#the right to bear arms only exists if nobody can take your arms

[canwediscuss]

Most of the time I think everybody just needs to calm down about everything but sometimes I remember that it's pretty stressful having your entire life controlled by people who don't care about you and I have a bit of sympathy for all you poor little fellas :/

[dxrksong]

About the Zerum Pressure controversy on roblox

Personally, I can see why people are upset, but I also don't understand it.

Zerum isn't actually Zerum. 'Zerum' is a character. A character connonical to Sebastian's story. Zerum is just more or less cosplaying as her own character.

As far as I know, she doesn't ACTUALLY want to marry Sebastian. She's the sole reason why he even exists after all. So He's HER character. Zeal had given Zerum all right to him, too!

So if she wants to give Sebastian a wife that she just so happens to like cosplaying as, then it shouldn't be a big deal.

Now! For the other problem.

"They would've been 10 years old when they got married!!"

Now here's where I think people miss the point:

'Zerum' and Sebastian are around the same age. Which means something must've happened in order for them to NEED to get married!

There is SO much angst and story potential here. It's sad that nobody sees it! Because 10 year olds don't get legally married for no reason!

Personally, for me, through my experience of story beta-ing, a very angst filled plot point comes into mind:

Imagine you've made a friend, maybe even having met by saving her from a bear attack? You have never met her parents, but she always seems to be hiding from grownups whenever they're around. One day, some intimidating adults dressed in suits start poking around the neighborhood, scaring your friend to the point that they beg you to hide them.

Your family welcomes her in with open arms and tries their best to keep her hidden.

Unfortunately, your family is found out, and your family, along with your friend, are arrested and detained. Tensions are high, and you find out the reason why they were hunting your friend in the first place.

They wanted to use her abnormalities. Did they want to do genetic experiments? Medical torture? Maybe even turn her into a breeder to see if her abnormalities pass down?

Either way, you desperately didn't want that to happen. You were trying to figure out what to do when your law obsessed sister comes up with an idea:

If she's legally binded to someone, they can't take her.

But that poses a problem. Your baby brother is too young to know what's going on, and they don't allow same sex marriages just yet. So that left your 10 year old mind, to bravely take the stand to glare in the face of the government or science adjacent corporation, just to save your friend!

All for you to be declared legally dead 9 years later when you're falsely accused for the murder of nine people, one person for every year you had kept your friend from the greedy corporation's claws.

Years later. You don't know if she's still even alive anymore. Your only memory you have of her is a photo and your wedding band you were allowed to keep with you, most likely mourning the loss of someone you fought so hard and sacrificed so much for while having little hope of her survival.

The angst! The drama! The feels!!! And everyone is just focusing on false rumors about Zerum kicking them out of the discord group chat when THEY were the ones talking about NSFW stuff in front of literal impressionable CHILDREN that lurk and talk in said group chat!

Yeah, I'd ban you, too.

Oh! And one more thing! If you REALLY don't like the fish man being married. In all technicality, 'Zerum's a widow. Sebastian is legally dead. Stop attacking a real person!

[chocolatte-and-despair]

How about some hcs for Miu Iruma, Maki Harukawa, & Kaede Akamatsu?

Miu Iruma

The two of you were completely opposites. Miu was haughty and selfish, while you were kind and selfless. Yet that was exactly what brought you both together.

Miu's horrible personality had isolated her amongst her peers, especially the survivors who she insulted. The others who were left alone would avoid her most of the times. Keebo was someone who didn't avoid her, but could you really count him as a friend of Miu's when she didn't consider him as one?

You were a little light of sunshine, always being there for the mean and sexually charmed Miu. No matter what she did, you just stood there, your calm smile on, as you almost condescendingly spoke to her.

Your friendship was far from normal, nor was it good, but it was the best Miu had ever had. Well, with the limited memories that she had.

At the end of the day, was she really at fault for getting so attached to you? If you didn't want her to cling to you, then you shouldn't have made yourself her only shoulder to cry on.

Miu was haughty, and she was not the nicest person to be around, but when she attached herself to someone, she never gave up on them, and damn it all, she was not letting you leave her sight.

It had come a point where she tried to sleep in the same room as you, but ended up being stopped by one of the kuma bears.

When Miu saw you murder someone, you who was so kind and understanding, there was only one thought in her mind. 'That bitch must have deserved it.'

Miu feared death, but she didn't mind dying, just so you could survive, so she will fabricate evidence to incriminate her, so you would survive.

At the very least, she deserves a night of fun with you before she dies, no?

Maki Harukawa

Here was Maki, caught in a lie before anyone else found out about it. Maki, the one who told everyone she was the ultimate caretaker, and you, the actual caretaker.

In her defense, everyone was idiotic to not have caught on to it sooner. And besides, why did you never confront her before? Why now?

You can imagine her surprise when you extended your hand in friendship to her, hoping that she would one day become comfortable with telling everyone her true ultimate.

You were an idiot. A smiling idiot just like Kaito. One that wanted to dig a part of her that doesn't exist. One that doesn't take no for an answer.

The worst part was, she didn't want you to give up. She never gave a verbal agreement to your friendship, but the fact she never pushed you away should have been enough for you to understand this was her way of saying she didn't mind you around her.

Your sweet words, gentle touches and soft looks often times left her breathless, to a point that she believed she was sick. Maybe someone was attempting to poison her?

Everything were placed in their right places in her mind when she saw Kokichi flirting with you. Of course, it was all a joke, and you laughed along, but that was enough to set a burning rage inside of her.

In that very moment, she wanted to rip Kokichi apart, not caring that that would lead her straight to death.

Only reason she stopped was the fact you smiled at her when you noticed her, and without a second thought, let his side to be near her. Good. That's where you belonged. By her side.

Maybe it was her icy glare, or possessive arm around your waist, but nobody has ever tried to flirt with you playfully or not so much anymore. Everyone knew she put a claim on you. Everyone, but you, of course. But that's alright, she's patient. It comes with her profession.

Kaede Akamatsu

What happens when two cheery individuals are put together? Absolute chaos, of course. To say the least, shuichi had no calm in the days that he spent with you and Kaede.

From the moment you flashed an excited smile to her and explained your ultimate talent, with as much passion as her, she knew that you two would get along perfectly!

The days she spent with you meant so much to her, that she couldn't describe them! You were everything she could have ever wanted. A wonderful friend, a cheery companion and good companion in her search for the truth.

She knew that it was insane to fall in love so quickly, but true love worked in mysterious ways, no?

She, of course, didn't want to trouble you with her emotions! She knew that falling in love in a dangerous situation like this was hard, and didn't want to pressure you! As long as you didn't date anyone else.

Kaede found out a very strange thing inside her, as she started to fall for her. A darkness inside her, as if it lurked from... somewhere else than the memories she had currently. A desire to be remembered by you, by any means possible.

There where moments that she caught herself wondering if maybe hurting you would leave a longer lasting image of her. Maybe if she bullied you, or pushed you on the ground, you would remember her for longer. After all, people remember bad things longer.

Of course, she never went through with it! but a girl can dream, no?

She feared death, oh so much. Who doesn't, right? But in the moment that her slow execution started, and she saw the despair in your eyes, there was only one thought in her mind. 'You'll remember me for a long time now, no?'

[swiftsdelucaa]

❛ 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑮𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆 𝑶'𝑴𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏 ❜

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: George O'Malley x reader ♡

Requested? Yes, by @annie-bby !

𝘼/𝙣: Hey, I hope you'll like this too! :)

After a few days of meeting you, he immediately asked you out. You never expected it, but it made you very happy. At first you thought it was some kind of thank you after standing up for him and getting angry at others for him always being teased. Why did they do it? It didn't make sense. Since then he has never stopped being on you, and you realized that this guy would never bear to lose you.

He was a boy with a heart of gold, it was hard not to get attached. In the morning he always brought you coffee and croissants, your favorites, and when you were having a shitty day he helped you make it a little less shitty.

The nights when you enjoyed dancing at Meredith's house drunk were the best, but especially the one when he finally decided to kiss you. It was a little weird, well you were all definitely drunk, but it happened... unexpectedly. You went to get some chips and when you came back you found him in front of you. "You're so beautiful Y/n" he gave you a little kiss leaving you standing there and went back to dancing.

Since then, things have definitely gotten more serious between you. So at first he was a little embarrassed after remembering what had happened, but knowing him you knew it would take time and the wait was worth it. You didn't think being George O'Malley's girlfriend could be so good. He treated you like a queen, there was no better thing in the world.

One evening you were waiting for him at home, you couldn't wait for him to come back, you had prepared something to eat for the first time in your life, and you had planned all night. Unfortunately when he came back he didn't look very happy. He sprawled out on the sofa and vented to the world. Well, all your plans had failed, and at one point you couldn't stand him talking anymore, so you jumped on him. "Take me upstairs and let off steam all you want with me"

He knew how to treat you very well even sexually, and in front of others he managed to hold back

Nobody tolerates when you fight. Sometimes, however, it can be fun, because you both act like two children, and you always include everyone to try to be right. Oh, this can go on for days.

You like making him angry, you seem to enjoy it, and in the end you always know how to make him happy again. His character is what you love about him, he's not stupid like others say, he simply has his own way of doing that maybe only you understand. Seeing you happy is his favorite thing. There is nothing that makes him calmer and more proud of your happiness.

Jealousy doesn't exist in your relationship. It's amazing, you know. And everyone envies you for it. He only has eyes for you and you do the same

There is no better place than to be in his arms. There is a moment of the day dedicated to this on purpose! He loves to hold you in his arms while he showers you with kisses and tells you thousands of times that he loves you. At that moment there is nothing else you two appear. Then the others arrive and ruin the whole atmosphere...

