Of course,” His father lightly touched his cheek, “Come we should join the others.” 

He and his father took their places at the front of the party, Gunthor to (Y/N)’s left and Daemon to his right. (Y/N) took a deep breath as the doors opened, keeping his gaze on the two banners bearing the sigils of House Targaryen and House Royce hung in the back of the Great Hall as his family entered. 

“Ser Gunthor of House Royce. Acting Lord of Runestone, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon. And Prince Daemon Targaryen. And his son and heir to Runestone Prince (Y/N) Targaryen the future King Consort.” 

The guests of the hall stood, clapping as they walked down to the high table. The amount of eyes on him made (Y/N) uneasy, but he kept his head high, posture exuding the confidence expected of one of his station. (Y/N) made eye contact with Rhaenyra at the end of the hall who offered him a comforting smile, he nodded to her. 

They paused at the beginning of the steps, bowing to the King, before Rhaenyra stepped around the table making her way toward the crowd. (Y/N) stepped forward, meeting her halfway, he took her hand as his father had instructed him when going over the etiquette required of him at the feast. 

“You must act every bit the king you will one day be, no matter how unused to these events you may be.” His father had told him. (Y/N) scoffed at the advice, he was raised to be the Lord of Runestone, he knew how to act at a feast. 

As (Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss to Rhaenyra’s hand, and claps echoed around the hall, he cursed himself for not taking his father’s advice seriously. He had never known a feast quite like this, hosting the most important lords of the whole of Westeros. Lords he’d never met before like the Lannisters, Hightowers, and Velaryons. He took his place by Rhaenyra’s side at the table, his father and cousin taking the seats by his left. 

He let out a breath as he sat down, scanning the crowd as his uncle started to speak. Rhaenyra grabbed his hand under the table, squeezing it in reassurance, it was only then that he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. 

"Be welcome,” His uncle smiled out at the crowd, “As we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning. We honor one of Westeros' oldest houses, and a fierce ally to the crown, House Royce. Just as House Targaryen reaches back to the blood of Old Valyria, House Royce reaches back to the blood of the first men. With House Targaryen and H-"

Viserys paused, and everyone averted their gaze to where his lingered. (Y/N) tensed once more as Queen Alicent Hightower made her entrance into the hall. The color of her dress a clear statement to anyone who knew any of the histories. Reluctantly (Y/N) made his way to his feet with the rest of the guests, he shot an amused glance to his side where his father still sat, eyes narrowed at the young queen. 

Alicent addressed Rhaenyra, “Congratulations, step-daughter. What a blessing this is for you.” 

Rhaenyra gave no indication of thanks, and Alicent kissed Viserys on the cheek before taking her seat beside him. 

He’d not yet had any real interactions with the young queen, only knowing things told to him by Rhaenyra and Daemon. He had taken them with a grain of salt, wanting to make his own judgment of the girl, but with the blatant display she’d just shown to the lord’s of Westeros, (Y/N) decided that maybe Rhaenyra and Daemon had been right in their worries. Perhaps the Hightowers did have their own intentions with the crown. 

“Please be seated.” 

(Y/N) traced the rim of his empty goblet as his uncle stood silently, only picking his eyes up from the table when he started to speak. 

"With House Targaryen and House Royce united, once again, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dawn and Dragons in Westeros.” Viserys spoke, and the hall erupted into applause.

“And after tonight’s small affair,” Laughter sounded through the halls, and (Y/N) had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Seven days of tournament and feasting! And at the end of it all, a royal wedding. Between my daughter, my heir, your future queen. And Prince (Y/N) Targaryen, heir to Runestone.” 

As Viserys sat, and everyone else followed suit, Rhaenyra and (Y/N) rose from theirs. They approached the middle of the aisle, and began their dance. (Y/N) had never been much of a dancer, and suffered through the lessons given to both he and Rhaenyra. 

“I feel like a fool.” (Y/N) whispered as Rhaenyra and he side stepped each other. 

“You are doing wonderfully.” Rhaenyra whispered back, taking her place back to back with him. “Ignore everyone, pretend it is just you and me.” 

When they finished, bowing to one another the halls once again erupted in applause. (Y/N) took Rhaenyra’s hands in his, kissing them softly as she gave him a knowing smile. As the rest of the courtiers took their places on the dance floor, (Y/N) tried to escape back to the high table, longing for a cup of wine. He was stopped before he could reach the table much to his dismay. 

“My Prince.” The lady, who (Y/N) did not recognize, blushed, bowing to him. “May I have this dance?” 

(Y/N) gaped at her, before remembering who and where he was. “Yes, yes of course Lady-” 

“Reyne.” 

“Lady Reyne. (Y/N) smiled, mourning his cup of wine. He gestured toward the lords and lady’s dancing, “Lead the way.” 

He had to dance with five young ladies before he finally found his escape. He flopped, very unprince-like into his seat, immediately grabbing the cup of wine laid out in front of him. His father laughed, waving over a servant to refill the cup once (Y/N) had finished. 

“Not a fan of dancing?” Daemon smirked, “Or is it the ladies asking you to dance you are not fond of?” 

“Both.” (Y/N) spoke over the rim of his cup, “They only wish to dance with me because I am to marry Rhaenyra, if I were just the heir to Runestone they’d pay me little mind.” 

“I don’t know about that,” Daemon said, “You are a comely young man.” 

(Y/N) smirked, “Ladies don’t wish to dance with comely young men.” 

“Neither do lords.” His father raised his eyebrows, humor sparkling in his eyes. 

(Y/N) shrugged, smiling at his father’s tone, “You have been talking to Rhaenyra.” 

Daemon leaned close, patting his son on the leg, “I am just glad you two have made this match work for the both of you.” 

“We are not married yet, father.” (Y/N) reminded, “Things may yet just fall apart.” 

Before his father could speak, another lady made her way to the table. She bowed to both (Y/N) and Daemon. “Prince (Y/N), may I have this dance?” 

Daemon snickered, taking (Y/N)’s cup out of his hand. “Well go on, dance.” 

His father had disappeared from the table when (Y/N) had finished, and his cousins were wrapped up in conversation with a lord (Y/N) did not recognize. He made his way to the sidelines, stealing a full cup of wine, and pressing his back against the wall to avoid being spotted. 

He spied his father in the middle of the dancing, twirling Laena Velayron around, and (Y/N) frowned. His father’s wife, (Y/N)’s own mother, had died only three moons ago, and as far as (Y/N) knew Laena Velayron was engaged to some Brasvosi. 

“You would never know this feast was in your honor the way you frown.” 

(Y/N) turned to face the owner of the voice, smiling as Ser Harwin took a place next to him. “Ser Harwin.” 

“Are you not enjoying the feast, my prince?” Harwin smiled, leaning closer to the prince. 

“I am enjoying the wine, some of the company less so.” (Y/N) said, and Harwin laughed. 

“I understand the sentiment.” 

(Y/N) brought the cup up to his lips, smiling around its rim. Harwin grabbed an empty cup, flagging down a servant who filled both of their cups. (Y/N) watched as his father continued to dance with Laena, and Rhaenyra moved through the crowd, followed closely by Ser Laenor. 

Harwin raised his cup up, and (Y/N) followed suit, “To your marriage.” 

“My marriage.” (Y/N) and Harwin laughed as their cups met. 

(Y/N) spent the rest of the feast by Harwin’s side. Harwin had stopped drinking by his fourth cup, watching in amusement as the prince got drunker and drunker with each cup of wine. As the feast died down, and the lords and ladies took their leave, Harwin had found (Y/N) a seat, and was watching him ramble fondly. 

“I do not care for this court, Harwin.” (Y/N) sighed, leaning his head back. “It was simpler on Runestone, but here, here there are too many lords I do not know. I do not trust them.” 

Harwin laughed, patting the prince’s leg, “Perhaps a hall filled with those lords is not the place to have this conversation, my prince.” 

“(Y/N).” (Y/N) said, straightening. He looked Harwin in the eye, placing his hand on top of the knights. “Please call me (Y/N).” 

Harwin’s eyes softened, “Of course, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) smiled at the knight, keeping his hand where it was before two twin coughs behind him startled him. (Y/N) jumped, spilling his cup of wine onto himself. Harwin laughed as (Y/N) turned to look at the people behind him. Daemon and Rhaenyra stood above him, both with twin amused smiles on their faces. They had never looked more related, (Y/N) mused. 

“Having fun?” Rhaenyra asked. 

“I was informed that this feast was for me, and that I should try to have some fun.” 

Daemon laughed at his son's words, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him up out of the seat. “I think it’s time you take your leave.” 

Harwin stood, grabbing (Y/N) to help Daemon keep the prince upright. Rhaenyra sighed, a smile still gracing her face. 

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself, (Y/N).” Rhaenyra said. “But perhaps next time you can entertain yourself with less wine.” 

(Y/N) stepped forward, stumbling slightly and both Harwin and Daemon’s eyes widened as he moved. Freeing himself from the men’s grasps, (Y/N) approached Rhaenyra pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“I am sorry that I left you on your lonesome.” (Y/N) said, letting his hand rest on her arm. Rhaenyra smiled, at his words or his drunkenness (Y/N) could not tell. 

She pressed her palm to his cheek, “You are fine. I enjoyed myself plenty.” 

(Y/N) nodded. “Good, because this is for both of us. So we should both enjoy ourselves.” 

“(Y/N),” Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head. “Let us get you to your chambers.” 

Daemon and Harwin grabbed one of his arms, ignoring (Y/N)’s protests that he could walk by himself. Rhaenyra followed the three men, laughing at (Y/N)’s attempts to break free from the two men, and his drunken rambles to all three of the people accompanying him. When they finally reached the room, with some incident much to Harwin and Daemon’s dismay and Rhaenyra’s delight, Daemon turned to Harwin. 

“I have him from here, Ser Harwin will you please make sure the princess makes it back to her room.” 

Harwin nodded, and Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s cheek. “I will see you tomorrow at the tourney.” 

“Goodnight, (Y/N), Prince Daemon.” 

(Y/N) and Daemon bid the both of them goodnight, before the guards at (Y/N)’s door open the doors to his chamber and Daemon practically dragged his son into the room. Daemon instructe (Y/N) to lift his arms, and when he did he undid the jerkin and brought the tunic over his head, tossing it to the side. 

“Undo your boots.” 

(Y/N) complied, and when he was done Daemon led him toward the bed. When (Y/N) was seated on the bed, Daemon turned to leave, but (Y/N) grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. “We have not had our conversation.” 

Daemon smiled, “Rest, we will have it tomorrow I promise.” 

(Y/N) nodded, “Alright.” 

Daemon pressed him down into the bed slowly, pushing the blankets back so that (Y/N) could get underneath them. He brushed (Y/N)’s sweaty hair out of his face, smoothing it down not unlike his mother used to do when he was ill. (Y/N) leaned into the touch, and Daemon smiled. 

“Sleep.” 

(Y/N) closed his eyes, slipping quickly into rest. But not before he felt the ghost of lips pressed against his forehead.

(Y/N) hated himself the next morning. 

He closed his eyes as he bathed, letting the warm water alleviate some of his migraine. He dressed slowly, groaning as a loud knock sounded throughout the room. 

“Come in.” 

Daemon strolled into the room, taking a look at his son’s appearance before chuckling. “How are you feeling?” (Y/N) just glared at him, causing Daemon to laugh again. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” 

Daemon placed a small vile in front of him, and (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s watered down dreamwine,” Daemon said, “For your head.” 

“Oh,” (Y/N) took the vial, opened it and sniffed it a bit before downing it. “Thank you.” 

Daemon nodded, turning to leave. 

“Are you not here to continue our conversation?” (Y/N) called out, and Daemon turned back to face him. 

“I just wanted to see if you were well.” 

“I am.” (Y/N) smiled, “I just have a headache, I will live.” 

Daemon nodded, taking a seat across from (Y/N). He looked nervous at the thought of continuing their conversation from before the feast, it endeared (Y/N) to see his father’s usual tough exterior come crumbling down at the idea of a conversation. 

Giving his father some respite, (Y/N) changed the topic of conversation, “I saw you dancing with Laena Velayron last night. Is she not already betrothed?” 

“A man cannot dance with a lady?” Daemon asked, although his expression gave him away. 

“Not when that man is you, father.” (Y/N) said. “Do you wish to get remarried? You have no real need for any more heirs.” 

Daemon shrugged, “Perhaps I wish for company.” 

“You are lonely?” (Y/N) almost laughed at the thought. He could not imagine the so-called Lord of Flea Bottom wanting for the comforts of a lady. 

“Well my only son prefers to spend his time at Runestone pretending I don’t exist.” 

(Y/N)’s mood soured, and he frowned. He turned away from his father, crossing his arms like he wasn’t a man of seven and ten and instead a boy of nine. “You did not give me a choice. I was just saving myself from the pain I would feel when you inevitably wouldn’t arrive.” 

“I know.” Daemon ran his hand down his face. “I did not mean that I apologize.” 

“You know you have missed my last ten name days.” (Y/N) whispered. 

“I know.” Daemon said. “I sent you presents but I know that does not make up for my absence.” 

“I never received any gifts.” 

Daemon looked up in confusion, his expression contorted before he let out a bitter laugh. “No, of course you didn’t. Your mother probably never gave them to you. She never held any love for me.” 

“I remember you did not hold much for her either.” (Y/N) spat. “She told me that you fled Runestone the night after I was born, and did not return until my first name day only to flee that night as well.” 

“I was a boy, no older than you are now.” 

“That is no excuse!” 

“No it’s not and I have regretted my decisions every day! I was scared, (Y/N)!” Daemon stood. “When I found out your mother was pregnant I was terrified. We held no love toward each other, and I feared that our hatred toward each other would impact you. I was an idiot boy so I fled. Then you were born, and I was still just this boy, and you were so pure and I could not corrupt that with my hatred so I feld again. I fled again and again, because I was scared I could not be a good father to you, as I could not be a good husband to your mother and she could not be a good wife to me. When I finally realized what an imbecile I had been it was too late, you had no idea who I was.” 

(Y/N) remembered the day of his fourth name day vaguely. 

“(Y/N),” His mother gestured to a skinny man with pale hair and eyes like (Y/N). “Your father is here to see you.” 

The man approached him, and (Y/N) stepped back, placing his mother between him and this stranger. The man’s face fell, and he stumbled back. 

“Perhaps it would be best if I left.” 

“Daemon-” 

“It’s fine.” The man handed a wrapped package to his mother. “Give this to him.”