[imasadboi]

YanderePirate!Leon x Mermaid!Reader

Minors fuck off, please and thank you! This was just stuck in my lil head for a while and I went through with it, hope y'all enjoy. I may write more, depends if the inspo hits me or not. Shit was not beta'd so excuse any mistakes. . CW: blood, violence, use of weapons (harpoon), noncon, somnophilia, fingering, masturbation, reader is part fish. Lmk if I missed anything.

You first came into existence for him when he’d spotted you lounging on a rock, the sunlight making your skin glisten and your hair glow. His eyes trailed further down your body to notice your pert nipples, as a gentle sea breeze washed over your body. 

But what caught his eye the most, was your tail—virescent and refracting the sun’s light in a way that made it glimmer so beautifully. He had never seen something so captivating in his life. Obsession blossomed in his chest then, the need to have you flowing into his veins at a burning rate. At this moment, his only goal in life was to capture you and make you his.

Leon finds himself smiling as he sees his harpoon shoot right through your tail, the way your blood fills the grooves of your scales and melds flawlessly with the ocean water;

“Don’t struggle darling, you’ll only make it worse for yourself!” 

Your eyes involuntarily well up with tears, pain racking your body as you struggle to take in breaths. You flail in the water as your body is lifted, a loud cry escapes your throat as the unknown pirate hauls your body onto his ship—each pull causes the harpoon to jolt in your injury.

With a thud, your injured body lands on the deck; Leon has a rope in hand, roughly grabbing your arms and tying your wrists together.

“God, you look so much more beautiful up close, love.” Leon’s eyes trail across your body, lingering on your chest for a moment before eyeing the damage he just caused with his weapon. ‘I had to,’ he thinks, eyebrows furrowing with affliction, ‘She would have swam away.’

“I feel awful for this darling, but bear with me,” You follow his line of sight landing on the harpoon. You quickly realize what’s about to happen. 

“Wait, wait, wait, please don’t—,” a loud and agonizing shriek is heard, reverberating in Leon’s ears causing him to wince.

Sobs and whimpers pour from your mouth as Leon tosses the item aside, “Shh dear, you did so well. I’ll make you feel better in no time. I promise darling.” He cups your face, wiping heavy tears from your face with a gentle thumb—it should be his tongue instead.

Your tail sluggishly bleeds onto the wooden floor, your body working to heal itself in a timely manner. You look into those blue eyes, contrasting the warmth of your home;

“Why are you doing this?”

Leon stops the gentle strokes on your face, his face falling into blissful tranquility, “The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were mine darling.” 

It’s the last thing you hear as you succumb to darkness, the events taking a toll on your body. Leon feels his heart swell at the sight of you falling limp in his arms. He manages to slide an arm under your shoulders and your tail—struggling a bit with how slippery it is—and carries you into his quarters. 

He lays you down on his bed where he wraps a bandage over your gash, noticing the way it’s beginning to close on its own. He knew of some stories and tales of merfolk abilities but now, seeing it for himself, he finds himself in awe. Had he been someone else, someone who only found interest in obtaining their weight in gold, you would have been ripped apart. Killed. All for what could be exploited for man's benefit. Anger clouds his mind for a second, “Nobody can ever hurt you now, love.”

Leon runs a hand over your cheek, pushing your hair behind your ear, “Nobody can ever hurt you now, love.”

He wants to leave you to rest but your prone body tempts that part of him he’s never felt so strongly before; desire. He can feel himself begin to harden at the thought of giving in. How dare you seduce him even while unconscious.

His hand slightly trembles as his fingertips make contact with the soft flesh of your stomach, feeling it rise with every pull of breath you take in and release. God, you look so beautiful. Those fingers make their way to the underside of your tit, before gliding onto your nipple. It perks at his touch and his excitement ramps up. How sensitive. His fingers grasp your nipple lightly, rolling it and pushing it into the supple flesh of your breast. He watches your face with rapport as he does so, your face gives no indication that you’re aware of his actions. 

The left hand trailing your body finally lands onto your tail, the scales under his touch feel moist yet smooth. There’s a gathering of scales that stand out among the others, his throat feels dry upon approaching it. With one finger, he gently moves the largest scale.

Now his mouth is practically salivating as his finger slowly reveals a seemingly normal looking pussy, only different in color—it matches the colors of your tail and he’s never found anything more beautiful. He takes a quick glance at your face and sees you’re still deep asleep.

He knows he shouldn’t, would rather see your live reactions to his touches, but he’s been dreaming about this for too long. Leon gingerly presses his pointer finger inside, taking note of how warm and wet you are. Your pussy seems to clench on the intrusion before relaxing. He slides it in and out, wanting to gather more of your wetness; It’s more viscous than other women he’s been with, creating a stupidly easy slip and slide for his finger.

Without hesitation, he dips two more fingers in, in awe as your pussy easily accepts them, like it was made for him. The other hand he had by your face moves to push his pants down, his dick already weeping with pre. He has enough restraint to keep from fucking you right then and there, instead removing his fingers from your hole and slathering the slick he accumulated from you onto his cock. He returns his fingers in you, this time with four. He begins to pump himself with the other, imagining he’s inside you instead.

There’s a slight strain to fingering you as he curls his fingers into the spongy part of your walls—which earns him a twitch of your tail and a cut-off whimper from you—while teasing the head of his dick. The arousal burns right through him, and Leon is unable to hold back from releasing deep moans and whimpers as he moves his hand faster. He sees your body start to squirm the more insistent he is with his digits, the urgency and deep need to make you cum with him hanging obsessively over his head.

You wake up with a feeling like something in your abdomen has snapped, and a loud moan shakily leaves your throat. Your pussy feels full and pulsates around the intruding object. On the other hand, Leon finally gives in and shoots load after load onto his shirt, hand, and thighs—the look of your face, pure bliss, tipping him over the edge. He awaits a tongue-lashing from you only to find you’ve gone back to sleep.

He removes his fingers from you with care, bringing them to his mouth. At the first taste of you, he moans. He sucks on his fingers until your essence is completely eliminated. He tucks himself back into his pants, still feeling breathless from having cum so intensely. If just this felt amazing, he can only wonder what it’ll be like when he’s finally in you.

[rinofwater]

Yo, I legit want to hear your data disk theory bc I was kinda thinking the same thing? Except I figured that if they really are magnetic hard disks then they'd be even more fragile than DVDs/CDs since even a stray magnet could screw up all the data? I am but a lowly software person so I don't exactly how storage mediums work all too much lol. Also, if the old world was really DA FUTURE(tm), wouldn't their computer storage be more in SSDs than HDDs? There might be an economic reason to stick with HDDs but if their computing tech was at the level of sentient AIs and stuff they hypothetically would have the faster, more compact storage in those...

Reminds me of the deep dive I did to figure why the hell telegraphs in the My Time world are called telegraphs if they're supposedly wireless (short answer: it's probably primitive radio? i have no idea how the hell transmissions can work at distances up to cross-country tho)

Oh boy, I'm so glad you asked! I've done IT infrastructure repair work for a couple years now, and my last job actually had me working with a lot of storage servers in particular for the latter half of my job, so I have Opinions(tm) on this small detail lol. And those are all really good questions too. And hopefully I don't get too technical trying to answer it, but I make no promises (and it's DEFINITELY going to be long and rambly so bear with me)

So starting with it being The Future(tm), there are pros and cons to going HDD versus SSD versus NVMe today, but did you know that not only is tape storage still in use, but it's actually still considered a modern, practical solution to archival storage with the technology still being upgraded and developed, even right now in 2023? Archival in this case being the sort of data you need to hold onto for 20, 30, 40 years or more without a constant need to have read/write access to that data. The tape servers have a cool robot arm in them and everything to move the tape cassettes around. A lot of this technology isn't actually aging out because it has its niche, it's just being modernized to settle it more in that niche

So with HDDs versus SSDs, they are becoming fairly comparable to each other today, HDD was winning out for a long time because SSD was a lot more expensive to get ahold of at the same storage capacity as HDD. That's great from a regular end-user perspective because you can get that upgrade more practically and reap the benefits of not having to rely on physical moving parts to access your data. Swapping it out on a server level is going to be a much larger and more expensive project, though, without seeing a lot of additional benefit for going that direction. A lot of the benefits that you would see for swapping to SSD on a regular computer have already been accounted for in existing server designs for a while now, in the form of RAID technology (Redundant Array of Independent/Inexpensive Disks; fancy way of saying "get a bunch of drives to take on the work of one drive and then replace any drives that break along the way"; being able to share the data load across multiple drives improves efficiency and then you can also replace broken disks on the fly without having to worry about the integrity of the overall storage system as long as you don't sit on too many dead disks for too long)

Not to say that SSDs won't still overtake HDD eventually, as new servers are installed in datacenters and closets, they're increasingly having SSD as the supported format, but there's not a good enough benefit to rush through fading out HDD at the moment when they're still about comparable to each other and the weaknesses have largely been accounted for. And even then, there are always going to be legacy servers that get passed up for upgrades either because nobody sees a need or it's too important to the overall infrastructure or any number of reasons, at which point they're still almost definitely going to be sticking with HDDs even in The Future

So that's the long-winded justification for why I think it's plausible that there would still be large enough quantities of HDDs kicking around even in the future for them to end up in ruins of that future

As for the justification of how you'd be able to get enough usable data off of them given the notorious fragility of those disks, I chalk it up to a matter of quantity. When I was installing brand-new storage servers for a customer, one drawer could hold up to around a hundred hard drives, and there were often four or five drawers slated for install with one server. If you figure that your average HDD has about three to six platters, multiply that by 100, and then multiply that by the drawers, and then the number of identical hardware setups that are also set up around it, and that number just keeps going up by orders of magnitude. Most of those platters are absolutely going to be shattered or wiped or otherwise damaged in a way that renders them useless, and the percentage that make it out in-tact enough is going to be very small. But if you take a very small percentage of the ridiculously large number of platters you can expect to find in a datacenter (even the smaller ones) is still going to give you the chance of finding enough usable platters that you can pull something off of them. Like, we're talking millions or billions of platters just in one place, if you take .01% or .001% or even .0001% of that kind of number as your chances of finding something in tact you're still looking at a fairly decent pool of workable salvage to sort through*

(*In theory, anyway; in practice, you usually need all the platters that are associated with an HDD to be able to put the data together into something usable given the way data's distributed across them...not that it's impossible to grab information off of a single platter but it would take A LOT of extra work to figure out how to reverse engineer it into working versus having the full set. It could still be possible but that factor drags the already small percentage down even further. But then, I would be surprised if Pathea has given it NEARLY as much thought as this, so after a certain point, there's kinda just the shrugging to say "video game logic" lol...but before reaching that point I'm going to have my fun spending way too much time trying to figure out how it *could* work)

With the quantity argument, as well, you're also way more likely to see that kind of overabundance of HDD than you would DVDs or CDs; DVDs just aren't scalable in the same way, both in terms of the amount of data they can store and the amount of read/write flexibility they have. You're also a lot less likely to find the sort of information on a DVD that you would find in a storage server; DVDs are more useful for executable programs than they are for data storage, and even that purpose is superceded by a usb thumb drive a lot of the time. There wouldn't be nearly as many to account for in an apocalypse situation and that means the statistics are going to hit them much harder

Anyway, yeah, that's my nerdy ass supposition for this headcanon, thanks again for giving me an excuse to ramble on about it and I hope it makes sense lol

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

A Tragic Ending to a Tragic Story

A battle has waged itself in Regulus’ mind, weighing him down and tossing him to and fro in the throng of it. His heartbeat the war drums, his apprehensions the bullets, his resolve the trenches. It has been days since the first shot of hesitancy was fired, and the conflict only appears to be swelling. It plagues him more with each passing day, so much so that yesterday he was almost certain James could hear the cacophony in his head. He did not.

The only thing that disturbs him more than this cowardly inner turmoil, is how easily he managed to convince James this sudden bout of silence and reservation wasn’t a big of a deal as it truly is. That the stress of hiding himself is weighing down on him rather than his impending death. How is it, that after years of pushing to know every thought that passed through Regulus’ mind, James hasn’t batted an eye when he goes silent?

Part of him wants James to push. But that is a dangerous line to walk, and he will not risk James becoming aware of his plans. The more reasonable part of him is glad James is staying on the sidelines, waiting for Regulus to take the lead, to coach him, to tell him what to think, to do, to be. Because this war in his mind is reaching its crescendo now, the pivotal moment when things either go according to his well-laid plan, or come crashing down around him. It’s best that James is far away so he crumbling façade doesn’t crush him too.

Or he could just do the cowardly thing, and shy away from responsibility. He can keep James, and his life.

At the moment, that option is appearing far more appealing. James’ arm carelessly yet protectively thrown over his waist seems like an insurmountable obstacle. One he doesn’t even want to overcome. He can just stay here in the warm cocoon of James’ arms rather than surrendering his beating heart for a chill in his bones. Yet somehow, he surmounts his base desires. Slipping out from the warmth and reassurance. Slipping away from the promises he made. Slipping away into the darkness. Slipping away from an arm that instinctively curls around the warm spot Regulus once occupied. Slipping away like he was never there. By the time James wakes, that spot will have gone long cold. Cold with no beating heart to warm it again. Just a lonely ghost, reaching out to its lover with intangible hands.

But Regulus will easily bear that burden if it means James can free himself from this tangled web of darkness. It isn’t too late. Despite all of James’ veneration towards him, he can still get out. He has not yet fallen over the cliff, he can mend the fraying rope of his relationships, and they can pull him back to solid ground. He was foolish to try and keep James—the sun has no place in the night where cruel and dark things lurk. Whether he knew it or not, it was always going to end up here.

And he doesn’t even get to say goodbye.

But it’s okay. Because nobody knows what life would be like without the sun. He won’t be the reason everybody finds out, it’s just not a viable solution. The world won’t even notice his missing spot in the world, just like a star blipping out of existence. Before he does however, he will allow himself this one good thing. Burning bright before he is consumed whole, darkness and all.

When the voices ringing in the battle of his mind grappled for dominance, he had procured three letters. One to seek forgiveness, one to mend old scars, and one to instill unease. He spent hours pouring over each of them, anguishing over the words. It’s hard to say goodbye to your life before it’s really even begun. Regretfully, Sirius was right—he never did get to feel the sunrise, not truly.

The first letter, is more a collection. Snippets of verse and quotes and memories. Things to ease the hurt. To show he meant what he said—that he did want to start a life together, that he did finally find somebody to live for, that if things were different, they could have had it. Regulus hates to break promises, it’s rather an unfortunate stroke of circumstance that he made a promise to himself well before that to James. The promise to protect those in his heart, and seek vengeance against those who wish to cause them harm. That promise, proceeds all others, and that alone is what he seeks forgiveness for.

He leaves the letter on the kitchen counter, just next to the kettle. James always follows the same routine every morning. Wake up, set some tea to boil for Regulus, then head out for his morning run along the coast. When he emerges from his induce slumber, that routine will be derailed. Hopefully, James doesn’t derail along with it. Hopefully, James keeps his footing and moves forward.

The next letter, contains a part of him from the deepest crevices of his soul. A part of himself that he buried beneath a cage of ribs and cobwebs and dark magic and hurt. Behind all the things that made it easier to hate his brother rather than reconcile their wrongs. The letter is accompanied by a slender box. The box is deceptively small, but holds hundreds of letters. A thousand maybe. Letters that Regulus wrote, only to be intercepted before they reached the eyes of the addressee. Maybe, just maybe, they will be enough to behind to mend the resentment he is certain was sowed back in ’71. Maybe he can undo the damage their Mother caused. Maybe... maybe he can be Sirius’ brother again.

Knowing Sirius, however, his brother won’t take the news genuinely, not until the account of his death has reached the Order. He will ignore the letter, or use it as evidence of Regulus’ ‘contempt against him’. Either way, Regulus tried, in the best way he knows how to.

The last letter, was something he struggled for an embarrassing amount of time for a mere three sentences. But he isn’t a Black for nothing, he could hardly go to his death without at least a little histrionics. He folds the letter and tucks it inside the decoy locket, which he tucks securely in his breast pocket.  

Once the apology, reconciliation, and antics are dealt with, he heads to the beach. He just wants one last moment to feel alive before becoming a hollow shell. He knows what waits for him in that cave, and dying is the least worrying of the outcomes. Realistically, the inferi will sink their magic-ridden claws into him, and he will once again be a mindless servant of the Dark Lord, dragging down anybody who tries following in his traitorous footsteps. Merlin, he hopes James gets the message and stays away, he can’t imagine killing his lover, especially not even being himself.

Morbidly, he hopes the water does him in. At least then, he won’t be trapped in a corpse for eternity. He would be free, a servant no longer. Besides, he’s always found water soothing, and after moving to the coast, that feeling has only amplified. He finds a kinship with the water—always underestimated, yet perfectly capable of being deadly.

Each crashing wave is a thundering heartbeat, driving him closer to the rocky shore littered with masks of his previous lives. Lives that were not his, lives that he had to live in to protect the fragile inner self. He is but a China doll, covered in chips and cracks, each revealing more of his weakly beating soul.

Soul is a bit lackluster. It’s his conscience, his life, his animus, his vivacity, his individuality, his reason for being. Trust humans to put such an uninspired word to such singularity. Trust them to dumb it down, to make it less than it is so they don’t scare anybody with the true scope of it all.

Before he loses his nerve, he apparates.

The ground he lands on is slick. Only seconds after landing—and barely catching his balance—he hears the cracking sound of water against rock, and a deluge washes over him, knocking him fully to the ground. His shoulder is driven into the jagged rock below him, the rest of his body slammed down atop it. He only just catches himself from being hauled into the turbulent sea by a fingernail. Just the edge of it snags on the rock. It tears bloodily from his finger, but it slows him just enough to get a proper grip on the wet rock, and heave himself back onto semi-safe ground.

Breath heaving in his chest, Regulus turns his eyes upward, blinking away water. There, in the distance, rises the sheer cliff the cave is carved from. The heavy mists shrouding the full thing from sight do it no justice. But even then, it is nowhere as daunting as Kreacher had made it out to be. The place just looks… sad. Sad and forgotten, waves pounding against a forlorn cliff as his heart claws at his chest. Him and the ocean, one and the same. Him and the ocean, hiding secrets in icy depths.

He fights the wind and the sea for balance, searching for something to transfigure a boat out of. Kreacher mentioned a rock nearby Riddle created a raft out of, so hopefully after returning to this spot, he canceled the spell, leaving the rock behind. The water is hardly tame enough for a boat, but it is his only viable option. There is no magic inside the cave—Kreacher mentioned feeling completely cut off from everything, “like some muggle creature no doubt”—but if Riddle’s boat held, so will Regulus’.

With a deep well of magic at his fingertips, the boat is easily transfigured from a boulder nearby. The thought has barely formed in his mind before the boat is materialized on the surface, rocking and dipping with the waves as any boat should. He climbs aboard, and another wandless spell has the boat silently propelling forward, urged on by oars handled by his magic.

If possible, darkness falls further upon passing through the cave’s threshold. Even worse, Regulus physically feels the stripping of his magic. An almost painful tear. His is more than disconnected, he is weak, his is vulnerable. Everything that gave him power, everything that kept him safe, it’s gone. It’s hardly significant in the moment, but he also notices the glamor—that always stuck close by in case of emergency—is no longer at his whims.

The oars fall limp at the sides of the boat, momentum allowing him to drift a few more feet before coming to a slow halt. Even the churning waves outside appear to be quieted, the sound muffled by the magical barrier. All he can hear is the gentle slosh of water against the hull of the boat and sides of the cave; his heavy breathing; and a faint crackle of dark magic in the air.