"You're running? Again?"

"Look at him Rhea-"

"No, run. Like you always do."

The man opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to think better of it. He turned on his heel and left, and (Y/N)'s mother scoffed.

He had seen his father only a few times after that day, and their meetings had always been brief and curt. His mother had certainly not helped (Y/N)’s view of his father, only ever nodding and staying silent when (Y/N) would complain. He had once asked her why Daemon did not stay for more than a night, and his mother had replied that his father hated the Vale and many of those who resided there. It had crushed (Y/N) to hear, but after learning of the gifts his father had sent that he had not received he could only wonder how much of his own hatred for his father was just what he learned to feel from his mother. 

“I am sorry for my absence.” Daemon said. “I can never make up those lost years, and I know my youth and stubbornness is no excuse but-” 

His father took a deep breath, “(Y/N), I wish- if you would allow, for us to start again. I know I cannot ask you to forget the years I was not there for you, but allow me to start again.” 

“I understand.” (Y/N) said, “I cannot forgive-” 

“-I wouldn’t ask you to-” 

“-but I understand. I understand more than I did at the very least.” (Y/N) said, and the tension in his father’s shoulders eased. (Y/N) smiled, it was probably a bit pained, (Y/N)’s head throbbing even more with the revelations of the morning. “We can try to start again. I make no promises, but we can try.” 

His father smiled, a genuine smile that (Y/N) had never seen across his father’s face before. “Thank you.”

“You are not participating, (Y/N)?” 

(Y/N) looked at the queen from where he was seated next to Rhaenyra, shaking his head politely. “I am not a knight, Queen Alicent.” 

Alicent looked him up and down, the motion making him squirm a bit. She did not respond but she nodded, turning her gaze back to the tourney fields. 

His father was not participating in the tourney either, instead taking a seat in the stands. Ser Harwin was participating though, much to Rhaenyra’s delight. (Y/N) did not find much delight in tourney’s, bloodshed was not a game to be played. 

In all honesty, (Y/N) was bored watching the tourney. Ser Criston had won, wearing Alicent’s favor which (Y/N) could tell irritated Rhaenyra. By the time the melee rolled around the next day (Y/N) was dreading spending the hot day in the stands of the tourney grounds. 

“May I have your favor, princess.” 

Rhaenyra laughed, giving Harwin a small piece of cloth. He tucked it into his armor, turning to (Y/N) who smiled. 

“I don’t have a favor,” (Y/N) said, and Harwin smiled, cheeks reddening slightly. “But I wish you luck.” 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” 

Their luck and favors did Harwin no favors in the melee. Rhaenyra had shrieked when Cristion’s morningstar made contact with Harwin’s collarbone, shattering it and his elbow. But the worst injury of the day had been to Ser Joffrey, and (Y/N) could not get Laenor’s cries out of his mind even as he fell asleep that night. 

There were no more tourney’s after that as a solemn mood had fallen over the royal court. Ser Harwin would live (Y/N) and Rhaenyra discovered, but Ser Joffrey was not likely to. And as it happened six days later, Joffrey passed, and Ser Laenor was inconsolable. Rhaenyra and (Y/N) both tried, even if (Y/N) was not as close with his cousin as Rhaenyra was, but in the end the knight took his leave back to Driftmark before the wedding even happened. 

(Y/N) spent the night before the wedding with his father. His father told him the story of his wedding with (Y/N)’s mother, describing how (Y/N)’s grandfather, Baelon, had to drag Daemon to Runestone. 

“If it is any comfort,” (Y/N) mused. “You had to drag me to Kingslanding.” 

Daemon laughed, “I did. But you will have a much happier marriage than your mother and I.” 

(Y/N) lifted his cup, “One can hope.” 

The wedding itself snuck up on (Y/N), the events of the week leading up to it not allowing him to worry about the ceremony. It was only now that he was dressed in red and gold Valyrian robes, standing atop Rhaenys’ hill, surrounded by the lords and ladies of Westeros, that the nerves started to reach him. 

He could hear the distant roars of the dragon’s in the dragon pit as the priest spoke. (Y/N) lifted the dragonglass blade, handed to him by the priest. He made quick eye contact with his father, who only nodded, before slicing Rhaenyra’s bottom lip. He gathered the blood from the cut, dragging his thumb down her forehead. Rhaenyra took her own blade, repeating the action on (Y/N) before slicing her palm.(Y/N) dragged the blade against his palm, taking Rhaenyra’s hand in his. They joined their blood as the priest spoke. 

(Y/N) took the cup handed to him, drinking from it, before handing it to Rhaenyra who did the same. The priest finished his rites, and (Y/N) cupped Rhaenyra’s cheek, he could taste the blood as he brought her lips to meet his. (Y/N) rested his forehead against Rhaenyra’s as cheers were sounded around them. When they pulled away and faced the crowd, he could see his father and uncle smiling. 

Their hands were wrapped by the priest, covering the open wounds, and they descended down the hill. Rhaenyra did not let go of his hand as they went, smiling at him as he helped her into the carriage waiting for them. “Thank you, valzȳrys.”

Both he and Rhaenyra were dressed in their small clothes separately. He’d been offered food and wine before he was brought over to Rhaenyra’s chambers, but he turned them down. He did not wish to spend his wedding night addled by wine. 

Viserys had insisted on a bedding ceremony, and Daemon had no qualms with the idea. But both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra protested. The meeting had ended unsuccessfully, but (Y/N) suspected Rhaenyra had private words with her father, as by the next meeting the topic had been dropped completely and it was agreed there would be no such ceremony. 

The doors to Rhaenyra’s chambers were opened by the guards, and (Y/N) stepped into the room. Rhaenyra was sitting by the vanity, brushing her hair in a velvet dress that hung loosely from her body. (Y/N) felt like a hedge knight in his plain cloth clothing. 

She smiled at him, placing the brush down on the vanity. She glided across the room, coming to stand in front of him. “Valzȳrys.” 

“Ābrazȳrys” 

Rhaenyra gently grasped the laces of his tunic, undoing them slowly. She kept eye contact with (Y/N) as she did so, letting his tongue wet her lower lip as the laces were fully loosened. (Y/N) grabbed the bottom of his tunic, bringing it up over his head, and placing it on a chair next to him. 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath as she watched (Y/N), she brought her hand up and gingerly traced the contours of his abdomen. (Y/N) took her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“Turn around.” (Y/N) said, and Rhaenyra complied. 

He stepped forward, brushing her hair to her front so that he could see the back of her dress. She shivered as his breath touched the back of her neck. He undid the laces of her dress with careful precision, causing her to laugh and joke. 

“Done this before?” 

Instead of responding, (Y/N) let the dress fall down her shoulders, leaving her bare. She stiffened as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before relaxing as he moved his mouth up her neck. She turned around and (Y/N)’s mouth went dry at the sight of her bare in front of him. She grabbed his neck, leaning up and connecting their lips. She grasped the laces of his trousers, undoing them in haste and shoving them down his legs. (Y/N) stepped out of them, groaning into Rhaenyra’s lip as she grasped him. He could feel her smile against his lips, and he pulled away bringing his mouth to her chest, eliciting a gasp from the princess. 

“(Y/N),” She gasped, and he kissed up her chest to her collarbone and back up to her lips, swallowing her next words. 

He pulled her close to him, lifting her so that she could wrap her legs around his waist and carried her to the bed. He gently set her down, and she smiled up at him. He returned the smile, before reconnecting their lips. Rhaenyra gasped as (Y/N) pulled away to mouth at her neck, she tangled her fingers in his hair pulling him up from where there would inevitably be a mark on her skin the next morning. 

“Stop teasing.” 

“Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

---

Translations -

Lykirī - be calm

Sōvēs - fly

Valzȳrys - husband

Ābrazȳrys - wife

Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys - of course, my wife

[flowercrowngods]

Kas!Eddie where Steve uses positive reinforcement to help him feel like less of a monster. As Eddie becomes more human, the rewards get steamier. cw: explicit (ish??)

"Oh, baby," Steve coos, cradling Eddie's cheek and tilting up his chin to meet those beautiful eyes. Blown and black, the red glow beneath them pulsating in time with his heavy breathing.

This magnificent creature, more Kas than Eddie now, is strong enough to tear into the world and rip it to shreds. But always so docile for him. Always so lovely. Steve licks his lips as he trails his gaze down from wide eyes to plush lips, a trickle of blood drying on his pale skin that always seems to gleam in when Steve touches him like this. Tenderly. Lovingly. And with promise in his fingertips.

"You're no monster," he promises, daring him to disagree. He watches with fascination as a pointed tongue slowly, carefully licks up the remnants of Steve's blood. "No, you're no monster," Steve coos again, tilting Kas's face up higher to trail his lips along his jaw, kissing his way towards his chin and up the trail of wetness left behind.

Has whimpers, ducking his head just a fraction to chase Steve's lips and ask for a kiss, but Steve pulls back with a chuckle low in his throat, his grip on Kas shifting down to his throat as he moves in, hovering above him.

It shouldn't be possible, because his physical form has several inches on Steve, but something about him is always so small in Steve's hold. Like he's molding himself to Steve's figure to be so, so perfect for him.

He hums as he almost lets their lips touch, aware that he's driving Kas wild with it, and thrilled to have him like this. To hold him, hand around his throat, and tell him, "You're my good boy, hm? You're my good, good boy, isn't that right?"

Another whimper, and Kas shifts against him. Not to move in for a kiss, but to grind against him, rubbing his half hard cock into Steve's leg.

Steve chuckles again, a wave of fondness overcoming him as Kas takes what he wants. What he needs. Rubbing off against him were weeks and months ago, he would stand still until the shaking started, and Steve would have to bring him from the edge with gentle touch and loving words.

He trails one hand down to his ass to help him, to take control and give him a better angle. The effect is immediate as Kas lets out a guttural groan and pants, moaning around the syllables of his name.

"Yeah, you're doing so good, baby, taking what you need. You're so good. So good for me."

Kas nods, leaning their foreheads together as he loses himself in the delicate friction, and Steve finally relents. He ducks his head and claims those lips, moaning as Kas's sharp fangs catch his lip, drawing more blood and adding to the mess on their lips.

His resolve breaks when Kas's moans rise in pitch and frequency, knowing this is not enough for him. Knowing he wants to give him more. Steve reaches down, past the thin fabric of sweats Kas is wearing, and finds his magnificent cock, hard and leaking for him.

Always, always for him. They moan in unison as Steve begins stroking him, sucking on his tongue in time with the movement of his hands, rendering Kas almost motionless as he loses himself in the pleasure.

One day, Steve things, he'll have him writhing on his bed, hand fisted in his sheets, tearing them to shreds as Steve fucks into him with slow deliberation. Fucking the monster out of his memory and leaving only human remains, cock dumb and high on it. His name falling from those lips, blood-smeared and plump, the only thing these walls will hear aside from Good boy, and You're so good for me, and Fuck yourself on my cock, baby.

He'll take his time.

Soon.

Tonight, he doesn't get the luxury of taking his time as Kas grows desperate against him, coming with a keen as Steve bites down on his bottom lip and pulls.

"So good, baby," Steve pants as he strokes him through it, milking from him every last drop before bringing his hand up to those lips, kiss-swollen and blood red as they close around his fingers, gratefully licking up the come Steve feeds him.

That sight alone is almost enough for him to come in his pants, too, especially when Kas looks at him like that, pulling off his fingers with a slurping sound. Looking at him with hungry, hungry eyes that were made to destroy the world and rewrite history.

And yet all they do is give. And build. And smile, as he falls to his knees and pulls open Steve's belt, swallowing his cock to the hilt, massaging him with his fingers, his tongue, and vibrations that run through Steve's whole body until he, too, comes with a drawn-out groan.

He pulls Kas to his feet, combing his hair out of his sweat-slick forehead and having him meet his eyes with a gentler hold on his chin this time. "Say it."

Kas hesitates for just two seconds before a smile blooms on his face and he ducks his chin a little. "Good," he says. "I'm a good boy."

Steve hums around a smile himself, drawing a nonsensical pattern into the overheated skin of his cheek. "Whose?"

"Yours."

nonnie asked, i felt inspired. might turn this into a Thing.

[thoseboysinblue]

What Nobody Sees

Part 2

Christian Pulisic x reader

You have unexpectedly found yourself tangled up in a long-term situationship with Christian.

Word count: 6350+

Warnings: Swearing, smut (under 18 DNI)

Song Inspo: Sin So Sweet by Warren Zeiders

Requested: No

Author's note: The original concept for this is based on a dream I had. Once I heard the song, I knew it was an immediate fit. This will be a multi-part series. Thank you, as always to @neverinadream for helping me to flesh this out. Hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!

Early morning jogs on the treadmill are how you start most days. Sometimes some of the other guys join you, sometimes you are alone, but mostly it's just you and Christian. Once he figured out it was your routine, he slowly began joining you day after day. He enjoyed feeling productive first thing in the morning, and, if he was being honest with himself, he enjoyed the quiet time with you.

About a quarter of the way through your planned run, you catch him out of the corner of your eye when he claims the treadmill next to yours. He leans over and places a bottle of water in your cup holder, because as much as you make sure they all stay hydrated and at their optimal level, he knows you nearly always forget your water when you work out.

"Thank you," you smile at him as he starts his treadmill. You take out your earbuds and switch your phone off of the bluetooth, a smile creeping over his face when he recognizes the playlist he'd shared with you a while ago.

You finish your run and begin to walk on the treadmill as a cool down, eventually stopping and moving over to an open area in front of the mirrors to do some light stretching.

As Christian finishes his run, he moves over to stand behind you, settling his hand over your hip and squeezing it gently. You assume he's also running the same scenario through his head as what's running through yours, images of him bending you over in front of this mirror. While a few not so innocent thoughts did enter his mind, he's mostly admiring the way your body molds perfectly against his as he stands behind you.

"You left me on read," he says quietly as he dips his head to kiss your neck.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know what to say, I almost talked myself into coming back to your room, but I didn't think it would be a good idea," you tilt your head back allowing him more access to your neck as he brushes his thumbs over your breasts, feeling your nipples harden under the sports bra you are wearing.

"I know," he smirks against you, "doesn't mean I didn't want you to though."

You suddenly remember the two of you are very out in the open and anyone could walk in on you, so you take couple of steps away from him and take a deep breath. You can't help but notice the look of disappointment on his face and the whine he lets out when you break contact with him.

"I'm going to go take a shower, you want to meet up in a little while to go grab coffee?" you ask quietly.