In what must be the middle of the cave, there is a small rock island with a pedestal. Hovering above it, is a glowing green orb, casting a haunting glow over the island and the surrounding water. It seems to both be calling him forward, and urging him away at the same time. Come, have a drink. Come, see what secrets I hold. Turn away, darkness awaits you. Turn away, there is nothing of interest here. Come, untold power at your fingertips. Turn away, turn away, come closer, turn away, come closer, come closer…

Regulus seizes the oars, and makes the slow journey toward the island.

As he climbs out of the boat, pale hands rise to the surface of the water, sending gentle ripples across the smooth surface. They tease him, drawing tantalizingly close before withdrawing back into the safety of the water once more. Inferi. Regulus knows. Voldemort himself boasted of his ability to curse a hundred dead muggles. Muggles, who were worthless to do anything other than protect a part of his soul. Inferior unless given one set goal to achieve, and limitless ability to do so. Regulus had pointed out any sane witch or wizard would use magic to defeat them, or could wait it out on the island and send out a patronus for somebody to come to their aid. Voldemort then countered with the use of the potion, and a magic-dampener and anti-apparition wards around the cave. In the end, Regulus had driven the nails into his own coffin.

The pedestal sits in the middle of the island, with a crudely carved stone basin resting atop. Resting at the base of what appears to be the water-filled vessel, is a locket. Surprisingly unremarkable and plain compared to the jewelry he grew up with, Salazar’s locket has been besmirched in the name of the Dark Lord. Once a sign of the great founder’s magic, it is now used to store a fragment of a dark wizard’s soul. Such a mockery. Such a waste.

Sitting beside the basin, is a small pewter goblet. Inscribed in the base of the cup are the words, “bibere si audes”. Riddle is practically telling those exactly how to go after the horcrux, giving them a step-by-step guide and leaving it practically in the open. For what gain?

His hands betray his confidence as he shakily raises the first goblet full of potion to his lips. But there, just before the first drop hits his tongue, he hesitates. Knowing exactly how this goes doesn’t help. Knowing what unforgiving and unyielding pain will soon tear through his body makes him that much more apprehensive to take that first sip.

At least until his mind does cruel things, and summons images of James. James in this dark cave, raising a goblet to his lips. James collapsing to the rocky shore and grasping toward the water holding those cursed muggles. James, dying. James, in pain. James, corrupted and killed by him. James… James… James…

That’s enough to force the first sip. From there, he is certain of only one thing. The raging inferno rising inside him to combat the crushing waves of his heartbeat. Fire and water, clashing until a smoke rises in his throat and clogs his lungs. He needs to breathe; he needs to clear this soot from his mouth, he needs… water!

He scrambles for the waterside, only to trip back at the sight of pale fingers with dagger-like nails. No, he must bear it. He is not a Black for nothing. He took the Dark Mark at seventeen. He bore the pain then, he didn’t give into the creeping black edge of pain, he will no do so now. So, he summons all his wavering courage, and stumbles back to the pedestal for another damning drought. And another. And another.

“REGULUS!” James’ voice echoes through the cave, tearing him away from his singular focus of clearing the last drops of the potion. He is almost there; he can almost get the locket. He can almost give James and his brother a shot at living. He can almost… but James is here, and screaming his name. “REGULUS! HELP ME! REGULUS!”

No, it’s too early. The potion shouldn’t have worn off yet, James should still be sound asleep in bed, none the wiser to Regulus’ absence. He was supposed to have time. He was supposed to do this properly, and not have to stick around and face the consequences. He wanted to do one good, selfless thing without being pulled away from it. This was supposed to be just his, and it was supposed to keep James far away. How did he even find the cave? Regulus purposefully kept that information to himself, so this exact thing wouldn’t happen—James’ too-good-bravery stepping in to sacrifice himself.

James is crawling up the rocky shore, deep bloody gouges crisscrossing his body. Bloody claws gripping at his skin, both looking like they are tearing him apart, and dragging him down to a watery grave. His trademark lopsided grin is replaced, twisted into a grotesque scream, eyes bright with terror.

“JAMES!” He tries flinging his magic out, magic he knows and relies. But nothing happens, and the inferi drag James further away from him. “I told you not to leave me.” James pouts before he is dragged fully underwater.

He gets to the waterline too late. James is gone, and all that is waiting for him are clawing hands and death. At least now, he won’t be leaving anybody behind. But James, why did you do this? Why did you come here? Why didn’t you give up on me? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

“I thought you were better than this, Regine.” Regulus half turns to see Sirius standing over him, dressed like everything he ever fought against, disapproving look cast upon him.

He is shrinking. Shrinking until he is just another rock littering the shore. Shrinking until there is nothing left of him. Because what is he really? A fraud of a girl. A fraud of a boy. A fraud of a brother. A fraud of a lover. He’s spent so long wearing masks, he doesn’t know who he is. And he’s going to die like that. Die without knowing who he is in the center of his being.

“Look at you.” Sirius spits. “Making an embarrassment of this family.”

“Siri?”

Sirius scoffs. “Acting like a child. No wonder I left you behind.” He cocks his head, hair falling from the intricate bun to fall around his face. He’s now wearing his typical garb—ratty muggle band tee, leather jacket, and ripped jeans. Even his voice changes, now dripping with desperation. “I thought you wanted to leave, Reggie? I thought…” He sighs, resignation in his tone. “I guess Mother was right about you all along. You really are her child.”

“You said you trusted us.” Dorcas laments.

“You promised you would heed my warning.” Pandora chastises.

“I thought we were in this together, Reg.” Barty mourns.

“So much for promises.” Evan spits.

“And here I thought you were as brave as your brother.” Remus accuses.

“You couldn’t save me.”

“I’m glad I left.”

“Why do you never listen?”

“So much for friendship.”

His friends circle around him. Voices heckle him, drawing closer and closer, pressing in on all sides. They overlap, they rise and fall in waves, each washing over him with a painful blow. He is too big for his body now, a body that is battered with hurt and sliced with malevolent words. He just wants this to be over. He wants the voices to stop pestering him, he just wants silence. He wants to lay in bed with James. He wants to laugh with his brother. He wants his friends to make-light hearted fun of him. He wants to be a normal teenager. He wants. He wants. He wants. He wants so much, and he will never get it because of the inferno in his chest, and the promise he will die keeping.

But he will not die before keeping it.

So, he pushes passed his friends, a solid barrier that keeps morphing and twisting to keep him away from the pedestal, to push him toward the water. But he won’t allow them, because he is doing this for them. He is giving them their future, where they can be teenagers, then adults, then grow old together. He is doing this so they can be normal. It has to be this way, because he is the only one the world won’t miss. It has to be him burning up and drowning and suffocating. It has to be him, the heart of the lion, finally slain by Hercules fulfilling his final labor. A brave act, that requires his life as forfeit.

The last sip, is surprisingly mellow.

He ignores the slight disappointment, and scoops up the locket. Even without magic in this cave, the locket itself hums with power. Maybe he can leave. Maybe he can escape this cave in one piece, he can return to his life, and start living it right. But first… he places the decoy locket, and watches in awe as the potion fills back up to the top, goblet up righting itself everything as it was when he first arrived.

Well, almost.

Regulus spins back, only to find the boat being upended by gnarled pale bodies. While a swarm of them capsizes the boat, even more are coming for him. Their grotesque bodies tangling together as they clamber toward him. On all sides, they cover every surface of the rock, a flowing wave of bodies, hungry for him. His blood, his lifeforce, his magic. They will consume it, use every part of his being, and only get stronger for the next fool to enter the cave.

“Kreacher!” The house elf does not appear. This isn’t good. His whole plan banked on the loyal elf and him being able to hear him through the magical buffer. He knew from the beginning he wasn’t getting off the island alive, let alone out of the cave. He also knew he would have to get the horcrux out somehow, and Kreacher was his means of doing so. “KREACHER! I COMMAND YOU!”

The bodies are closer now, about halfway up the small island. Just two more body lengths and they will be upon him.

“KRE—”

“Kreacher is here, Mistress Régine.”

Regulus clenches his teeth at the misnomer, but doesn't correct the elf. There is hardly the time for such concerns, not when death and failure are so close to fumbling out of his grasp. “Take this. Bring it to James, he knows how to destroy it.”

“Kreacher doesn’t like Mr. Potter.”

“I don’t care. Bring it to him. Do you understand, this is important. I command you to bring it to James Potter. Then, you will do whatever he requires of you.”

“…Yes Mistress Régine.”

“Good. Go.”

A loud crack, and Regulus is alone once again. Alone, a cadaver, just moments away from its final breaths. So cold, and so hot. Even in his final moments, his body cannot settle to give him a moment of peace. Always in turmoil, like the undulating sea. He is more the sea than he originally thought. Many names, many appearances, many temperaments. Always underestimated, always deadly. Never forgiven.

Claws close around his ankles, dragging him down. His knee collides with the rock. The claws dig in, straight to the bone. They dig in hard and start tearing. The agony is worse than before. Curse magic delivered directly into his bloodstream, killing him, removing him, turning him into something else.

His body hits the glacial water. His screams muted by the water, heard by none but his fellow cursed. Water rushes into his body, and the inferno finally quiets. The claws drag him further into the depths. Slimy limbs pressing against him on all sides, until they finally shove him against the rocky lake-bed, and rise around him, leaving him alone at the bottom.

Alone to let the water invade.

Alone to die.

Alone, he never wanted to be alone. But in pushing everybody away, what else should he have expected?

Alone.

Alone and dying.

Alone.

Alone.

A hollow husk of a lonely boy, drowning.

I’m sorry, Sirius. I’m sorry I didn’t follow you sooner.