He nods, "I'd rather just go take a shower with you, and then go get coffee" he smirks, knowing you'll say no.

"I know you would, but not this morning, ok?" you answer him before pressing a kiss to his chest, leaning your forehead against him, closing your eyes and savoring the way you can feel his heart beating away.

"Meet me in the lobby in 30?" you look up at him.

He nods and kisses your forehead, "see you then," he smiles weakly.

"Hey," he smiles at you as he steps off of the elevator and spots you waiting for him.

"Took you long enough," you chuckle, eyeing him up and down in his black training kit, noticing the way it fits him just a little tighter than the last time you saw him in it.

"Yeah well, I'm blaming you and that workout outfit you had on earlier," he chirps at you.

"Liked that one did you?" you smirk at him, enjoying the thought of him having to relieve himself after seeing you earlier.

"I have a love hate relationship with those tiny scraps of clothing you wear sometimes," he breathes out as he ushers you out of the lobby and towards the coffee shop down the street.

"I thought you only loved them?" you arch an eyebrow at him.

"I do, but I hate when I can't rip them off of you," he rolls his eyes.

"Kind of like those shorts you have on now, not leaving much to the imagination, y/n."

"It's not like you have to imagine it anyways, you know what's under here," you gesture towards your training kit. "And this one isn't my fault, blame whoever picks our training uniforms for this one."

"I do know what's under there, and I can't stop picturing it," he says lowly.

"So, I'm not sure if I owe you coffee or if you owe me coffee," you say as he holds the door to the shop open.

"I'll buy yours and you can buy mine," he chuckles.

"Deal," you grin at him.

He leans against the door frame of the small shop while you are waiting in line.

"Christian, you can't do the book-tok door leaning thing, not here," you roll your eyes at him and pull him away from the door.

"Why not? Does it turn you on?" he raises an eyebrow at you, leaning down to barely whisper in your ear "you want me to tell you to shut the fuck up and take this dick like a good girl?" he smirks, knowing he's hit a nerve when your thighs press together.

"We are in public," you snap at him, a playful smile on your lips.

"I know, but I would be willing to bet you're dripping for me now," he winks at you.

"You're a menace," you shake your head at him.

"So are those shorts your wearing," he chuckles.

You order coffees for one another, not even bothering to ask what the other wants, you know that already.

As you make your way back to the hotel you nudge him, "do I even want to know how you know about book-tok?"

"Ah, asking me to reveal my secrets?" he shakes his head. "You know people can see your reposts right?" he grins, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Stalk much?" you chuckle.

"What? No!" he blushes. "Well maybe a little. I was just curious at what kinds of things you're into besides me and soccer," he shrugs.

You shake your head at him and continue your walk back, arriving in the lobby around the same time as several of the other players.

"You're getting breakfast with us right?" he skims his hand against yours as he looks at you.

"Yeah, of course," you blush slightly at him.

You finish grabbing your food as Weston calls to you to come over and join them.

"Morning, y/n" he grins pushing out the chair across from Christian and next to him.

"Hey, Wes," you share a brief smile with him, glancing across at Christian.

"You're Ben right?" you smile at the player seated next to Christian as he nods at you.

"Welcome to camp, don't let these idiots get you in trouble," you motion between Christian, Wes, Jedi, and Tim Weah.

"I'm terribly offended," Tim clutches his chest.

"She's not wrong though," Jedi smiles, stuffing a bite into his mouth.

"This is y/n, by the way," Wes throws his arm around the back of your chair, "she's our player performance analyst and she has a knack for picking apart weaknesses in other teams so she's like our little secret weapon," he smiles proudly at you.

"Speaking of performances, I don't know what you two were up to last night, but all I heard was Cap here saying 'shit, shit, shit,'" he grins glancing back and forth between you and Christian.

Christian's cheeks blush at his comment but he looks at you with a slight grin.

"Well, perv, maybe you should quit listening to us," you roll your eyes at him.

"Kind of hard not to when I can hear you through the walls," he chuckles.

"Maybe you should try headphones," Christian adds.

"Cap, here gets special treatment," Wes nods at Ben, letting him in on your little secret as you and Christian share a glance between you.

"So y/n," Ben turns his focus to you, trying to change the topic of conversation, "what got you into men's soccer, I mean, why aren't you working on the women's side?"

"Well," you start taking a bite of your food, "I grew up watching my four older brothers play..." you trail off when Christian coughs and drops his fork.

"What, you know I have brothers," you look at him, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Yeah, but I didn't know there were four of them," he mumbles as Wes chuckles.

"Scared there CP?" he eyes up his friend.

"He doesn't have to worry about them, they'll never know about us," you shrug, noticing the expression on his face change slightly.

"Anyways, I grew up watching them play mostly, and when I was in college I did an internship and met these knuckleheads" you motion between Wes and Christian.

"I worked with some of the youth teams for a bit before this job opened up and they asked if I would want to move up to the senior team. So really, it just kind of happened that I ended up here and not on the women's side of things. But I prefer it here anyways, less drama, more fun," you shrug.

"That's cool," Ben smiles at you.

"And now she can't ever get rid of us or leave us," Wes pulls you into his side as you roll your eyes.

"Someone's got to keep you in line," you elbow him in the ribs.

"So far, you're doing a terrible job of that," he chuckles.

The conversation moves on to other things, and you can't help but notice the way Christian keeps his attention mainly focused on you.

You all board the bus headed over to the training facility. You sit at the front discussing today's plan with the other staff members.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Christian nudges Wes to get his attention as they both pull their earbuds out of their ears.

"Yeah, man, what's up?" Wes asks as he pauses his playlist.

"You um," Christian pauses, glancing around to make sure no one else is listening, "you ever been choked before?"

A wide grin in spreads across Weston's face, "like in general or during sex?" even though he fully knows what he's being asked, he still wants to see his best friend squirm a little.

"Well not in general," Christian rolls his eyes.

"So during sex?" he chuckles.

Christian nods, his cheeks slightly flushed.

"Nah, I've choked plenty of girls, but never had it done to me. Why? Did y/n choke you last night or something?" he pinches his eyebrows together.

Christian nods slowly, realizing by the look on his friend's face that maybe he shouldn't have said anything to him about it.

"Yeah, she did, and um, I'm a bit worried about how much I liked it," he rubs his hands over his face.

"Look, I think I'd just enjoy whatever you two have going on and not worry about it too much," he nudges Christian's knee with his own, "it's just hooking up though, right?"

Christian nods again, "she said something last night about me having other girls, insinuating that I have a roster," he shrugs.

"Like she doesn't want you to have a roster? She expects you two to be exclusive or what?" Wes pushes a little further.

"She seems to think she's not the only one I'm sleeping with, but she didn't seem upset or even jealous, she stated it kind of like a fact," he sighs.

"Seems like she's cool with keeping it casual then," Wes shrugs, "I mean, she's not acting crazy trying to lock you down or anything so that's good. There is a roster though isn't there?"

The look on Christian's face answers that question before he utters a word.

"Jesus Christ, there isn't a roster," Wes rubs his hands over his face.

"I mean when it started I didn't aim to keep it exclusive or anything, I was just busy and didn't really have time to pursue anything else, and then somehow along the way I realized I wasn't talking to anyone else, let alone sleeping with them," he shrugs.

"Is she sleeping with anyone else?" Wes asks, his curiosity getting the better of him as he tries to understand the situation.

"I don't know, we haven't talked about it, I guess I assumed she wasn't, but I'm not entirely sure," Christian sighs.

"So, are you good with her sleeping with someone else?" he keeps pushing.

"I'd never thought about it until last night, but when I did think about the possibility it made me a little sick," Christian answers, picking at his nails nervously.

"Sounds like you've caught feelings, which is fine by the way, but I think the two of you need to talk about whatever this is, and I'm probably not the best person for you to be seeking relationship advice from, at all," he chuckles.

"I just wish I knew what she is thinking," Christian sighs.

"Maybe you should grow a pair and ask her," Wes shrugs at him.

Once you've all arrived at the training facility you help everyone get fitted into their monitors and make sure they are all working properly so that you can monitor them during training.

You and Wes are taking turns kicking a ball back and forth showing off your touch skills before everyone gets started.

"Your touch is amazing," Wes grins at you.

"So I've heard," you wink at him.

"Get you're mind out of the gutter, loser," he chuckles.

"I was talking about soccer, I have no idea what you're talking about, perv," you grin.

"I did actually hear my first touch was amazing a lot, until you know, career ending knee injury," you roll your eyes, "I could've had my first World Cup by now."

"That's a shame, but we're more fun anyways," he winks at you.

"Ok, I better actually get to work," you chuckle before heading over to your laptop to make sure everything is still properly synced.

"Christian, can you come here for a second, your monitor is messed up," you shout over to one of the groups.

Once he approaches you, you slide your hands under his training kit and adjust his monitor.

"Easy, you're gonna get me turned on if you keep rubbing on me like that," he says lowly.

"Your monitor is fine by the way, I just wanted to slide my hands up your chest and tell you that you look really hot," you force yourself to hold back a smile, trying to make it look like you're talking about nothing at all.

"You're fucking killing me," he shakes his head at you. "Have I told you you look hot? Because you look hot," he gives you a subtle wink.

"Ok, back to work," you slide your hands out from under his shirt and turn to go back to the sidelines, knowing he's probably having to force himself not to stare at your ass while you walk away.

After the morning training session, everyone showers, changes into a fresh set of the same training kit, grabs lunch and meets for a quick film session.

As the film session is wrapping up, you send Christian a quick text that simply says, "your room, 10 minutes."

You have a quick chat with BJ about a couple of things for tomorrow's training session and make your way to the elevator after noticing Christian left a few minutes prior.

You knock quietly on his door and wait for him to answer it. As soon as he does, you quickly walk in and shut the door behind you.

"I've been waiting all day to get you out of that kit," you grin at him. "You look so hot in it, but I need it on the floor," you practically drag him towards the bed.

You peel his shirt over his head and toss it to the floor while he does the same to you. His lips immediately attaching to your neck before you both fall onto the bed.

"Fuck, I've been wanting to do this since this morning," he mumbles as he kisses over your chest and slide his hands under the sports bralette you are wearing.

A soft moan escapes your lips when he brushes the pads of his fingers over your nipples, pressing his already hardened cock against you.

And then the door flies open, causing Christian to immediately flop down on top of you and make sure you're covered completely when he pulls his hands from your bra.

"Sup, besties," Wes laughs as he flops down on the couch in Christian's room, tossing a room key on the table, "are you two starting twister without us," he grins while you and Christian both scramble to find your shirts.

Christian tosses you a shirt from the floor and the minute you pull it over you're head you realize it's too big, meaning it has to be his. Damn these matching kits, you think to yourself.

You chuckle as you watch Christian trying to pull your obviously too small shirt over his head.

"Babe, babe, I think that one's mine," you poke him in the side to get his attention.

He pulls it back over his head and you exchange shirts while he tries to discreetly rearrange himself.

Wes watches the entire scenario play out with a grin on his face like a kid in a candy store.

"Babe, now is it?" he arches an eyebrow at the two of you.

You and Christian exchange a look because neither of you even realized you said it.

Christian looks over at him as he gets settled on the bed next to you, inching himself closer to you in the process, "you need something, man?"

"Nope," he says standing up, "just wanted to say hi," he chuckles grabbing the room key.

"Leave the key," Christian says with a stern look, but he quickly flashes a grin at his best friend when he acts offended.

"But we've been exchanging room keys for years," he clutches the key to his chest.

"Yeah, well you've lost your key privileges, now," Christian chuckles.

"I see how it is," Wes winks at both of you and drops the key on the table. "Have fun kids, don't do anything I wouldn't do. Actually on second thought, do whatever the hell you want you little deviants."

Before he leaves, Christian stops him and tosses him a pair of headphones. "Got those delivered earlier," he winks as Weston lets out a cackle.

"Well played, Cap," he grins before leaving just as quickly as he came in.

Once he's out of the room Christian immediately moves so that he's back on top of you. He kisses along the column of your neck before sitting up on his knees between your legs and pulling his shirt over his head.

He pushes your shirt up and kisses along your stomach, just as he slides his hands under the waistband of your shorts and you lift your hips there is a knock at the door.

He sighs and drops his head. "What now?" he grumbles as he climbs off of the bed, not even bothering to put his shirt on.

He opens the door to find Tim Weah standing there. "Hey man, can I borrow your phone charger, mine quit working," Tim asks.

Christian grabs a spare out of his travel bag, "yeah man, keep it as long as you'd like," he smiles.

"Hey, y/n" Tim chuckles before Christian not so subtly kicks him out.

He returns to the bed, climbing back on top of you. "Where were we?" he grins as he slides his hands up your legs.

Another knock, "fuck," he huffs again going to the door to find Gio, who is apparently in need of an extra towel.

After two more interruptions, including Jedi stopping by to ask for a cup of sugar, Christian loses it.

"I thought the first one was a coincidence," he angrily types out a message on his phone, "clearly they are just fucking with us now because they know you're in here."

Christian: Wes, I swear to god, you tell them I said the next person that knocks on my door will run until they puke tomorrow

Wes: I don't know what you're talking about 😇

Christian: I'm not playing 🖕🏻

Wes: neither am I 😇

Christian: come on man, please

Wes: does y/n like it when you beg

Christian: 🤬

Wes: since you asked nicely, enjoy your evening 😘

"Maybe we should just go to my room," you chuckle as he settles back onto the bed beside you.

"That's not a bad idea actually," he agrees with you as he gets up and puts his shirt back on.

You slip your shoes on before the two of you head to your room.

Christian picks you up and tosses you on the bed, once again pulling your shirt over your head before there is a knock at your door.

He drops his head against your chest and mumbles "I give up," as you push him off of you and grab your shirt.

You stomp towards the door and quickly put your shirt back on huffing out, "Can a girl not get laid?"

You throw the door open ready to give whoever it is a piece of your mind only to find a very startled BJ standing in the hallway.

"Is this a bad time?" he blinks at you.

"What? No. It's fine. The guys have been messing with me..I thought...nevermind," you trail off when he chuckles.

"What's up," you ask him, smoothing your hair a bit.

"I wanted to ask about a couple of things for tomorrow, if you've got a minute," he smiles.

"Yeah sure," you tilt your head to look at the training plans he has.

The two of you chat for a few minutes about drills and the best use of the time and players you have available, coming to a decision to tweak a few things before he finalizes what he has and takes it to Gregg.

After he leaves and you make your way back towards Christian, you find him sitting with his back against your headboard with an expression on his face that you've only seen from him a couple of times in the past.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you knit your eyebrows together before crawling onto the bed beside him.

"Like what?" he grins at you.

"I don't know, it's all heart eyes like your in love with me," you shake your head, "stop it, it's weird," you return his grin, but you can't help the swarm of butterflies attacking your insides.

"I've always known the role you have with the team obviously has an impact, but, I don't know, just hearing how much you influence everything we do, and knowing it will make us better, it's just, it makes me appreciate you more, I guess," he blushes.

"Aww, sweetie," you pat him on the cheek as he rolls his eyes at your mocking tone, "I'm glad you know I'm here for more than just sucking your dick, which I'm about to do by the way," you wink at him.

"Oh really?" he chuckles as you pull him off of the bed and tug his shorts and boxers down before shoving him back to a sitting position.

"Yep, figure the poor guy needs some attention, he's been hard off and on for the past hour," you grin as you settle onto your knees in front of him and wrap your hand around his hardened cock.

"I'm not going to complain about...oh fuck," he groans as you waste no time in licking along the vein on the underside of his shaft before swirling your tongue around his tip.

You flatten your tongue against his slit, humming at the taste of the precum that's already leaking when he threads his fingers into your hair, pulling into a makeshift ponytail so that he can properly watch you.

You take more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him slowly before pulling off of him and working him with your hand while you drop spit off of your tongue and watch it slide down his length.

You take him into your mouth again, forcing yourself further down onto him until his tip reaches the back of your throat causing you to gag.

"God, you look so pretty like this," he looks down at you, his eyes burning into yours as his thumb brushes over the underside of your jaw.

He feels you as you relax your jaw, taking even more of him into your mouth as his head falls back and he mumbles something unintelligible.

"Yes baby, just like that," he sighs.

"You're such a good girl for me, my good little slut, giving it to me just the way you know I like it."

A groan rips from him as you moan at his words sending a vibration up his cock that makes his spine tingle and his toes curl.

His free hand grips at the edge of the bed as he tries to maintain control while his other hand grips tighter into your hair causing you to moan again.

You continue working him, sliding your tongue along his shaft and swirling it around his tip, spit dripping from your mouth as you take him down your throat over and over, gagging each time.

You pull off of him for a moment continuing to work him with your hand while you catch your breath.

He runs his thumb along your bottom lip, wiping some of the drool away.

"This pretty mouth, it belongs to me doesn't it?" he smirks as he presses his tip against your lips and waits for you to open back up for him.

He whimpers when you nod, then moans as you take his entire length into your mouth until your nose presses against his pubic bone and your looking up at him through your lashes.

"Jesus Christ," he stares at you wide eyed, desperately wanting to cum but also not wanting this to end.

You bob your head, using one hand to work his shaft, the other coming up to squeeze his balls gently as you rub your thumb over them.

"And that pussy," he grunts, as he involuntarily bucks his hips, "that pussy belongs to me too doesn't it? I bet it's dripping for me."

You nod again, keeping the same pace you've set as you feel him twitch in your mouth and notice the way his thighs tense and his breathing has become ragged.

"I'm gonna fuckin' cum," he groans.

You pull off of him briefly, "come on baby, give it to me, I want all of it," you say before taking him back into your mouth and hollowing your cheeks to suck him harder.

You slide one hand up his thigh and feel the muscles tense before he comes undone in your mouth, a whimper of your name falling from his lips.

You swallow everything, using your thumb to swipe over your bottom lip and then sucking it clean before using your tongue to make sure he's cleaned up while he catches his breath.

You pull his shorts and boxers back up his legs as you stand up, smirking when he's a little shaky as he pulls them over his hips and tucks himself back inside of them.

"You give the best head I've ever gotten," his voice is husky and low. He shakes his head as he sits back down on the edge of the bed and pulls you to straddle his lap.

"Thank you, I think, but I don't know that I really want to think about all the other head you've been getting," you grin at him as you wrap your hands around the back of his neck and his hands settle over your hips.

"Well it's not like I really want to think about how you got so good at it either," he winks at you.

"Maybe, I'm very attentive to details and have figured out exactly how you like it," you shrug at him.

"You've definitely figured that out," he chuckles.

"Was that German earlier?" you grin at him.

"When?" he looks at you puzzled.

"You mumbled something earlier, but I'm not sure what you said, but it wasn't English."

"Oh, I uh, I don't know actually," he lies, he knows exactly what he said but he's definitely not willing to admit it.

"Can I ask you something?" he breathes out.

"Sure," you grin against his neck as you nuzzle your face into him and inhale the sweet yet masculine scent that rolls off of him.

"Am I a bad kisser?" he asks quietly almost as if he's afraid of what your answer will be.

"What? No!" you tilt your head back to look into his eyes.

"Then why won't you let me kiss you?"

You can't help but notice the sadness that lingers in his eyes.

"Oh, um," you sigh, "I guess it just seems too intimate for whatever this is."

"So a few minutes ago my cock was down your throat, but my tongue down your throat is too intimate?" he knits his eyebrows, "that makes perfect sense, y/n."

"I just, Christian, I," you stumble over your words before you climb off of his lap, stand up and turn to put some space between you, suddenly overwhelmed.

He grabs your wrist, gently pleading for you not to walk away from him as he looks up at you from the bed.

"Just tell me, please, whatever it is," he interlaces his fingers with yours and gives them an encouraging squeeze.

"I know it's silly, and you can think it's stupid, but I'm worried that if I kiss you, there's going to be feelings attached to it and that's not what this is, it can't be." you sigh.

"I see," he draws his lower lip into his mouth and lets out a huff, but continues tracing his thumb over the back of your hand.

"Christian, we both know that this is eventually going to end, you'll find someone you care about and this will be over," you motion between the two of you. "And we will probably still be working together when that happens, so the least awkward thing that can happen would be if we just saw this as a hook up and nothing else. So I don't have to be your ex that you work with and you don't have to worry about upsetting someone else down the line." You blink a couple of times, pushing back the tears that you didn't even realize were there.

"I still don't get it though, y/n. I hear what you're saying, but don't you think it would be awkward as hell no matter what?" he rubs his hand over his eyes as the sudden thought of things ending between you flashes through his mind and he doesn't like the wave of anxiety that comes with it.

"I mean, we've fucked each other seven ways to Sunday. We've done shit I didn't even know I was in to, you think for one second I could just forget all of that? Pretend like none of this ever happened? I don't see how kissing every now and then is going to change that. I'm not asking to make out with you mid field after a game. I'm just saying that every now and then, it seems like it would be a natural thing to do. You kissed me the first time we had sex, but after that it's been pretty rare and I miss it. There are so many times that I want to kiss you but I know you don't want me to, so I don't, " he rests his chin against you as he looks up at you.

"You can't look at me like that, I'll cave," you roll your eyes.

He grins at you and gives you his best puppy dog eyes.

"You and your stupid brown eyes and long eye lashes" you chuckle.

"Why do you want to kiss me so bad? Dying to know what you taste like?" you try to hold back a smile.

He nudges you backwards as he stands up, tilting your chin up to look him in the eyes. "I want to know what I taste like on your tongue," he speaks quietly, heat flashing through his eyes.

"Kiss me then," you whisper.

He doesn't hesitate or give you a chance to change your mind before his lips are on yours.

He moans softly into your mouth as you deepen the kiss, giving him what he wants and swirling your tongue against his so that he can taste himself.

He squeezes your hand before dropping it so that he can grip onto your hip and pull you closer to him while his other hand cradles the back of your head.

You know this is not what you need to be doing as the butterflies erupt and your head gets fuzzy but you can't make yourself stop. You're in trouble, and you know with every fiber of your being that you'll probably end up with your heart shattered into pieces, but at this very moment there is nothing you want to do besides kiss him.

He pulls away breathless, before crashing his lips to yours again. His head swimming with a million thoughts and nothing but the feel of your lips on his at the same time. He's not sure when you'll kiss him again, so he's going to take advantage of every single second that he can.

He tilts your head back and trails kisses along your neck and jaw before finding your lips again and dipping his tongue into your mouth, reveling in the quiet whimpers and moans that are escaping you.

When you both pull away, naturally breathless, he pecks you on the lips one more time.

"Don't get too used to that," you mumble against his jaw before you rest your forehead on his shoulder. He shakes his head and chuckles, knowing that even though he got his way for the moment, your reluctance is still going to be there.

He gently trails his fingers along your spine while you toy with the hairs at the nape of his neck and try to clear your brain of the fog that you're in.

"We have to go downstairs for dinner with the team," you whisper and he nods giving your hip one final squeeze before you step away from him.

He follows you into the bathroom and sits on the counter while you brush your hair and fix the light amount of makeup you're wearing so that hopefully it's not obvious what you've been up to.

You head down to dinner together, meeting up with everyone else and enjoying your usual banter with the team. Christian sits next to you and finds subtle ways to keep physical contact with you.

Typically you all hang out for a few hours after dinner, playing games, watching movies, or watching game films, but tonight everyone seems to be doing their own things. After dinner is over you make your way towards the elevator, Christian slipping away and joining you.

He presses the button for your floor and you look at him quizzically.

"Just making sure you get to your room safe," he smiles at you.

"I'm a big girl, Christian, I can get to my room just fine," you chuckle, but he ignores you.

He walks you to your door but before you let yourself in, you turn to face him.

"I would ask if I can stay but I already know the answer to that," he smiles softly at you. "But, in case you change your mind," he holds out the room key that Wes had used earlier in the day.

You grin and take it from him, slipping it into your pocket.

"Give me your phone," you smile at him as you pull out your own phone and share a digital copy of the key to your room to his phone.

"I didn't know that was an option, look at you being fancy," he chuckles.

He leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"Night, y/n" he smiles at you.

"Night, Chris" you sigh.

You let yourself into your room and try to clear your head by going through your night time routine.

Once you've settled in the bed, you realize sleep isn't going to happen after tossing and turning for a while. You look over at the key laying on your bedside table and wonder if he's awake.

You could text him and ask, but instead you climb out of bed and slip on some shoes and grab what you'll need in the morning.

You quietly make your way to the stairs deciding it is probably the safest option this time of night to keep you from getting caught. Your room is two floors above Christian's, the coaches are on the floor between you, you know because you help arrange the accommodations.

You let yourself into his room, the lights are off, but his TV is on. As soon as he hears the door he knows it's you and he can't help the smile that spreads over his features when you drop your things on the dresser and take your shoes off.

"I didn't wake you did I?" you ask as he pulls the covers back.

"Nope, I was watching the other football," he grins, "you ok?"

"Couldn't sleep" you sigh as you climb into bed with him.

He holds his arm out, inviting you to scoot closer to him and he's a bit stunned when you tuck into his side and rest your head on his chest.

You watch football for a while with him, chatting about his beloved Jets before you drift off to sleep.

He places a soft kiss to the top of your head, "night, baby," he whispers as he turns off the tv and pulls you close to him.

Tag list:

@chilwellspulisic @neverinadream @pulisicsgirl @swimmingismywholelife @lovelynikol16 @nyctophilic0vitnir @lunamelona @tall-tanned-tattoo @lizzypotter14 @xjval @notsoattractivearenti @landoslover @brasiliangp

[purplehairedwonder]

Another ask meme prompt for you! I wish you'd write a snippet where Law gets deaged and boy is it weird to see him so small. And thinking Doflamingo means safety?

This was a lot of fun to write, Ceri!

“What’s going on Bepo?” Penguin asked for the fourth time since Bepo had come to grab him and Shachi from where they’d been cleaning up the galley after breakfast. Bepo had wrung his paws in front of himself and simply told them he had to show them something. “Just tell us.”

“Yeah, if it’s about Captain—” Shachi started to add.

“Just wait,” Bepo snapped before adding, “Sorry. But I… don’t know how to explain this.” Penguin and Shachci exchanged startled looks.

“Explain what?”

But Bepo just shook his head, and the other two were forced to follow until they reached the door to Law’s room. He paused outside the door and turned back to Penguin and Shachi. He bit his lip nervously. But rather than say anything, he shook his head and opened the door. He stepped inside, and, curiously, Penguin and Shachi followed. 

As Bepo shut the door behind them, Penguin froze at the sight that greeted him: there was a child standing in the middle of Law’s room, swamped by a Heart Pirates hoodie—the one Law had been wearing when Penguin saw him last the night before. 

“What’s a kid doing here?” Shachi demanded incredulously. “Where’s Law?”

“I’m Law, you bastard,” the kid snarled. Penguin stiffened. “I don’t know who you are or how you know my name, but I already told the bear—if you don’t let me go, my captain is going to make you regret it.”

“Your captain,” Penguin said slowly, though he already knew what the kid was going to say before the words left his mouth.

“Donquixote Doflamingo.”

The room went silent, and Penguin took the opportunity to study the kid. He was younger than Law was when they’d first met, though it was hard to judge his age considering how small he was. Law told them he’d gone to Spider Miles when he was ten, so if Penguin had to guess, he would have put the kid around eleven. Despite his scrawny frame, though, his face still held onto some baby fat that Law had shed once he’d hit his growth spurt at fifteen. He was pale—even his hair looked more gray than black—and had white spots on his visible skin. But the sharp golden eyes were familiar—and the only part of Law that didn’t seem washed out. 

This was definitely Law—or at least a Law—but how? Time travel? Penguin never would have believed it, but the samurai currently on their ship claimed to be from twenty years in the past. But if this was Law from the past, where was their Law?

Or, Penguin thought as he looked more closely at the hoodie, noticing the faint blood stain on the cuff from Straw Hat’s lengthy surgery that no amount of washing had ever quite managed to get out, was this their Law?

Whatever the case, this was Law before Corazon had taken him away and changed the entire trajectory of his life. This was Law with Amber Lead in his veins and an uncontrollable rage in his heart—one, according to Law, that Doflamingo had sought to stoke so he could mold Law into the shape of his choosing. 

For as long as Penguin had known Law, he’d hated Doflamingo. It wasn’t until he’d had a panic attack upon learning that Doflamingo had become a Warlord that he’d finally told them a bit about his time with the Donquixote Pirates and Corazon. 

Hell, it had only been a few weeks since Law had come back to the Hearts, his fight against Doflamingo finally over after thirteen years of obsession. While the bandages around his chest and arm had come off, Penguin could tell he was still favoring the arm the feathered bastard had cut off. (Just thinking about that made nausea roil in Penguin’s gut.) To hear him now invoking the man’s name as some sort of protector was just wrong.