[ithaquasbbg]

Day 3 yay! ☺️ I am writing early today

Wherefore art thou thyself? - Ithaqua x Reader

Pairing : Itha x reader <33

TW : some kinda self loathing thoughts and like mental health bad 👎. This is a hurt comfort fic where the reader like,. Comforts Itha or whatever, some mentions of murder and stuff.

….

“Why are you like this?” Ithaqua asks himself, staring at his own reflection in the mirror as he tries desperately to fix every little imperfection he could possibly find. He spends hours every day staring at himself, wishing that he could look different. Wishing he didn’t look so much like his brother. Nathaniel had broken Ithaqua’s mother right in front of his own eyes, making Ithaqua’s face unbearable for him or mother. At least in Ithaqua’s own eyes, maybe even those of his mother, he was the very example of a monster. He holds his head in his hands, the pain of looking at himself becoming too great.

“Why couldn’t I be any different?” He asks through tears, trying to keep himself quiet as to not disturb anyone in the rooms around him. It’s difficult, having to look like the very person who had caused him so much pain. The person who had torn his life apart, his family broken. “Why do I have to look like you?” He asks, watching the tears run down his cheeks. His entire childhood, mother had told him he was a good looking young man. But now, Ithaqua couldn’t see himself as anything more than ugly.

“I’m a monster.” He whispers, covering his eyes with his hands as if to keep himself from seeing something horrible. Everything he had ever done had no matter for as long as he looked identical to Nathaniel, he did not have his own identity. Nor did he believe he deserved one after what he had done. After what his look alike had done. Eventually, these thoughts all become too much and he finds himself unable to hold back the sobs he’s been repressing for god knows how long, his entire body shaking.

“Nobody could ever love a monster” he whispers, laying his head in his hands as his breathing becomes erratic. All he wants is to hide from the world, to never show his face again. His mother died thinking of him as a monster and he knew it well, he knew that she no longer saw Ithaqua as his own self either, simply viewing him and his brother as one in the same. He had always wondered what would have happened if he had passed along with his mother after all those months of suffering, would they be in the afterlife together? Or would mother still be horrified of his very existence?

If he were to gouge out his own eyes, would he not have to see that horrible face of his anymore? Would he be freed from the guilt that drowns him? These thoughts are too much to bear at the moment, and he finds himself unable to move his mind away from them for what feels like hours until a knock sounds from the door to his bedroom.

“Ithaqua? Are you alright in there darling?” He hears you ask, a tone of worry evident in your voice as you knock again. Realizing he would only worry you more should he not respond, Ithaqua slowly stands up, wiping his eyes and walking over to the door to open it. “God, you look terrible..” he hears you say this and takes it the wrong way as almost anyone in his situation would. But he cannot be mad. No, in fact he agrees with this sentiment.

What knocks him out of his thoughts is your actions afterwards. A soft kiss on the forehead as you close the door, leading him to his bed to lay down. You sit next to him holding his hand. “Ithaqua, what’s the matter?” The mere question makes him crumble into your arms, unable to hold back the pain he’s been feeling for such a long time. “Every time I see my face I think of him..” is the only thing he can say for a few moments, laying there while you stroke his hair gently like his mother used to do. “I can remember his face when I killed him.. the way he was begging me for mercy.. it feels like I killed myself..”

You knew he had troubles with his face, the way his expression would drop when he’d see his own reflection. Even telling him he looked pretty could get to him on the worst days, this seems to be one of those. “I wish I didn’t look so much like that monster, (name). I can’t even see myself as my own person anymore.. I only see him.” You continue stroking his hair gently, getting the small knots out while you listen to him talk. “Itha, darling.. look at me please” He lifts his head from your chest after this, allowing you to cup his cheeks in your hands and wipe his tears.

“I love you so much, you are not even remotely like him, Ithaqua.” He seems unconvinced but leans into your touch, yearning for any of the comfort he can possibly get. “You’re sweet, caring, friendly.. there’s so much about you that is nothing like him, my love. You’re not a monster.” You kiss his forehead before continuing “I love you for who you are, hell, you could look like a monster and I’d still love you. You’re so lovely, darling”

You can see him start smiling when you say this, holding you as tight as he can. Ithaqua starts to cry again, but this time they seem like happy tears more than anything. Within a moment, you feel his lips on yours as he pulls you in, his hands gently rubbing your cheeks. “I love you so much, (name). What would I ever do without you?” He chuckles as he gives you one more light kiss on the forehead. That night, you two stay in each others embrace, holding each other tight as you both slowly drift off to sleep

-end-

Hurt/comfort bc after the last two things I’ve wrote I think it’s necessary…

[zerothejackal]

small story thingy i wrote about infinite rn

idk why im so emotional about infinite today man i just wish he had gotten a much better ending

or at least a more dignifying death, for now all i can do is write infinite and his squad walking into an unknown sonic-world's version of an afterlife because they were waiting for him, because they forgive him and don't blame his actions, because they know how mucb he was hurting

The jackal lied defeated on the battleground as he saw the blue pest that's been a thorn on his side for days celebrating along with a red wolf. The jackal tried to stand up, his legs and arms shaking, something felt wrong with his body.

He felt- No. He didn't. He stood up as best as he could, pain striking him on all points of his body and he spoke to them.

—Impossible. I CANNOT be defeated!—

To his dismay the blue hedgehog walked to him and began giving him a lecture about friendship.

—Wrong, loser! The things that can't be defeated are heart, soul, and the bonds of friendship.—

it made Infinite anger, if they could only see the face under his mask. he was seething with rage.

—Three things you and your counterfeit cronies lack!—

The words coming out from the hedgehog's mouth just angered Infinite more syllable by syllable. Not because he had been defeated, well not entirely, but because the hedgehog did not know what he was talking about.

He remembered his loyal squad, those jackals that were the closest to him, who he had formed strong bonds with, who had helped Zero become a feared and known mercenary: the jackal squad.

And how they all were taken away by Shadow the hedgehog. The self proclaimed Ultimate lifeform that decided that Zero was not worth being killed, who left him scarred and scared knowing he failed his squad.

Who called him coward, pathetic, worthless, weak. cursing his name and face by making them those of a failure. forcing him to take on a new identity: Infinite.

The reason he didn't want to be known as the ultimate mercenary anymore, but to see the world crumble down to ashes, was those friends taken away from him.

All his sorrow and anger concentrated and boiled on infinite, who could only hit the ground to relieve his heart from aching for a second. But as if the universe wanted him gone, he felt something more.

A pain indescribable, a feeling unimaginable, dread filled out every single one of his cells, he felt the phantom ruby call his ruby replica, taking him with it.

He had failed, again.

He was deemed not useful, again.

He was considered a failure, again.

he couldn't bear with this, he tried to fight the call

—No! Wait- I CAN- STILL FIGHT!—

he yelled, but there was no one that could hear him. He started this worthless and he was going out worthless, Shadow was right in the end, he was pathetic.

The jackal felt a burning sensation on his chest, as the phantom replica turned into energy, slowly spreading across his body—No, not slowly. Time itself seemed to have slowed down. Like if something just wanted to make his suffering last longer

That burning sensation was felt by infinite in each individual cell, protein, molecule, atom, that was part of his body. The ruby was eating him erasing him from existance, deeming his body as only valuable for energy.

Infinite could feel himself start to disappear and he was scared, afraid, like never before, he was not going to die, not in the traditional sense, nothing would remain of him, not a corpse, or skeleton, nothing. Just a bad memory that would be forgotten

Infinite tried to fight, to run, but his limbs were numb, he tried to look away but his eyes felt tired, he tried to scream but his lungs ached, he tried to cry but his soul was silenced.

And after a few seconds, his entire body was engulfed into the ruby, destroyed and annihilated entirely by the reality bending powers of the mystical gem.

He was gone.

Was he even alive

Nobody knew

Nobody cared.

Infinite woke up, he was in a pitch black void, every belonging of his was gone, and so was his senses. He could barely see, he didn't feel like he could move, and he didn't make noise. It felt like he was falling.

The jackal floated among the endless abyss for what it felt like ages, thinking about everything he had done, all his regrets and mistakes came to haunt him, engulfing him until he barely could remember his name or his face.

Only then infinite was allowed to cry, and suddenly something reached to him from the darkness, the hand of someone, maybe a friend, it looked like him, but was wearing a green bandana on their head.

the vague silhouettes of others like them surrounded him. And be remembered again, "I'm sorry," "I ruined everything," "I failed you" he tried to say, but he was still mute, only more and more tears came from his eyes.

The other jackal, a member of his squad, knelt down and hugged Infinite, tightly, and although the jackal couldn't hear anything he felt a whisper come from Quatre's mouth.

it felt like

"You didn't deserve this. You just acted with the cards you were given. It's okay. Let's go home"

The seven jackals all stood up on firm floors and walked away towards a golden light in the distance, warmth like the sun, shining in seven shades of gold.

[horce-divorce]

there's this really weird and pervasive doublespeak going on here (I'm American so I can't speak outside my sphere here but it's definitely pervasive in America, though it clearly exists elsewhere too) that like. OK so. We have all these "rights to bear arms" and "stand your ground" and "freedom of speech" and shit, ostensibly to "defend ourselves."

But because the colonialist, capitalist structure demands a hierarchy of abuse from top to bottom, that's not really what those laws are about. It's not about "defending yourself," its about legitimizing your right to steal from others, making up laws that say "I can do what I want, but not you," like fucking Ron Swanson. "Defense" is a very cleverly chosen misnomer.

Cus then culturally, we say things like, "violence is ALWAYS Bad and wrong! You should never ever hurt someone else! Unless it's in self defense!" But even then, good luck defending that! Because if you're in a position you need to defend, you're already delegitimized in the eyes of the state, and anyone else contained in your hierarchy. "Defense" is for actors who have already moved to do something bold, to take something from you, and are "defending" their "right" to exert power over you. Conquest is righteousness. If you took it by force, it's yours rightfully. That's what our laws are protecting the right to defend. The pilgrims weren't VIOLENT, they weren't OPPRESSIVE, they were DREAMERS! Our laws are merely defending the legacy of HOPES and DREAMS that they left behind!!!