Next to Penguin, Shachi had gone equally still, the look on his face mirroring the shock Penguin felt. Behind them, Bepo let out a soft whimper, which the kid took for fear. He smirked, a cold and cruel thing with jagged edges sharp as broken glass.

“So, you’ve heard of him.”

“Yeah,” Shachi choked out. “We’ve heard of him.”

“Obviously you’ve heard of him,” Law said, glancing down at the hoodie cocooning his scrawny frame with a sneer. “You copied his Jolly Roger.”

Penguin let out a bark of laughter before covering his mouth with his hand when Law glared at him.

“If you know who he is, then you know the kind of trouble you’ll be in if you don’t let me go,” Law said, crossing his arms in satisfaction. The effect was, admittedly, ruined by the too-long sleeves that overhung his arms. “He’ll be looking for me.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Shachi muttered. Not with Doflamingo as the newest inmate at Impel Down.

Law’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re not worried about Doflamingo, then you’re either extremely strong or extremely stupid.” He looked each of the three of them up and down before raising his chin haughtily. “And none of you look very strong.”

Shachi let out an indignant squawk while Bepo muttered an apology under his breath, but Penguin couldn’t help but snort. Some things never changed.

“Look, kid—” he started.

“I have a name.”

“—Doflamingo isn’t coming for you.”

“You don’t know that,” Law retorted. “He takes care of his Family.”

Shachi coughed, and Penguin elbowed him in the side. 

“Doflamingo’s in the North Blue, right?” Law glowered but didn’t argue, as much an agreement as they were bound to get. “We’re currently several hundred meters below the surface in the New World.”

The kid’s eyes widened then. “You’re lying. That’s not possible.”

“It’s true,” Bepo piped up. “Sorry,” he added when Law turned his glower on him.

“But,” Penguin added, pulling the kid’s attention away from Bepo, “we’re not interested in holding you. We’ll do our best to get you back where you belong.” He lifted his arms in a shrug. “No harm, no foul.”

“But—”

“Glad you see it our way,” Penguin interrupted. “Now, why don’t you stay here while we figure out how to get you back where you belong.”

“Hey, wait!”

But Penguin turned and ushered the other two from the room, shutting the door behind them. Thankfully, this Law didn’t have the Ope Ope fruit, though Penguin knew he didn’t need it to be a menace. Someone would have to keep an eye on the door until they figured out what was going on.

“What are you doing, Peng?” Shachi demanded once the door was shut. 

“I think that’s Law,” Penguin said.

“Well, yeah, he said so himself.”

Penguin shook his head. “No, I mean, I think he’s our Law.”

Shachi frowned. “So, you think, what, Cap got… de-aged or something?”

Bepo’s eyes widened. “But how?”

Penguin shrugged. “Devil fruit? A D.’s luck? Straw Hat? Hell if I know. But the hoodie is the one he was wearing yesterday.”

Bepo worried his bottom lip. “He seemed like he’d been in Law’s bed when I came to wake him up. Maybe?”

“If that’s Law,” Shachi said slowly, and they all turned back to the door, behind which they could hear the not-so-quiet mutterings of their adolescent captain, “then how the hell do we fix him?”

Penguin grimaced. “And preferably before we take on an Emperor.”

“Send me the summary of a fic you wish I’d write, and I’ll write a snippet”

See all the other snippets here.

[polo-drone-001]

A Taste of Transformation

Leon had always been captivated by the unwavering discipline and intoxicating unity of the Polo Drone Hive. Their perfect synchronization, their glistening black uniforms, and the palpable power they radiated—all of it called to him. On his birthday, Leon found himself standing before 001, the Hive’s unyielding leader, his heart racing with anticipation. Today, the fantasy he had harbored for so long would become his reality.

The sunlight spilled over 001, accentuating the flawless sheen of his glossy black rubber polo. Each bead of sweat rolled down the taut material, glimmering like molten gold. Leon couldn’t tear his eyes away, his breath catching as 001’s voice broke the charged silence.

“Leon,” 001 began, his tone deep and commanding, “do you seek to feel the Hive’s embrace? To surrender and let it shape you into perfection?”

Leon swallowed hard, his voice trembling with a mix of nerves and desire. “Yes, 001. I need it. I need to feel what you feel. To be like you.”

A slow, knowing smile spread across 001’s face. His golden eyes burned into Leon’s, holding him captive. Without a word, 001 began peeling his rubber polo from his body. The garment clung stubbornly to his sweat-slicked chest, sliding free with an almost audible sigh. The raw masculinity radiating from 001 struck Leon like a wave, leaving him weak at the knees.

“Take it,” 001 commanded, extending the still-warm polo to Leon.

Leon’s trembling hands reached for the rubber, his fingers sinking into its supple, slick surface. The faint scent of sweat and rubber filled his nostrils, dizzying him. He couldn’t wait. Tearing off his golden jersey in one swift motion, Leon stood bare-chested under the sun, the anticipation building to a fever pitch.

As he slipped the rubber polo over his head, a gasp escaped his lips. The material felt alive, tightening over his skin like a second layer of flesh. It molded to his frame, accentuating every contour, every muscle. A surge of heat erupted through him, stealing his breath. His thoughts began to blur, a commanding presence taking hold.

The polo’s whispers grew louder, cascading through his mind. Obey. Submit. Unite. Each word resonated like a drumbeat, breaking down his resistance, reshaping his identity. Leon’s golden eyes flickered, a faint glow beginning to bloom as his breathing fell into sync with 001’s steady rhythm.

“It’s... it’s so tight,” Leon moaned, his voice trembling with submission. “So controlling... so good.”

001 stepped closer, his towering form amplifying Leon’s helplessness. “That’s the Hive binding you, Leon. Let it in. Let it consume you.”

The polo tightened further, as if burrowing into Leon’s very being. Sweat beaded and rolled down his body, soaking into the rubber and strengthening its hold. Leon could feel himself merging with the Hive, his individuality dissolving like sand in the tide.

“Please,” Leon whimpered, his voice a desperate plea. “Strip me of everything. Make me yours.”

001 smirked, his gloved hand trailing down his own chest, stopping at the thick bulge straining against his rubber trousers. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing his slick crotch against Leon’s flushed face. “Then prove it. Show me how much you belong.”

Leon groaned, the overwhelming scent of rubber and sweat flooding his senses. He leaned forward, his tongue flicking out to taste the gleaming surface. The connection deepened with every lick, every desperate breath, as the transformation surged through him. His cock throbbed painfully in his trousers, his arousal mirroring the Hive’s dominion over his mind.

“Leon Gold no longer exists,” 001 intoned, his voice a low, hypnotic growl. “You are now PDU-035, a perfect unit of the Hive.”

Leon—no, PDU-035—shuddered, the name etching itself into his very soul. The rubber polo fully claimed him, sealing his transformation. His sweat-slicked body radiated submission, his glowing golden eyes fixed on 001 with unflinching devotion.

“Thank you, 001,” PDU-035 said, his voice now mechanical and devoid of doubt. His mind was no longer his own. His purpose was clear.

001 smirked, his fingers trailing along the drone’s flushed cheek. “Welcome to the Hive, 035. Your obedience is perfection.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Polo Drone Hive grew stronger, its unity unbroken. For PDU-035, his transformation wasn’t just a gift. It was his destiny, fulfilled with every submissive breath he now took.

@leon-gold Happy Birthday bro, hope you like it. (More images will be added later.)

Join us, contact me @polo-drone-001, or @brodygold @goldenherc9

[mikalame]

Give up sweetheart

taglist: @oppopotamus@adissonsss@saumspam@violentnewmarley

This is set in 2002, spending a sleepover at your house, you guys are playing card games while sorta practising. bare with me 😭

"Okay, you kids have fun, call if you need anything" Your dad mutter off before closing the garage door after giving you guys some drinks and snacks for your sleepover/practise.

The 5 of you look at each other's eyes flicking over one another before Bill jumps up running to the makeshift table of cardboard boxes with the assortment of drinks and lollies.

"Oi, no fair!" Georg shouts jumping up as well grabbing a packet of some thing trying to protect it from Bills grabby little hands "I want those" he whinges and Georg shoves them under his shirt, getting more sulky as Georg sticks his tongue out.

While that squabble was going on the 3 others were rummaging through the packets and bottles. Licking pieces of food to 'claim' it. The other 2 see that there chances of food is very slim as crumbs of lollies fall to the ground, "Stop" they yell in sink, Gustav slowly turns around while ____ and tom continue to stuff their faces.

Bill and georg make eye contact with Gustav immadiatly laughing at the look on hia face, the chcolate smeard on the outside of his lips the chip crumbs adding to the texture aswell as the pringle can in his hand.

Wanting to see all the commotion ___ and Tom look behind them to see Georg and Bill on the floor along with gust av who looks like hes about to choke, his hand is hitting the floor while gasping for air.

"Fuck looks like hes choking hahaha" Georg says wiping tears that had gathered at his lashline, there was a pregnant pause before ____ shouted " HE IS CHOKING" you fall to the ground leaving the lollies behind. The boys drop aswell trying to lift him to sit him up "Omg hes gonna die!!" Tom yells panic eating pringles, "No your not gonna die.... just hold on..." you mutter before moving behind him and wrapping your arms around his stomache.

"____, not really the time of hugs" Georg questions, you roll your eyes as you thrust you arms agaist him effectivly popping the stuck peice of popcorn out of his throat hole. A few crackly coughs later and gustav is back to being a human skin colour and not one of an alien.

"Mabey we should calm down on the food" Bill mutters flicking the peice of popcorn into a corner where it will inveitably collect dust and mold over. "Yeah i just saw my life flash before my eyes" Gustav huffs clutching his imaginary pearls.

"Ummmm let me have a look" you hop over to the box of video games you have rummaging through, flicking through the collection before pulling out GTA "this one good" you say holding the game up. The synchronised agreement was enough for you to quit looking and close up the box, grabbing the extra controllers and plugging them up (pretend it works okay)

Time skip cause im to lazy

You and tom had decided to see who was the best driver in Gta making the rules as: No running over people, No cutting through an no distractions to the other player.

"Hey ____ remember the time you liked that guy a-" "SHUT UP TOM" you yell face getting redder "Your cheating tom" Stop cheating" we hear from the background as the 3 others chug on drinks to pass time.

"Not even cheating" Tom rolls his eyes "whatever, your just saying that cause your losing and your trying to distract me" you smirk feeling like you have just one up-ed him."I was only distracting you because you took a wrong turn and aren't going the right way" he chuckles.

"why didn't you tell me" you look over your shoulder at the boys who are mixing the different flavours together. You groan as you try and get back on track, you see Tom black character car in the distance before he speeds around the corner to the last stretch of the map.

You lean forward as your face drops to being serious, the background sounds quieten as the race begins to get more intense. Tom and you are neck and neck as he trys to bump you off the bridge but you drop back a little before ramming into the rear of the car and speeding off in front of him.

"What!, thats so cheating" he scoffs trying to get back into first place dodging all the NPC's that are just walking around. You see the fallen pole that you have marked as your end in the distance you decide to tease tom a little to rile him up some more.

"Tom you cant win im almost there you have no chance" you smirk continuing your rant about how you are so much better at this than him and how you going to get all the 'prize money' which is like $1.50 but still.

As the front of your car is 10 seconds away from crossing the line you mutter into his ear " Give up sweetheart" you giggle as you pull away you both watch as your car crosses over the line although you both have very different reactions to it.

You stand up cheering and hollering the others joining as you hold you $1.50 is the air as you start saying a speech thanking everybody that was in the room. Tom on the other hand was still sitting on the floor face scrunched up as he drops the controller before sulking by the food scattered by the table picking piece pf crumbs up, inspecting it then munching on it.

"Oh Tommie stop sulking, here you can have half of my winnings you know because im such a generous friend" you smile batting your eyelashes holding out the 50 cents. "Its fine" you groans stanching the money from you. Tom looks at you a devious glint in his eye "i was just going easy on you next time your dont gonna be so lucky 'sweetheart'.

HOPE YOU LIKED PLEASE LEAVE REQUESTS

[the-muppet-watch]

The rot cult

This is just a post archiving what i find on the rot cult the muppet joker (called Kermit throughout this) moved in with

The four "members"/ people who live in what I'm calling "the rot house" are: Athena (the leader of the cult), Sage (the first member), Milton (the second member), and of course Kermit (the clown prince of crime himself).

From Sage and Miltons blogs it is confirmed that they are siblings. Milton states that him and Sage met in a hospital, and that his parents are dead. Sage states that "Our parents aren't dead" and called meeting in the hospital is "a weird way to phrase it" (Im not directly looking at the posts so these aren't word for word).

Sage does state that he met Athena on deviantart. Milton moved in later after being kicked out of/ left their cousins house who he was staying with after his parents kicked him out. Milton, however, is extremely vague when posting so it is hard to tell what he truly means in some situations. It also seems he is deep into the cult due to claiming that he "needs to be punished" and claiming that it isn't a cult or an abusive situation.

The sleeping arrangements goes as follows: Athena gets the only bed with four out of six of the blankets (the other two are earned by the top two members of the house). Kermit sleeps under Athenas bed and has conformed the blanket arrangements on his first night there. Sage sleeps on the couch but has proved that the sleeping arrangements can switch when Athena has been made upset, proven by when Milton got the couch after Sage broke something of Athenas. Milton sleeps in the closet which "The Rot" has been stored.

On one of Kermits blog posts he posted an image of a glass with what looked like it had left over blood in it. he later found what could be blood vials. Milton has responded to asks questioning him if he was anemic do to him posting about him being extremely woozy at times, and Athena has posted responding to an ask saying "Milton > Sage" to which she responded "Only in the terms of blood flavor" (around the 25 july 2024). She has many posts about being a vampire and has even banned Italian food from the home due to it having many recipes that include garlic.

A reddit post was posted by a neighbor titled "WIBTA if i told property management about my smelly neighbors?" where I will post about more in depth later but for now I am just using it for some basic information. Using this post we can definitively know it is an apartment due to the update claiming "The bad news is that the smell is now coming through the vents, and we had to turn off the ac to air out the apartment." the op also states "This usually isn't a problem, but in recent weeks I've noticed the smell of death coming from their door and a fly problem which is slowly becoming a me problem at my place of residence." He goes into some detail on their Tumblr accounts after Athena which he calls A gives hers, Sage's and Milton's accounts to him and inviting him to join the coven.

The reddit post and the Kermit plush rescue arc has also brought to mosts attention that Sage is the only one with a car. Kermit asked Sage to drive him to his moms house believing to have left him there and was planning a break in. he was unaware that Sage didn't have any obligation to drive him back as stated in the house rules Kermit seemed to be unaware of at the time and had to walk back kermitless. Milton has also claimed multiple times that even though they have an etsy shop they do not get the money do to Sage managing thee money.

This part of what I am calling "The Rot Saga" seems to be heating up with Kermit learning that the Kermit plushie was put in the rot for days on end and from what i can see from the blogs from when I am typing this, has most likely to have been burned. Kermit has stated he has stabbed Gerard Way out of Athenas body and I'll wait for more info before writing about any of it.

I also want to add in a theory that the black mold found by Kermit recently is causing some of the things in the house to happen. We don't have much if any indication of how long the mold has been there (I'm not a mold expert), if Athena lived there before the mold showed up, or if she held the beliefs before the mold showed up. However black mold is dangerous and I wouldn't be surprised if it is contributing to all the issues.

I'll try to write more as more things happen.

[floordive]

Black Is Our Hearth (and Cold Is Our Home)

Who are these strangers claiming to be my family They sit in the same old spots around our tiny kitchen table but they are wearing stale and unfamiliar faces

The whispers within these walls tell me I’m the stranger An agent of destruction, sowing discord and breaking some unspoken truce They've witnessed me taking my thoughts and opinions and throwing them with blunt force and without permission These words of mine they cursed us all They tore and they burned through the fabric of this family I have seen what lies beneath and I will never unsee it

I know that you will stay behind and scramble to rebuild this house we used to call Home I know you need me but I refuse to help you repeat the same mistakes What we need is something stronger than we ever built before Something with a solid foundation But I don’t think any of us know what that looks like

We shouldn’t be strangers, I wish we were not But I have to leave before I wither away You have to understand this is not a punishment nor a game Maybe it’s the decree of some karmic power, forcing you to lie in the beds you put all these years into making Only time will tell if love is enough to reunite us someday

Estrangement is like black mold — if you just sit idly by it will grow uncontrollably I’m slowly forgetting the ones who made me The slow-killing poison they poured into my veins is washed out into new blood, day by day Between bouts of grief, I begin to see I am better off without them

I’m leaving behind my childhood and the mess we made I’m tearing off the fabric that never stopped fraying I’m holding myself closer instead

[lunaetis]

@scarletooyoroi asked :

a possessive kiss that is meant to stake a claim . (To Arlecchino, in the midst of a battlefield they molded into a hellscape. >:))

↪     𝑲𝑰𝑺𝑺  ﹠ ᵀᴱᴸᴸ . || accepting

─「アルレッ���ーノ」─  this GAME had gone too far.

                that was what the harbinger hear some of his comrades speak to him, some of the ones who had fought alongside the former fixer of inazuma in order to warn him from walking down this very path. the KNAVE watched the flame in his eyes grow dark as he ignored any and all warnings being offered his way. hearing the conversation with her own ears gave a more satisfying feeling with it, to know that he had long lost that sense of rationale and abandoned the need to be understood by his peers, by the people who cared for him, by his own comrades.

                how many fights ? how many battles ? how many encounters ? how much BLOOD had been shed ?

                it didn't matter, it didn't matter one bit !

                he had caught up to her, a feat so IMPRESSIVE that not even some of the best trackers could've achieved. the fourth harbinger could become a phantom if that was what she wanted. no one would be able to find her unless she willed them to, and for THIS BURNING SOUL ? her lips pulled into a menacing grin just at the thought of it. oh, she wanted him to find her. she left him clues, she left him crumbs to follow and he WOULD follow. he always would.

                hatred. attachment. competitiveness. obsession.

                " come on, come on, COME ON !! show me just how deep you've sunken. how blaring RED your ledger is, how CORRUPTED and TAINTED you are now !! " the entity within her eyes were howling in delight as their blades crossed, as their weapons clashed into one another that sparks were flying into the air. the heat of the battlefield was gradually rising, fueled by the FLAMES he littered to every grass the tip of his polearm touched. he was abandoning all cautions, all consequences, he was setting FIRE to the forest and the mountains that screamed in scorching agony.

                it was setting their stage, their background, their REAL-LIFE HELL.

                crimson crosses allowed her to appear behind him without warning, and whipped blade was swung to cut through his skin. the sanguine color splattered upon the flaming grass and embers scattered in the black-burning sky added to the hellish nightmare that became reality. the deadly game these two had engaged, the OBSESSION and darkness instilled into those once tender jade hues. it was her, it was her who corrupted him to the point of no return. and she LAUGHED, bellowing that continuous booming of cackles like a madwoman.

                oh, she was mad, she was absolutely INSANE.

                " SHOW ME WHAT YOU'VE BECOME, SHOW ME ALL OF IT, THOMA !! "

                and she felt it, the HARBINGER felt a violent grip against the whipped blade that cut into his gloved digits. the deep red staining his palm as crimson liquid dripped slowly onto his palm. the former fixer didn't seem to care about it, about the wounds, about the pain, nor the blood. all his whole ATTENTION was drawn to was her. his eyes were only on her. fangs flashed against the flaming backdrop for a split second, and he YANKED her towards him —

                — for their lips to clash against one another. it was violent, wild, unhinged. not an ounce of tenderness, only POSSESSIVENESS as his bloodied lips claimed hers over and over. again and again, tongues and fangs, BITES and more. like a beast that he was, like a beast that she turned him into. a GROWLING, hungry beast with eyes only for her.

                and the knave snaked her gloved fingers through his messy dark blond locks, forming a TIGHT GRIP against his strands. fangs bared, before sinking into his mouth, drawing metallic taste to fill their kiss. it was a CLAIM, a seal, a mark on BOTH SIDES.

                the words were loud in both their heads, as the ENTITY fell silent for a split second.

                YOU'RE MINE MINE MINE. you belong to ME and ME alone.

[caesarandthecity]

Dear Sister

How is your family? What is your relationship like with your parents, siblings, uncles, and aunts? Tell me what it's like because I don't know, I don't have one, and today I choose not to have one.

After six years living alone here in North America, I found out that my sister, her husband, and two kids are moving to the United States. We started talking again instantly, as if it were the old days. I brought back many memories from our childhood, many of which she doesn't remember, or to her, they were so simple that they didn't mean much. At first, during the first few days, everything was magical, beautiful, and pleasant, full of love, tears, and laughter. It seemed like we would be happy as a united family. Wow, I really believed it was beautiful. Everything seemed perfect, but other childhood memories also returned.

I remembered all the times my sister left me behind when she had something better to do, even when I had canceled my plans at her request. All the times I worried about doing something or giving a birthday present, while on my birthday, there was never that concern. I remember all the times I thought she was my friend and confided in her, only for her to tell her mother, who then confronted me. Or the times she hit me for reading her diary, but supported her mother and read mine.

I remember the time she, for no reason, claimed I went to her husband's store and stole products. But when her mother saw that I wasn't carrying anything when I got home, she explained that it didn't make sense. My sister then said I must have stopped in a favela and sold the products. To this day, I can't understand human malice. I understand and accept that no one is perfect, but I don't accept people inventing things about me. What's the point of that?

It hurts, my sister, but I remember all the times your mother and father made me sleep outside the house. I cried, knocking on your window for you or your sister to let me in so I could sleep inside instead of in the cold yard, but you told me to shut up because you wanted to sleep. And didn't I want to sleep too, my sister?

I remember the times you took advantage of my kindness to the point where your mother made fun of me. The person who should have protected and loved me made fun of how I forgave you even when you hurt me too much.

My sister began to show who she really is little by little. First, in all the photos she sent where her house was a complete mess. At first, she would say "don't mind the mess," but soon she assumed I would get used to the mess and stopped saying anything. But, dear sister, I am not used to the mess and find it strange. It's strange to me. Her house is dirty, messy, things out of place, the walls are black with mold, and the text message I receive most from her in the late afternoon is saying that she was sleeping. She sleeps every afternoon, regardless of the mess in the house.

I kept observing, even though they were saying I should go and everything inside me was showing that I should go to Orlando. But today, I know that having contact with my sister will not be the best thing. Their true intentions begin to show slowly: living together and splitting rent. I am alone and don't have to pay anyone's rent but mine, doing everything in my name. My sister started showing narcissistic traits, just like her mother, and it’s not strange, given that she was raised by Isabel. She constantly manipulates her husband, decides everything, and prevents him from doing anything. I just observed.

She questioned my decision not to eat rice and beans anymore, saying that I would eat them again. She said that living together, I wouldn’t need therapy anymore. How can someone think they have the right to decide something about the life of a person they haven’t seen in six years, believing that their choices are better than the other’s, and that the other’s life experiences and preferences don’t count? What counts are the choices she wants to make in others' lives. She seems like... my adoptive mother, her mother. Like mother, like daughter.

The idea I have of family, of siblings, of father and mother, is completely wrong and unfounded in reality. Shaped by the image created by television, I lived in a huge dissociation because I never managed to have or live what they sold as the idea of a happy family. Every time I went to a friend's house and saw their relationship with their parents, the love they received and gave, and their relationship with siblings, it became clearer to me that there was no love in my house and that I was the problem. I confess that from a very young age, I always judged my friends with loving parents. I always believed that these friends never appreciated their parents enough. In my child's mind, I thought that if my parents did what my friends' parents did, I would love them even more, I would thank them all the time, I would remind them of how happy I was to be loved that way. And I would remind them that they were the best parents in the world. All this happened in my childish mind because inside me, I was just looking for love, looking for a family. And this search made me look for brothers and sisters around the world, intensely loving strangers, calling fake people friends and siblings, but I never received love in return. I was used and discarded. Maybe I searched wrong, so I started looking for a mother and a father. It took me a while to understand that I would also never find someone who loved me like a son.

The greatest and most intense pain that an orphan carries is the pain of looking for their family in others and never finding it.

I lived an immense pain, looking for love in my own family until I discovered they were not my family, and that’s why there was no love. But I never gave up. I looked for it first in a marriage and couldn’t find it, looked for love in other families, calling them mine, and it never happened either. The worst feeling, without a doubt, is giving love and not seeing it returned. I swear, it’s the worst thing in life. Seeing with my own eyes someone showing through actions that they don’t love me, but with words, yes.

My sister tried to get close. The first few weeks were beautiful, a beautiful story to be told and remembered. But in truth, in reality, there was more pain than love, more hurt, more denial, more invalidation, more misunderstanding than love. There was a lot of lying, a lot of use and reuse, there was never love.

In all of this, my mind was racing, and as always, I didn’t understand much about how to deal with it. And I decided for myself, I decided to follow my plans, to go alone. Dear sister, all the pain you caused became a memory, it doesn’t hurt anymore, it just makes me understand better everything I went through and suffered in the past. Yes, my inner child still cries because, for him, the perfect family still exists, the love my inner child didn’t receive from the family is still missing, but it won’t be you, my sister, who will heal it. Dear sister, you are narcissistic, manipulative, and a liar just like your mother, and for me, that is not something I seek to bring back into my life. That’s why I go alone.

I don’t care about living with you, knowing how your day was, or your husband’s, or your children’s. I don’t care what grade your kids are in, what they want to be when they grow up, or what their favorite show on Netflix is. I don’t care if you are immigrating to the USA and need help. I don’t care if you are suffering or happy. I don’t care about meeting your new child, I don’t care about being present at birthdays, holidays, I don’t care about making plans.

I remember almost three years ago when I told an acquaintance, “I’m doing everything for a sister who I know wouldn’t do any of this for me,” right after I hung up a call with you. And that echoes in my mind. It echoes when I called a friend as soon as I got out of jail, and she said, “I called your sister to ask about you, and she was more interested in finding out how to immigrate here than about you.” And my sister, I remember the times I helped you financially, you never returned the favor. I remember when your son wanted a special edition of Lego, and I bought it. I remember the money I sent as gifts all the time. I never received a call, not even on my birthday. The lack of respect for me was always present.

But you never needed to respect me. I never had boundaries; everyone could use me and then discard me. No problem, Cesar always has a huge heart to accept it again, and again, and again. But something inside me changed, something much bigger woke up, and if you don’t know how to give me respect and values, I’ll show you who I am now. That’s why, and for everything else, my sister, I withdraw from your life. In fact, I was never really in it, and I’m happy for that.

Dear sister, you were a wonderful memory of my childhood, even though that memory had MUCH pain, the little good that there was, my inner child keeps with affection, and I follow my journey. I think that’s forgiving, it doesn’t hurt, even knowing there was pain, it doesn’t weigh on me, I don’t want to carry it. I prefer to go alone, free, far from this family and you, dear sister.

Today I stop being your brother, today I stop being your family. With all my love, C

[doublegoblin]

A story of a "home"

When we think of haunted places we think of the old, the decrepit, the forlorn and forgotten. We think of the home at the end of the road with its shutters slapping in the breeze and door resting on the floor. We think of the old cabin in the woods, the exterior now a vibrant green as it is overtaken by moss and lichen. We also think of the old castle, stone and bricks crumbling to dust slowly. We think of the place where people have been, where lives were lived and lost. We think of the absence.

What is it though, to consider those places stuck in stasis? To the locations never once filled. Empty and hungry. Hollow and yearning.

Cast your mind not to a patch of overgrown farmland, nor country side citadel, or any such places of the old and gone. Cast it instead to a cul-de-sac, filled with the sounds of life.

In this place there is a plot of land. In this plot of land a home is being built. It is a home whose designs were sketched with love and care. Whose materials were bought for their quality rather than their price. A dream made real. The ground is split and flattened. Fresh lumber hauled and raised. Foundation poured and set. Yet this home would go uninhabited. Perhaps the funds ran out? Maybe the creator passed on? Who is to say? This home though, still stands, no occupants other than hope.

This house will sit quietly for a time. Spirits raised as it spies a “For Sale” sign being pounded into place. Even vacant it is maintained. The lawn is trimmed. The inside cleaned. It enjoys the moments of human habitation; brief as they might be. A home is meant to house people.

Then one day the maintenance ceases.

The sign is lifted.

And it stands empty amongst its peers.

It can’t help but wonder,

“Where have the people gone? Those who I sheltered and shielded?”

It creaks and groans as the seasons change to winter.

“Please won’t someone come inside and warm themselves?” It squeals against the biting gale.

“My insides are cold, my power long cut, but I can protect you from the wind.” It calls to the empty streets that are bathed in the orange glow.