This society is structured from the top down to favor the narratives of abusers- people will always listen to them first and foremost, because people respond first to fear, and fear of power, not to truth. Conquest is righteousness.

So, violence is bad and wrong... but not if you're exerting it over the powerless! Right! If we did that to grab land, thats okay! Its all in the past! If cops are doing it, that's okay, because its only their jobs, they don't know better, they can't do better, they arent allowed!! Have some sympathy!!

It's only bad if the victim hits back. Even ONCE. If you do that, everyone is so quick to tell you that you're just as bad as your abuser.

It's also like, you aren't really successful unless you can raise yourself to a level of having others below you. If you refuse to exploit others and you live a modest life, that's somehow not good enough, embarrassing, shameful. But if you work your way up to the top of a hierarchy, and you're now someone who exploits the workers below you, that's admirable. If you're at the top of the hierarchy, you can hurt anyone and call it "helping them" and they'll believe you.

Because "winners" write history. And you know who "keeps America winning."

Winners are the ones telling you that all violence committed by YOU is ALWAYS equally bad and therefore, always abusive and always wrong-- but if it's done by your oppressor "on behalf of you," to PROTECT and DEFEND someones RIGHTS, then it's necessary and you shan't complain!

Think about who that narrative benefits. The idea that even self defense is reprehensible, that even hitting back once makes you despicable and tainted and just as bad.

Think about it. who does this narrative benefit. Think about who has gotten to write these stories. Who's legislating the textbooks that kids are reading in school, and what they get told about this stuff.

Who's supplying Isreal. Who's sending them tanks and weapons and bombs and backing them up against the rulings of the fucking ICJ. Who is that. Hmm. And I wonder. Could this narrative possibly benefit that force internally in any other ways, too? Perhaps, in its own political power struggles at home?

We have a culture where nobody can even condemn genocide without an addendum that says, "and also the 1,200 people Hamas killed recently. Even though we're talking about tens of thousands of dead palestineans who were just existing- 32,552 of which have been killed SINCE OCT 7- we CANT without also saying, "but this, too, also, as well? Hamas?? This is also bad, and we are so, so saddened by the violence on both sides, we just want everyone to stop and get along I'm just soooo upsettis about it all violence is always soooo scary and bad!!!! :(((((((((((("

"if Hamas would just stop defending Palestine, Israel wouldn't be forced to genocide all of them!"

That sounds awfully familiar to anyone who's ever been in an abusive relationship. "Look what you made me do. Look what you did to me. You're just as bad as I am. We're both abusive."

Yeah.

It feels eerily familiar to the both sides defeatism of our "electoral politics." You will eat what's on your plate, or you will eat nothing. You will sit there and eat it and participate in dinner until we can "push left," and maybe eventually we can have a meal that's palatable to you. You will not complain. You will not be disruptive. You will be grateful. And if you ask for more, you will be scathingly reminded how there are starving children in Russia with no democracy, and not even two shitty choices to waffle over.

Yeah.

Never defend yourself, not until you've earned the right to do so by Conquest. All violence is bad, unless the state is enacting it on you. That's REAL self defense.

Who does that benefit, I wonder.

[wandaszn]

Long Way Home

Hi everyone! This is my first delve into writing so I hope you can bear a bit of novice and mediocrity! This is just a small (read: it was small but I got carried away lol) shot based on this incredibly cute video of Lizzie. Just a few tweaks, such as the song being changed to Long Way Home by 5SOS and it being a Wanda x Reader instead. Also we're gonna pretend that Westview never happened and WandaVision doesn't exist *mwah*

Please leave any feedback at all I'd really appreciate it! Hope you enjoy!

Nobody has permission to repost this on any platforms. Please don't be a dick.

Summary: On the way home from a quick grocery trip, Y/N turns left instead of right.

Warnings: Just a fluffy little one-shot. Slight(!) angst. Mentions of intimate moments but nothing major.

Here's the song in case you haven't heard it!

———————————————

While it's tradition for shotgun to have control over the music, Wanda was obsessed with your playlist curating skills. You had made her countless playlists for day-to-day activities whether it be cooking, cleaning, working out or showering. Her absolute favorite, however, had to be the one for car rides as it had a mixture of both your favorite tunes. After countless trips together, you had learned the order by heart so you knew exactly what song was next. An idea sparked in your head as the light changed and you quickly switched your turn signal, deciding that an impromptu adventure couldn't hurt after a quick grocery trip.

"Y/NN, where are we going?" asked Wanda, curious as to why you missed your turn.

You say nothing, turning the volume up slightly and drumming against the steering wheel as the song's intro fills the car. You glance at her quickly, a small mischievous smile directed at her as you sing along. "We're taking the long way hoooome!"

She furrows her brows while donning a sweet smile and shakes her head affectionately, leaning her head against her palm, arm propped on the center console and watching your mini-concert, as the sun sets behind you.

Remember all the memories

The fireflies and make believes

▪︎▪︎▪︎

Memories of your first date fill Wanda's mind vividly, as if she were reliving it all over again. After running into eachother, literally, at the local farmer's market, it seemed like you could not stop meeting. You know when you see someone but pay no extra attention to their detail, but when you meet them, they're upgraded from background extra to recurring character? The mall, the gym, the park and now, your favorite coffee shop. It felt as if the universe kept pulling you towards the witch. Your yearning only grew stronger as time passed and you found courage to sit across from her at the table while you waited for your order.

She was startled at first and wondered why this kind stranger kept popping up into her life, though she wasn't complaining. You started an easy conversation, joking about fate bringing you both together constantly with no follow-up. While Wanda was hesitant, there's an easy-going air around you that helped the tension in her shoulders dissipate the more you talked to her. The clock behind Wanda told you it was getting dangerously close to you being late to work and you cleared your throat trying to muster up some courage. Taking a leap, you expressed your interest in seeing her again, which made her cheeks flush the cutest pink. Hesitantly, she agreed and gave you her number to set it up.

It took 3 weeks worth of texts, phone calls and canceled plans before your schedules had opened up for a date night. A cool Friday night found the both of you laying on a blanket sharing stories and getting to know each other better. The calm breeze and the ambience of the park allowed the conversation to take a more somber turn as Wanda opened up to you. She had never confided in anyone so quickly before you and felt incredibly vulnerable revealing her past.

She'd revealed her upbringing, her life until she became an avenger and the loss of her brother. Wanda had always been afraid of how people would react to her powers and how she'd previously used them. To her surprise, you didn't recoil like she expected, instead opting to grab her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. "You're not your past, Wands. People are allowed to grow and change. I would never judge you for how you coped." She was only able to give you a watery smile in return, subtly dabbing at her misty eyes.

Sensing her need to change the topic, you begin rambling about the latest episode of your favorite show. Wanda hadn't heard of the show or anything about it, confessing she'd always preferred her box set of old sitcoms to keep her entertained. When you put your hand to your chest and groaned, she sat up, face creased in concern.

She immediately grasped your face in her hands, "What's wrong? Are you okay?", her voiced laced with worry. "I can't believe you've never watched it! That's the best show ever made!" A small slap on your chest let you know she did not appreciate your little drama act at all. She rolled her eyes and looked up at the clear sky, zoning out a little as she reminisced.

"When I was little, my father created the Maximoff family TV night and I always picked The Dick van Dyke Show. It's my comfort show, you know? On the hard days I just curl up on the couch and watch few episodes and I feel alot better. It reminds me of my family." she shyly admitted. By this time you'd sat up and were gazing at her softly. Reaching to tuck her raven hair behind her ear, your hand traces down to cup her jaw.

"I understand how you feel completely. How about we make a deal?" you look at her with hopeful eyes. She quirks her brow, tilting her head slightly, leaning more into your warm palm. "How about we have a TV night for our next date? We watch some episodes of my show, some episodes of your show and get to see just what keeps us both so hooked, huh?" you smile and she mirrors it.

"Planning for a second date in the middle of the first? Someone's confident..." she smirks. You reach your free hand to the other side of her face as you lean in closer. "I just know what I want," you whisper as you caress her rose-tinted cheeks. "What else do you want?" her question almost sounds like a dare as her eyes flicker to your lips as you lick them.

"I wanna kiss you but I think I should hold out till that second date happens," you joke while slowly pulling away. She grabs the front of your shirt before you move too far, pulling you back in and kissing you softly. Your lips move lazily as you both melt into the embrace. When you part, you rest your forehead against hers.

"Keep kissing me like that and I'll start planning the fifth date," you joke quietly. She giggles and pulls you forward once more. The scattered fireflies provided a calming aura as the night winded down.

▪︎▪︎▪︎

"I wanna get lost and drive forever with you!" you sing enthusiastically, glancing at your girlfriend while holding your invisible microphone. Her affectionate gaze filling your chest with warmth that spurs on your performance. The buildings slowly start to disappear as you drive further into the desert area of your town. Pink, purple and orange paint the sky and you slow down slightly, trying to prolong this moment with your love.

Now we're stuck in the middle of nowhere

Yeah you know we took our time to get there

▪︎▪︎▪︎

Wanda's eyes glaze over once more as the lyrics transport her back to a more difficult time in your relationship. A few months after making it official, a slight panic had overcome her. The morning after a night of intimacy, you had slept over at the Avenger's compound and woken earlier than Wanda. So naturally, you decided to make her breakfast. She had returned from a mission that had drained her both mentally and physically and you wanted to take care of her.

The feel of cold sheets roused her from her slumber and she sat up, looking around the room for any sign of you. There was a faintly delicious smell that had an almost magnetic pull because before her brain had even fully awoken, she was following her nose. When she walked into kitchen, her breath hitched. The view of you standing at the stove, spatula in hand, vigilantly watching the eggs in the pan. As you moved around the scrambled eggs making sure it cooked evenly, you lightly hummed a tune.