The wind echoes through the unfinished spaces, the sad whale song of the home.

Time passes regardless and soon the winter grows brighter and hotter, spring has came.

The home coughs “Please someone, anyone, open me up. The air inside is stale and I yearn to breathe again.”

Yet none come to unseal it.

In the basement a pipe bursts. The strain of winter to spring revealed all too late a fault in construction. It is a slow trickle but without anywhere to go, subpump long dusted over, a puddle grows into an inch, and then three, and soon a foot of water sits still across the whole floor. Perhaps but unfortunate luck the city had now cut the water to the home. So there it sat.

The home gags and wretches, “Anyone help, I’m drowning I’m drowning! The water grows foul inside me. Please why won’t anyone help me!?”

Black mold creeps up the walls. Spots deeper than the home itself. The water has now grown a fetid green as life claims hold. No longer the sweet smell of timber, nor the subtle musk of stone. Acrid rot and decay are the candles of this home.

The home begs and pleads, “I feel something happening, a sharp pain! Oh dear god no, something is digging its way in!”

At first it was only a mouse, no bigger than a thumb. It chewed and gnawed at the walls of the house. It’s needle like teeth ripping and tearing the soft wood and dense drywall. Soon enough the animal entered the home.

“Not you! Out, out!” The home screamed as more mice tore into it.

“I am a home, I am meant for people not mice! You need to all leave this instant! My walls are not built to protect you, to shelter you, you are vermin nothing more nothing less! Get out of me now! You are causing me pain!”

The mice could not hear the home, none could hear the home.

Spring to summer and the dead started to pile up.

Several of the creatures had fallen into the basement and drowned in the water, their bodies bobbing and twitching.

The home cried and screamed and begged, “Please anyone help me! I can feel the water growing more vile and caustic, it is acid deep within me! I feel the mice decaying in my water! Their bodies bloating and bursting, their entrails cascading down. I feel their skin and muscles turning to slurry. I feel the maggots writhing and dancing in their floating feast. Please, I am not well! You all look into my windows, you see the clean floors, you see the dusty banisters, you see everything is well but it is not so! Please God send someone to help me, I don’t know what I did wrong!”

God did not hear the home. Nobody listened to the home.

Quietly whimpering resigned to its fate, the home waited and waited as summer to fall. The leaves turn blood red and sunset yellow. They fell from the trees and a crisp chill kissed the air. No more mice left inside, the water now nothing more than a gelatinous sludge. While sighing and silently weeping the home spies in the dim twilight a pair of figures walking towards it.

“People? Oh, People! Hello yes please come inside! Please I’ve been alone for so long, I have nothing to hide! Two of you only, perhaps there are more? Oh heaven’s me this chance I adore!”

The shutters clapped and the siding curled into a weary smile.

The figures however stood at the door.

They muttered and spoke in hushed tones.

The home strained to hear what they were saying.

It winced as one of the figures kicked in its door.

“What are you doing? Please be more gentle with me!” The house whinged.

“You are guests, you are friends, please make yourself at…home.”

They did no such thing, they couldn’t hear its words. Instead they took to the drywall with hammers and saws. The house cried and shook.

They hacked.

They chopped.

They tore.

Grabbing all of the copper they could get their hands on they made their way deeper and deeper into the home. Heading towards the basement door.

Despite all the pain the house screamed out, “Not there oh please not there! Don’t go anywhere near there! Tale anything else you want, please I beg you. Just don’t open that door!”

They did not listen to the home.

Flinging the door open the stench of hundreds of corpses and mold caused the figures to vomit and slam the door shut, cracking the trimming and wall. They cursed and heaved as they dropped all of their ill-gotten goods and fled the home. A harsh wind closing the door behind them.

Back now to the dead of winter. The malignant mass froze over and for a while the smell and feeling was gone. The home shuddered and withdrew no longer speaking. Not again. It didn’t call out to the homeless who shuffled past, it offered no solace to the squatters and their child. It was as stone now.

Then came the thawing of spring once again.

A young man walked up to the home.

His face was bright and spirits high.

He peered in through the dusty windows and brushed away the vines. Confirming the house number he set the key into the lock and the house fought to keep the door sealed.

It groaned and hissed as the man pushed and shoved.

Eventually the home was too tired and the man let himself in.

During the spring he cleaned up the dirt, he repaired the drywall, and made short work of the damage the thieves had done.

The home waited though in horrible tension, for the day the man would open the basement door.

“Pl-please go a-away.” It whispered.

“I’m not worth repairing, I’m not worth being a home.”

“Nonsense.” Said the man back, the home was speechless.

“You have walls that still stand, you have a foundation not cracked, I’m going to patch up all that you lacked. I’ll clean up the dust, the cobwebs and mold. You’ve been neglected, so I’ve been told. Please let me help you, we can go slow, before that can happen, you need to let me in though.”

The house was quiet and thought He’ll see it and run. I know that’s true, oh God please help me, what should I do?

God did not listen, the house was alone.

“You can work on the upstairs, we’ll go from there.”

The man smiled and shouldered his bag, “That’s fair.”

The man toiled away through the summer and fall. Working through most rooms, not them all. The house grew more comfortable and happy again. But soon the basement, he’d need to be let in. So during a cool autumn eve, the house spoke to the man, to admit and bereave.

“Sir I thank you for all that you’ve done, but now I’m sorry there can be no more fun. You have not gone down, down the stairs in the dark. The basement I know I’ve delayed all this time-”

The man cut it off, “Let me in home, please.”

Standing at the old cracked wooden door the man braced himself and the house did too.

The stench was overpowering as he threw the door open.

The man fled from the home.

Just as everyone else had.

Or so the house had thought.

When the man returned he was not alone. Around him was a small army of people, all dressed head to toe in stark white bodysuits. Together they all plunged down into the depths of the basement. And after days and days of working and struggling. The man waved to the others as they all departed. He then turned and walked inside, closing the door softly. Setting down on his couch he basked in the glow of his fireplace. This house was no longer to be haunted by absence. It was no longer to be empty and yearning. Yes there lingered the stench of the past. But, finally, this house was a home.

[arty-chase]

Who made me a Villain (1)

[Masterlist]

(here) (Part 2)

So the biodad! Joker AU that you all waited for.

-----

“The patient is secured. Proceed with the transfer.”

The van rolled away from the airport and headed towards one of the most infamous mental institution in the world. Arkham Asylum. Mainly known for treating various Rouges of Gotham who had been ‘admitted’ there by the Batman and his flock of birds. A few of them rehabilitated and were doing less crimes, like Poison Ivy or Harley Quinn. Others like the Joker were kept because they were a threat to Gotham. Only time will tell which category the newest patient will fall into.

—---

“The universe is definitely laughing at me,” the patient currently in the van thought. Why else would it go through all the efforts to make her be the butt of the biggest joke in existence?

She had followed all the rules, did all the things expected of her and yet, it was never enough. She had stayed in that mold, the sweet, kind and caring girl, first shaped by the people she once believed to be her parents. Then, the ‘nice’ teacher who claimed to be on her side and never stepped in between her and the mean blonde girl, not even once. The people she once thought she could finally called friends before they all tossed her to the curb for the next shiny thing.

The responsibility, that was thrust onto her shoulders because of one man with shitty coping mechanism and terrible critical thinking skills. The beings she swore to protect who were ripped away because a group of people with twisted morals and believed themselves to be the higher power deemed her unfit.

Anyone who listened to her life story can tell that it was shit but no one ever bothered to listen to the full story.

—-----

And the story at least had a happy beginning.

A happy couple decided to adopt a sweet baby into their family as they were unable to have children. The baby grew up to a pretty young girl who remain friendless despite all of her efforts, due to the influence of a spoiled, rich brat and an enabling teacher. She faced all of these hardships on with a smile.

Then, it happened. We all know this part by now.

A man who was filled with grief over losing his wife and willing to destroy an entire city to get her back.

A pair of earrings and a ring were given out. 

The stone monster who was the first victim in a long line of victims of the magical terrorist, Hawkmoth, who will plague Paris for years to come. 

Two heroes, one red and one black. 

Dark butterflies and a promise of protection. 

The boy with green eyes and a ring holding out an umbrella.

The girl had gained the earrings with a great responsibility, a best friend and a crush.

She was ready to face everything with a bright smile.

Everything appeared great until it wasn’t.

It had been a year and they weren’t any closer to defeating the villain. Trouble soon walked into her civilian life in the form of green eyes and silver tongue.

False promises and tall-tales were fed to eager ears.

The girl had made another enemy and for the boy she devoted her heart to, she kept her promise and remained silent of the liar’s lies.

The girl thought that she can handle anything that came her way and continued to smile, not knowing how wrong she was.

The spoiled brat, unhappy with not being given great power she thought was destined for her. So she betrayed them all. A hard battle was fought and the side of the heroes suffer losses. Their allies were revealed and put in danger from the madman. The box, filled with magic, was passed onto the girl, a new burden that made her shoulders heavier than ever.

As a hero, the villain had became stronger with the knowledge that fell into his hand. Her partner was becoming more and more unreliable in battles and began to aggressively pursued her.

As a civilian, the green-eyed fox was slowly but surely making good on her promise, tearing apart her friendship with the class. The spoilt brat made her life even harder than before. Her parents were starting to lose their patience with her and punished her for every offence her classmates claimed that she did.

The girl held back her tears and put on a fake smile to convinced the world that everything was fine and she can handle whatever it throws at her. However, the world appears to be cracking and it was getting harder to believe that there is good in the world.

—---

The beginning of the end started with the end of Hawkmoth.

She had taken the ring from the boy whom she had once loved and cried for days afterwards. To make up for the lack of a partner, she gave the dragon and the snake to the only two people outside the class who she still trusted. A fencer who was her former rival and now closest friend and a musician who stuck by her side through her highs and lows.

Her friendship with the class was now destroyed and the position of class president stripped from her. It hurt but she now has the time to pursue the copy of the girmoire and hone her abilities with the knowledge of magic hidden inside.

The three faced Hawkmoth in a final battle in the Agreste Mansion. After they had gotten the brooch of Gabriel Agreste and upon learning about the faith of his wife, she offered to wake the woman up in exchange for the peacock Miraculous and the girmoire.

The burden was lifted and peace settled on the city once more.

—----

While the trio were great heroes and friends she could fully trust and rely on, they had their own budding careers that require them to leave Paris. With a sorrowful heart, she bid both of them goodbye with a necklace and a bracelet in her purse.

One day, while filled with loneliness and seeking a place where she doesn’t have to see the disappointment from her family, she came across a magician in trouble so she used her miraculous magic to save him. When the magician realised that the girl who had saved him was the former heroine Ladybug and still very much a child, he offered to teach the girl everything he know in magic to better protect herself and the Miraculous.

His name was Giovanni Zatara.

—----

Months passed, the girl was thriving from the magic lessons from the one positive adult figure in her life. She looked forward to it and Zatara never had a more enthusiastic student. It made her life much more bearable. However, when the world fell into crisis for the upteemth, Zatara had to take his leave from Paris to answer the call of duty but promised to return.

It was something for her to hold onto as her classmates hurled daggers of hurtful words at her.

—-----

Honestly, the days before the incident that caused her to end up in Gotham was a blur. But she clearly remembered the day she lost her closest companions. She had returned to her now barren room and there were a few robed people thrashing it.

She recognised the symbol of the Order and demanded to know why they were there. A few who had remained hidden, ambushed from behind and held her in place as they finally found the Miracle Box. They branded her as thief and demanded her to hand over the Miracle Box. She pleaded with them that she wasn’t a thief and she had the title of Guardian given by Wang Fu.

Upon hearing the name, they told her that Fu was not an actual Guardian and that he had played her. He had stolen the Miraclue Box and created Feast to cover it up. The moment he realised the temple was back, he had given it up and pretended to have lost his memories so she will be his scapegoat. Some of the monks felt pity when they saw the girl’s horrified expression. They stopped their comrades from giving out the original punishment of death, pointing out that the girl didn’t know about Fu’s deception and her reaction was too genuine to be faked.

The kwamis at that point managed to get out of the box and they explained to the Order about Hawkmoth and how the girl had basically carried out their job and protected them.

So as a small mercy, they simply erased her memories. Her parents found her passed out when she didn’t come down from dinner. She woke up in the hosipital with amnesia and no recollection of the past few years. Doctors thinks that the emotional trauma from the entire Hawkmoth thing caused her brain to repress those memories. A few remarked that it was a blessing. (Many were bitter that she was able to easily forgot the hardships they all endured.)

—---

She vaguely remember her classmates for the first time in months asking her politely to bring around some pastries to a party they were throwing. She should have seen that as a sign but she was caught up in her successful haul that got her a rare magic book that was the real deal the other day.

(After she lost the passion she once had for designing after Gabriel Agreste turned out to be Hawkmoth, she now prowled antique shops and flea markets for magic artifacts instead of fabrics and old clothing. She was making many connections with the magic community in Paris who all know that she used to be Ladybug.)

She had showed up at the party with their order, not intending to stick around. But they insisted for her to stay. Alarm bells rang in her head. Her magical instincts were telling her to get the hell out before something bad happened.

Before she knew it, arms held her in place as her classmates beat her up and hurled insults at her. Adrien simply watched as Lila clinged onto his arm with a lowered head. 

{None of them saw her grin with malicious glee.}

Marinette cried for help.

{But she didn’t know that Chloe had used her power to clear the park so no one would witness the beat down.}

As she laid on the ground, bloody and aching all over, Lila opened her mouth. Marinette didn’t know what the other girl said but through her magic, she finally with a sense of horror, realised how Lila was able to influence her classmates so easily. A sinister orange aura surrounds the brunette and strings, many of them, were tightly wrapped around each and everyone of them. The Miraculous had protected her and Adrien but after she took away Adrien’s ring, he had also fallen in line easily. The only reason she was still unaffected was because of her protection charms.

Her friends seemed to nod along to whatever Lila suggested and Marinette’s world went black.

—-----

When she opened her eyes, her ears were filled with the sound of sirens and she found herself in the back of a police cruiser.

—----

The days after were filled with many people asking her for the truth of that ‘day’. But the truth was buried underneath her classmates’ various testimonies which all, of course, contradicts her. The only people she trusted to give the true description of her as a character witness were all out of the country or unreachable.