This all felt overwhelmingly domestic to Wanda. Before you, she had never had someone this close in her life that wasn't family. It felt wrong having such a peaceful presence in a building that could be attacked at any moment. The sun peeked through the kitchen window, shining perfectly onto the side of your face while you were oblivious to her stare. As pleasant as the scene before her was, she felt nothing but dread. She didn't deserve such serenity and happiness. Regardless of her redemption arc, after all the horror she had caused she was overcome with guilt at being shown this affection and kindness. The way you had welcomed her into your life so openly, even after knowing her past and the dangers of her job, made her feel so loved and she didn't deserve it.

"What are you doing?" she asked harshly, voice coming out slight hoarse from lack of use. Or considering events from last night, overuse. You jump slightly, not expecting any noise to cut into the calm silence. Turning your head, you smile. "Hey, goodmorning sleeping beauty. I'm making a good old fashion eggs and bacon." You strike a silly pose with the utensil, trying to get a laugh out of her. "Alot of this stuff is brand spanking new. I know Stark is loaded but sheesh do you guys never cook?" you lightly jested.

At her hardened expression, you slowly lowered the spatula. "You okay? I hope I'm not overstepping I just thought we could use some fuel after last night." You wiggle your eyebrows playfully, hoping this attempt could atleast garner a smile. Your expression falls as she remains unmoved and you quickly turn off the stove and walk closer to her. You reach for her hand but she quickly moves it and folds her arms instead.

The hurt on your face is subtle but she notices it and feels a little bad but her insecurities are louder so she takes a step back. "I think you should leave." She forces out. You blink in surprise. "What? I'm sorry for touching your stuff, I thought you'd be okay with it. I made extra for the team too," you tried, rubbing your neck nervously you plead to her with your eyes. "I said leave! I don't want you here anymore!" she voice boomed around the silent kitchen. The only other sound being the eggs softly sizzling in the pan.

At her tone you flinched back, eyes widening in shock. She felt the fear rolling off you in waves, your head swimming with your own insecurities. She had been waiting on the day you came to your senses and saw her for who she really was deep down. A monster. A ticking time bomb. A biological weapon. Normally you would go to her and try to calm her down, but the way she had closed in on herself and the tiny bit of red flecks you could see in her irises, you knew this would not be on of those times. Sighing softly, you take one last look at her before you head to her room to collect your things. Trying not to upset her any further, you moved quickly, peeking into the kitchen once more just to ensure you'd turned off the stove and you headed to the elevator.

Meanwhile Wanda was crying and trying to convince herself that she had done what was best for the both of you. Her romantic track record was anything but solid. Having lost every single person that was important to her, she hadn't quite overcome the voice in her head saying she wasn't worthy of love or anything resembling it.

After two weeks of no contact, the redhead ignoring your attempts to talk to her and not running into eachother like you used to, you took matters into your own hands. It hadn't taken you long to realize what Wanda might have been thinking, recalling the many times you gladly reassured her that she is more than deserving of happiness. It broke your heart to know the woman you had been falling in love with was suffering this turmoil alone.

You called Natasha, the Russian assassin had become one of your closest friends after Wanda introduced you to the rest of the team. She revealed that whilst they hadn't been called on any missions, the witch was holed up in her room, only coming out to eat and attend meetings. This had only solidified your suspicions and you knew you had to fight for her. Even if Wanda herself was the biggest obstacle. You showed up at the compound, determined to win back your beloved, access easily granted thanks to your quick closeness to the team. Three shy but precise knocks echoed through Wanda's quarters.

"FRIDAY, who is it?" she asked tiredly. "It is Y/N, Ms. Maximoff." the omnipresent voice replied. It was as if Wanda had had the wind knocked out of her. She immediately went to stand in front of the door but it remained closed. You knocked again, softer this time, as if you knew she was right there. "Wands, baby? Can you open up please? I need you." you asked desperately. Your thoughts floated under the crack of the door, yelling your desire to be with her and your guilt for leaving in the first place. Her hand came to rest on the handle, gripping it tightly. "Come on angel, I miss you. Please let me in." came your pleading whisper. That was all it took for the door to slowly open, tear-filled emerald eyes staring into you.

"Y/N?" came her small voice. Without another word you pushed through the door and embraced her. Her smaller frame wracked with sobs and collapsed against you as strong arms tightly wrapped around her. "I-I'm so sorry..." she repeated between her cries. You did nothing but hold her till her crying subsided. After she calmed down you closed the door and lead her to her couch. Sitting closely, hands clasped together, you maintain strong eye contact as you choose your next words carefully. It's easy to see Wanda is nervous, if the way she played with your fingers was anything to go by.

"You don't get to do that." You say sternly. Before she starts apologizing again, you continue, "You don't get to make me fall in love with you and then decide to avoid me for weeks." Her eyes widened at your admission, which made you roll your eyes. "Now you have the audacity to be shocked? Woman you crashed into my life - literally - and I have yet to successfully imagine living without you. I love you so much and I'm so sorry that my feelings for you weren't louder than those thoughts in your head." Tears fell from your eyes as you tried to convey just how sincere your words were.

"Hell, read my mind if that'll truly convince you but please, baby, never push me away like that again. It physically hurt me to be away from you for so long." Your grip on her hands tightened slightly as you practically begged her. The pure pain and love she saw shining in your eyes made her crumble and she, in turn, grabbed your face and kissed you with all the love she had been harboring since you were apart. Pulling away, with neither of you ready to open your eyes she whispered, "I will never hurt you as long as I live. I love you so much, Y/N."

▪︎▪︎▪︎

As a stop sign came into view, Wanda barely had time to notice you turning to her as you stole a chaste kiss while the bridge of the song began.

"Kissing at the stop signs, darling!" you laughed at her stunned face as you pulled off, continuing your impromptu adventure. Before she could properly register what had just happened, the car came to another stop as you parked at a lookout point of the city. By this time, the sun had already set and being a ways away from all the light pollution, the stars were bright and beautiful. The chorus repeated once more as the song ended, the two of you just sat enjoying eachother's company.

"What made you bring us up here?" She wondered quietly, playing with the fingers of your hand in her lap. Your head lolled to the side, away from your previous view of the stars, to look at something much brighter and prettier than any star in the galaxy. "Just thought we could use a little break from our regular routine. Felt like it was getting a bit robotic, don't you?" Came your reply with a shrug.

"Only three years in and you're getting bored with me, huh?" She teased but you could see the thinly veiled insecurity in her words. You raise her hand and kiss her knuckles in reassurance. "As if, you're stuck with me forever in this universe and the next so strap in." As her eyes lit up, you cut her off before she could open her mouth. "NOT what I meant!" Instantly bursting her bubble, you smiled and she pouted and huffed," You're no fun."

"Like you'd know what to do anyway, pillow princess." You jested, holding your breath to see her reaction. Just as you hoped, red eyes snapped towards you, "Excuse me? Pillow princess? Oh you're gonna wish you never said that. Turn this car around and take me home." It was a rare occasion, Wanda being on top, but when it happened she utilized her work persona as the Scarlet Witch after realizing the effect it had on you and your body. Her authoritative voice filled the car as you hadn't yet moved from staring at her. "Now, Y/N."

After snapping out of your daze you made a hasty (and probably illegal) u-turn. It had been a great idea at first but seeing how far you had driven and how long it'd take for you to be home wrapped up in be with your girlfriend, you cursed your original adventure. Fuck it. Speed limit be damned. They wouldn't give an Avenger a ticket.

Right?

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

So there you have it guys! Truth be told I started this back in June and lost and found the inspiration to finish it so many times. Please forgive any mistakes, I've been trying to get this outta my drafts for weeks lmao. I wrote this in the way I know I'd wanna read it so I really hope you enjoy it. Any feedback is welcome whether it be good, bad or even just a like I'd really appreciate it! I have a few other ideas and I hope it won't take me 3 months to finish the next thing lmao. Much love!

sn: how fucking cute is lizzie in that vid

[flowersandbirdsflyingfree]

✨Ultimis Richtofen Things✨to Expect in a Relationship🧪🧸🇩🇪🌹

*All Richtofens in general are an enigma. They are layered with secrets and burdens one can’t bear to live with. Ultimis may appear very childish at times, yet he is so level-headed and methodical in his ways. He is a sensitive soul barricaded by layers of angst. For someone who claims to love pain, he can barely handle it on the receiving end.

*In the beginning, he really tries hard to pour on his charisma. Granted, he does truly feel happy with you! But he isn’t so sure how the cards align for the future. Happy achievements aren’t so common for him in the social department. So he figures to just “enjoy the ride while he still can”.

*But one day, you find him extremely stressed to a trembling state. He can’t even look at you. The voices told him not to. All of a sudden, he was acting much more mean-spirited than usual. A lot was happening to him inside. It didn’t excuse everything, but you felt awful to see him crumble. Despite how he treated you, you stayed there with him. You showed him the compassion that nobody else ever did. That alone is what changed everything for the better. Maybe blessings do exist after all.

Now that the heavier matters are out of the way, IT’S TIME FOR THE HAPPY STUFF YAAAAAY!

*With the two of you in an established relationship, he’s much calmer around you. You provide a sense of comfort for him. He would never admit it but he’s always longed for gentleness in his life. He just didn’t think he was worthy of it. Also, being a chaotic drama queen is funny.

*But you two are a power couple. When the going gets tough, you both will make it through.

*You are his pride and joy. His one and only. He will spoil you at the drop of a hat. Granted, he does have a big ego and it does need to be in check every now and then. But he otherwise does his absolute best to make you his priority.

*Very affectionate. Edward will not hesitate to show PDA because he treasures you so much. He’s also incredibly touch-starved. He loves wrapping his arms around you from behind. If you’re short enough, he rests his chin on top of your head. Cuddles and kisses must be scheduled daily.