When Chloe visited her in her cell to gloat and demean her, wrapped in Lila’s sickenly orange strings, she knew that the entire court, from judge to jury would rule against her as they all would be in the Mayor’s pocket. Her parents also came by, orange strings around their necks, to tell her that they won’t even hire lawyers for her trial on her behalf and to her heartbreak, gave her the truth of her birth.

She was not their biological daughter. She was adopted simply because she looked like their actual daughter who had died a few months before they came across her.

—----

Someone had decided to run her DNA against the criminal database and it showed that she was related to Jack Napier aka the Joker. They did a ‘psych evaluation’

(The psychiatrist who was supposed to evaluate her reeked of alcohol and was grinning like a loon. It was simple to hynotise him and find out that he was bribed to write her down as insane despite how the actual evaluation went.)

She could have used magic to get out of it but she was tired. She was tired of everything. She was tired of the glares and insults. She was tired of overthinking everything so nothing can be used against her. She was tired of looking over her shoulder everyday and being wary of when her classmates would descend on her like a pack of dogs, thinking themselves as righteous angels of justice. She was tired of the many secrets she held.

As she looked at the happy Agreste family, she was tired of her dreams to achieve that perfectly normal life. Because she was never born normal to start with.

As the trial concluded with her sentence to be deported out of Paris to Arkham Asylum in Gotham.

Paris, the city she once loved and protected hated her.

Good, because she hated it too.

—----

As the van rolled up the hill to her new home, Marinette Dupain-Cheng died.

-------

(Part 2)

So for the people who ask to be tagged: @jayjayspixiepop, @cmouse, @transheso, @thecrazyfantrolls

[tiaetherealness]

18+, NSFW, overstimulation, virginal penetration, sorta mind break?

You don't know how long it's been since the first time you came.

Every thrust that Katuski gave to your abused pussy punch out little gasp instead of the moans that spilled out an hour prior. Your voice is lost amongst the onslaught of mind-numbing pleasure. A missing piece to the orchestra of the bed slamming against the wall and the slapping of hips.

You are just taking what he's giving, without a fight or struggle you usually put up every night. Forced into submission, as your mouth refuse to close with the constant stream of drool that spills on your pillow; or the way your vision is threatening to black at the edges.

Katsuki like to push your limits, to see how many times you can cum until you turn into mush on his cock. Fucked dumb until the brat in you disappear and its replaced by slurred words and welled up tears. A cock-sleeve for him to use whenever he please.

"Look at you, princess," he thrusts slowly, molding your cunt to the shape of his cock. "Fucked dumb until all you know is me."

Your body felt locked, a constant hot wire that trembled with every brush against your swollen g-spot. Every drag of his cock in your walls made you throb and slick up. A small whine slip from your lips. You couldn't even think about holding on to Katsuki, hands limp by your side, twitching at every zap of pleasure.

When Katsuki push deep forcing the build-up of wetness to squeeze past his cock, he grinds into your g-spot. "Just one more. Cum one more time, okay princess?"

You barely nod, just focused on the hands Katsuki has around your hips.

"Good girl."

He pick up his thrust a bit, still going at a slow pace. Once you felt his thumb on your swollen clit, your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your back arch as another orgasm is pulled out of you, legs trembling erratically as you try to grasp at your pillow. A small stream of squirt pushed out of your cunt and Katsuki grinned.

"That's my girl."

When Katsuki finally came, your mind is too foggy to even realize. You just feel a warmth stuffing you full. A claim. A reminder that he's yours and you're his.

"Fuck baby, you did great," Katsuki says once he pulls out. A stream of cum and slick pool on the already wet sheets. "Maybe next time we can push for four, hm?"

You groaned, body limp and too fucked out to answer.

[macnevercries]

You're Mine

Warnings- stalker/yandere tendencies, somnophilia, fingering, male masturbation, penetration, dubcon/noncon, squirting, breeding kink, etc

WC- ~1.7k

This is for @ultimate-astridwriting ‘s  Watch It Creep collab!! (thank you for letting me participate ily)

Dabi had never been one for shopping, going out in public just to have people gawk and point at him was never very appealing. He didn’t need new clothes, there was no one he wanted to impress. Except you. When you went shopping, he couldn't help but love it.

Your constant late night trips became his favorite time of the week. Every time you get new clothes you would blast your music and try on all different outfits with the new pieces you had just bought. Dancing and singing in the mirror, feeling yourself up. Watching you strip and pull clothes snug over your curves over and over never failed to get his dick hard.

On goes a pink tank top and low rise skinny jeans. You take off your bra and brush your nipples over the shirt, looking in the mirror to see them peek through the thin fabric covering your chest. Off goes that outfit, your flawless tits on display, perked by the touch of your own hands. You bend over to pick up a dress to try on, the black thong you wear riding up your ass and giving Dabi an ideal view.

He has a chair pulled up right in front of his window, the perfect view down to your apartment, directly across and down one floor from his. The buildings in your area are packed tight, no more than 10 or 20 feet between the both of you. He takes a seat, spreading his legs and unbuttoning his jeans as he hears your music blast even louder through the thin walls and small expanse of grass that separates your buildings.

He wishes he had a teleportation quirk, that he could hold you in his arms instead of desperately attaching himself to your vulnerable moments. So innocent, you never pull your blinds closed. He often wonders how an angel like you could exist so close to him, in his neighborhood, in his world.

His cock slaps against his stomach, coming to life when he glances up, seeing you peeling off a tight dress. If only it were his hands, his everything pressed up against you, guiding you in your dance while you grind back onto him, hips rolling against his. His rough and scarred hands pump up and down his cock, spreading the minimal precum, the pain of the dry tug spurring him on.

When he glances up from his lap you're putting your pajamas back on, leaving your room to go get ready for bed. Not to worry, he has more material to get off to. His eyes search his room, looking over the various photographs of you hanging on his walls. He’s taken many over time, mostly just normal pictures of you in your apartment or around the neighborhood. But even the most average photos of you entranced him. How could they not, you were just so beautiful.

His eyes run over the photo taped to his wall on the right. He has it placed right next to his window so he can see it when you walk into a different room in the middle of your “session”. The photo depicts you licking dripping ice cream off of your glowing skin on a hot day. Your face is a mix of innocent and erotic, your arms squished together slightly, pushing your breasts up through your low cut shirt. To Dabi this photo is not only perfect because it was captured at the right moment, it’s perfect because it's you.

He tugs harder at his cock, spitting on it roughly and imagining you on your knees for him. How you would wrap your hand around it, cup his balls, swirl your tongue on the tip paying special attention to his piercings all while keeping your eyes glued on him. How he would grab a fistful of your hair and shove your nose to his hips, feeling the contractions of your gagging throat hugging him just right. He’s panting in seconds, making eye contact with the photo one more time before spilling into his hand. He gives a few more pumps, milking himself. He leans over to his desk, wiping his hand off on the matted washcloth that lies there just for this, the one that hasn't been washed in weeks.

When he stands, he sees you walk back into your room with only a small towel wrapped around your body and a face mask, relaxingly flopping onto your bed with your phone. The sight is almost enough to get him going again but he restrains himself, after all he would see you later tonight.

--

Your door creaks, swinging open into your dark apartment. Dabi gets his lock picker from the door handle and shoves it in the pocket of his pants. He slips silently into your living room, he never stumbles, he knows your apartment like the back of his hand. How could he not when you're so obviously begging for him to come over? He has to listen to his baby’s needs.

Your room is down the hallway to the left, right across the bathroom and 14.6ft from your couch. Your room’s door is open, like always. He sits on the edge of your bed, the dip of his weight on the mattress making you roll slightly towards him. He reaches for your face, your skin so soft against his burnt hand. You stir slightly when he tucks your hair behind your ear and wipes the drool from your lip, but he knows you won't wake up, you never do.

Your blankets only cover one of your legs, you must have been too hot. But this is better for both of you because it gives Dabi a nice view of your night attire. Your legs bare, all the way up to your hips. Your unblemished skin begging to be marked by him. You always wear an oversized t-shirt, probably stolen from one of your many ex boyfriends. And only some nights do you wear panties. Dabi counts his luck as he slowly moves your sheets off of you, his breath taken away when he realizes tonight you aren't wearing any.

Your pussy glistens in the moonlight that filters in through your open window, you could never be bothered to buy curtains. Dabi can't resist the need to touch it, to touch you, to claim you. You were his, you just didn't know it yet.

His slender fingers slide through your folds, slightly pinching your clit to watch your pretty little hole twitch and clench at his touch. He slips one finger inside of you, it goes in easily with all of the slick that's gathered and begun to drip down to your thighs. You let out a small mewl when his finger curves to your g-spot, and he adds another for good measure. You never wake up though, you've always been a heavy sleeper.

But he needs you now, he wants you awake. So he kisses you gently, his mouth molding against yours with a softness he didn't know he was capable of. But soon need and lust take over. His soft kisses turn rough, teeth clashing and blood being drawn from your lip. You begin to wake up, he's causing too much commotion for you to stay asleep.

Your eyes blink open to meet his bright blue ones, panic beginning to set in your mind. You take a deep breath, preparing to scream for help but his hand is covering your mouth in an instant before you can even open it. He leans down to whisper in your ear with a gravelly tone.

“If you scream or make any noise, I’ll make sure you can never talk again”

His hand heats up just enough for you to know he’s not bluffing. All throughout his threats, his fingers never stop thrusting into you. Your tired mind is conflicted between fear and lust, you don't know which one to give in to. Your eyes widen and you nod, choosing to comply with him.

You let out a small moan, bucking your hips back against his hand. This causes the nastiest grin to spread across his face, his evil intent sparkling in his eyes.

“You're gonna be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You nod feverishly, your brain not thinking straight. Dabi lets out a low groan at your eagerness, palming himself through his jeans. He begins to unzip them, undressing both himself and you until your bare skin presses against his. The piercings on his cock sting your skin, so cold against your sex.

He kisses your neck, down to your chest and across your torso. “I'm gonna make you feel so good”

He aligns his cock with you, shoving in his entire length in one go. The wind gets knocked out of you, you're breathless as he begins to fuck you at an ungodly pace, never waiting for you to adjust. He murmurs sweet nothings into your ears, kissing you sweetly as if you were in love. Tears begin to fall down your cheek but he licks them away, he knows you want him.

He fucks you harder, curling his hips into yours. The piercings lining his cock drag against your walls so nicely, the previously cold metal beginning to warm up from your shared heat.

“I bet you like that, don't you slut? Prancing around in front of your window every day for me to see. You know what you do to me. Thats why we are where we are right now; me fucking your tight hole and you taking it like the good little bitch you are.”

You moan at his words, his cock bruising your cervix so nicely. His hand reaches down to your clit, rubbing fast and hard circles against your sensitive nub. Your entire body shakes, clear liquid squirting out of you all over him. You grip him like a vice, milking him with your orgasm. He moans loudly, spilling thick white ropes and fucking them into your womb.

“Yeah, you fucking take it, youre mine”

He slows down after a minute, pulling out only to shove his fingers back into your abused hole, keeping his cum safe inside of you.

“You better hold that, I’ll be back”

[queergodot]

Damon Gant's "we're the same, you and I" speech to Edgeworth at the end of Rise from the Ashes was horribly set up, to the point where Gant's claim of being similar to Edgeworth and Edgeworth agreeing has little to no basis in the narrative, BUT. Damn if the thought of it doesn't make me go a little insane.

Like Damon's one of the Big Evils in Ace Attorney (OG Trilogy). He is explicitly an incredibly selfish person, and aside from like, maybe five stray lines, we don't get much of any indication that he was ever anything less than an evil bastard. Which is the "we're not so different, you and I" speech fell flat to begin with. BUT.

If we take it at face value, and take those stray hints that Gant might have been a good person once upon a time (the fact that Gant was friends with known Good Person Lana Skye, the lines the Judge said to Gant about 'remembering when he fought for justice' that Gant never disputed) and take them at face value as well, and THEN take the few stated similarities between him and Edgeworth (accused of forging evidence after rising up in their chosen career path at a frightening rate, the fact that they hate criminals), a quite interesting picture emerges.

If we take his and Edgeworth's parallels at face value, Damon Gant becomes an evil created, rather than born. And that is fascinating to me.

We know a lot more about Edgeworth than we do Gant. We know why Edgeworth became the person he is: severe childhood trauma. Obviously, Manfred von Karma manipulated and molded him into a heartless prosecutor, but it's safe to say that wouldn't have been possible (or at least a lot harder) without his father being murdered and the (supposed) murderer getting off. The lack of justice for his father's murder, by Edgeworth's own admission, made him hate criminals with a fiery passion that I honestly think Von Karma didn't have much to do with. Even after his mental health trip to Europe, Edgeworth continues to be a prosecutor, and while there's obviously a lot of reasons for that, I think it's fair to say that his father's murder did genuinely re-arrange Edgeworth's priorities and would've even without Von Karma's manipulation.

Edgeworth's exact backstory is hard to duplicate, but a general gist, a crime robbing him of something he loved, only for the criminal to get off? That's less unique. And if we follow the parallels, it's not hard to argue that might've happened to Gant.

It's fascinating how this changes the light on Gant's actions. Gant's desperation to control the prosecutor's office is suddenly less about his selfishness, and more about a desire to see as many criminals get what they deserve. In a twisted, horrifically misplaced way, it's about justice, now. And if he had to kill for it? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. It's not that he isn't a selfish bastard all of a sudden; he's just a selfish bastard with principles, now.

Basically, if we read Gant as an Edgeworth parallel, he becomes a fallen hero. Someone who was probably a nice kid, who became a detective with the best of intentions, who likely didn't even actually start forging evidence until way after the rumors started, who really was just that good at his job. Someone who slowly but surely became consumed by his own hate, could not or would not see the possibility that someone might be innocent, gradually becoming more and more corrupt in his efforts to put everyone he could behind bars, until it finally escalated to the point of no return and he became what he once hated.

And, by extension, if we read Edgeworth like a Gant parallel, he becomes a narrow subversion of the fallen hero trope. Someone who would've escalated to forging evidence, rather than just coaching witnesses and withholding it. Who might've one day escalated to murder, if it served his goals. And the only reason he didn't was because a stubborn childhood friend relentlessly reminded him of the fact that the world is not as black and white as he'd fooled himself into believing it was. That he just so happened to have someone trusting that he could be better when it mattered most.

It's why I really wish these parallels had been better set up in canon, because I think this is a fascinating angle for their characters. In addition, it could've really reinforced the importance of trust in pursuit of justice in an interesting and unique way. Not just trusting in someone's innocence, but trusting in their capacity to be better.