*He never fails to make you laugh with witty one-liners throughout the day. He absolutely knows how to say the the right thing almost every time. Richtofen always immediately turns to you expecting to see you giggle at his antics.

*Now that I mention it, Richtofen learns that he enjoys making you happy way more than making others feel pain. The way your face lights up with exuberant joy makes him feel happy too. It’s best expressed through acts of service, physical touch and quality time. Richtofen’s playful spirit is also quite helpful if he’s feeling it.

*Please please PLEASE annoy Dempsey with him!! It’s funny, ja?! He’ll persuade you reasons to join in the banter on his side. It also helps to know you’ll be able to find comebacks if the marine is able to hurt Richtofen’s feelings a bit too much. The look on that stupid American’s face is priceless. I HATE YOU DEMPSEY (totally not written by Richtofen)

*In his words, he likes to “stir the pot” when it comes to drama. So you also are talked into driving the others crazy. Either by him suddenly trying to make out of nowhere or by taking the crawlers out for a walk on a leash. Just outright ridiculous stunts.

Nikolai: WHAT HAPPENED TO THE DOG?!

Richtofen: It don’t bite :)

Nikolai: YES IT DO-

*Dr.Richtofen is a scientist first and foremost. So you often follow him to the lab/his work place to keep him company. If you aren’t observing his work, then you’re helping him so as long as it doesn’t involve you getting hurt. Perhaps he’ll consider engraving your name to your own Wundewaffe-DG2 to own.

*If the apocalypse ends/if this is a modern au timeline, he hopes to do everything with you. He is more excited to see the world with you by his side. Whether it be attending events or going to a night on the town, he is happy to appreciate the good in the world. Side note: I think he would enjoy watching theatre shows/plays. He did once quote that he considered being on the stage at some point in his life.

*Somehow, he will find a way to drag you into trouble with him. The only rabbit of betrayal planned for you is to trick you into giving him what he wants. He will find a way to gain ultimate power of the Aether while still keeping you alive.

*He’s not exactly a guard dog but he knows how to protect you in his own way. Usually he does things in the background so the perpetrator won’t notice any traps until it’s too late. Unless it’s more direct immediate danger, which then he’ll make a scene. You will always have someone who looks out for you to stay safe or to feel better if you’re getting picked on in any way. Did I mention he hisses?

*I’m not going to ignore his horny talk. He unexpectedly enjoys the much sweeter intimacy more, but he does love to get *ahem* primitive. Especially with you. And he has a very high drive so have fun with that. But you may want to tell him no to adding any zombies to the mix.

*Nicknames for you include, but are not limited to: Liebchen, meine liebe, schmoopy boo, schmoopy, engel, dearest sunflower, Aether King/Queen, mäuschen

*Edward does engage in a lot of intelligent conversation with you. You’re the only one that truly cares to listen. It isn’t always about his work at Group 935 or physics rants. But the two of you learn a lot from each other through various topics.

*He is very eccentric most of the time. But when you’re alone, it feels surreal to see him as a completely different person. The way Edward has this sehnsucht in his eyes. He feels safe being around you. He does surprise you with a quiet, tenderhearted waltz to a nearby record. Or maybe it’s the way he hugs you and kisses the top of your head.

*Either way, he always keeps it interesting. You never know if today will be a calm Richtofen or a zany scientist. But you know you wouldn’t trade him for the world❤️💙

[1000fiction]

Bees.

Bees. Ft. Vilkas.

“So, remind me again why I’m here.”

He watched as the dragonborn set down their pack and begun to carefully unpack the clinking glass jars they had hauled all the way to the Rift.

“In order to save the world, I need stamina, easiest way to do that is from stamina potions, and to get those I need bees.”

Their arm swung out toward the grove; pale beehives tucked neatly into the crooks of tree branches. Their inhabitants buzzed lazily about the place, unknowing of the danger the dragonborn’s presence presented to their peaceful existence.

“But bees mean honey, and honey usually means bears. Which is where you come in my dear hunter. Not only can you help me gather bees in jars using your supreme reflexes, but your skills can stave off the local wildlife at the same time.”

He opened his mouth to argue: that this was a waste of time, that if they couldn’t fight off a bear then they probably couldn’t save the world either.

But then they pushed an empty jar into his grip, shy smile on their lips.

He finally spotted the mischief twinkling in their eyes, his brain finally ticking into place that the grove was obviously absent of any threat. Not even the trees bore marks of bear claws - or any animal rubbings for that matter.  

“That, and, well I guess I just wanted you to myself for a short while. Haven’t seen you take a proper break in a few days.”

His heart thumped in time with the rhythmic tapping of their nails against glass, a small chuckle bubbling in his throat and a faint blush on his cheeks.

“And bee catching is a proper break, is it?”

He could feel his resolves breaking the way it always did whenever it was just the pair of them. He watched them jump, scooping a bee into the glass container with practiced ease – the sight brought fourth the image of them doing so as a child, their height insufficient and footing clumsy. He doubted they’d had a successful harvest back then, but perhaps it was just for fun.

“Not at all, what with the jumping it's quite tiring – now the picnic I’ve packed however, that’s a proper break.”

He laughed incredulously, grinning ear to ear as he lazily trapped his own bee as it buzzed slowly by. How did they have such an effect on him? So much for stone-faced, gruff warrior. A smitten puppy more like. As Farkas had put it once before. If only his brother knew how right he was.

It was the creature pinging and buzzing erratically about its jar that pulled him from his thoughts, so he set it aside, taking up another empty vessel.

“I suppose a picnic is a worthy use of a companion’s time. With such fine company, of course.”

The pair shared a look of barely hidden smiles – he’d fill the report with tales of dangerous bears, nobody needed to know about the bees.

@tes-summer-fest

[seijorhi]

Unprofessional

as promised, the MSBY manager AU 💕 

MSBY Black Jackals x female reader

TW non-con, smut, gang-bang, nsfw(ish)

You second guess yourself, now that the Captain’s right here in front of you, fidgeting in your seat like a little kid sent to the principal’s office.

In all fairness, you were the one to ask him to come in early, figuring that it’d be easier to say what you needed to before everyone else arrived, rather than having it eat away at you while you waited for practice to end.

Yet under the scrutiny of his dark eyes, you wonder whether you should have just let it slide. At least for a few more weeks. Taking a formal complaint to the higher ups was a step too far, and you hadn’t wanted to bother the coaches this close to the start of the season for something so… trivial. Meian seemed like the better choice. He’d listen to you and be able to help; you trust the Captain and you know the team does, too. If he told them to back off, they would, you’re almost positive. But now that he’s here, there’s this nagging feeling of-

A hand touches your shoulder, and you flinch at the sudden contact, jerking back to the present. 

“Hey,” he says, a slight frown marring his features. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me - don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been a little out of it lately.”

There’s nothing but concern in his eyes - no judgement, or irritation, and something inside of you eases just a fraction. This is Meian, right from the moment you signed onto the team - granted, only a few months ago - he’s done his utmost to make sure you’ve felt welcomed and part of the team.

You take a breath, offering him a small, tight smile. “I-it’s um, some of the guys- well a few, I guess…” your fingers twist in your lap, and Meian squeezes your shoulder lightly in response. 

“Miya hitting on you, right? Getting a little outta hand?” he surmises. 

And for a split second, you’re surprised. But really maybe you shouldn’t be. Miya’s the one who’s overt about it, drawling stupid, cheesy pickup lines whenever you walk in, slinging an arm around your side and dragging you close, all the winks and the innuendos about as subtle as a tank.

Of course Meian noticed, but that’s just how Atsumu is. He doesn’t bother trying to hide it because nobody but you seems to mind. And maybe, if that’s all that it was, you’d be able to grin and bear it, but it’s not. 

“Yes and… no.”

His brows draw together. “No?”

Taking another deep breath, you begin to tell him everything. Miya’s incessant flirting, all the hugs and touches that fell just the wrong side of what you considered professional. They’re a tactile team, with one notable exception, and you understand that, but the way Bokuto, Hinata and Miya feel comfortable just grabbing you and dragging you around, interrupting you in the middle of whatever task you’re doing to make you pay attention to them is a little alarming. 

And then there was the incident last week, when Inunaki had caught you smiling at your phone during their cooldown and called you on it, which drew the attention of the rest of the team - only to have Bokuto snatch it out of your hands and start reading through your messages. Of course, Meian was there for that, putting a stop to it only when the wing-spiker had started reading them aloud, much to your mortification.

But he hadn’t been there two afternoons later, when an old friend of yours had swung by to pick you up and you’d had to deal with half the team glaring daggers at him over your shoulder like a pack of overprotective mother hens.

Even Sakusa, who usually kept his nose out of the others’ nonsense, stood off to the side with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, glowering at your friend until you both disappeared from sight.

The texts that blew up your phone in the hours that followed crossed so many lines, it honestly scared you a little. 

Meian doesn’t say a word as you talk, the words flowing easier the more you tell him. It’s not that anything they’re doing is wrong per se. They’re not hurting you, and you think that aside from Miya, the team’s attitude is coming from a good place - some protective, irritating big brother kind of thing. 

There’s nothing wrong with it, except the fact that you don’t want any part of it. You’re a professional and this is a job - a new one, an important one. If you ever want anybody to take your dreams of coaching a pro team seriously you cannot have so much as a whisper of anything less than absolute professionalism. God forbid, if rumours start spreading that you were sleeping with somebody on the team you can pretty much kiss your dreams goodbye. 

At the end of it, Meian’s chin is resting on his fist, faint dissatisfaction pinching at his face, and for a moment, you’re worried that he’s about to chew you out for wasting his time - you know he’s stressed with the start of the season only days away - but he only sighs, leaning back in his seat and shaking his head.

“Thank you for telling me, I’ll talk to them.”

And it’s like this huge weight just falls off your shoulders and suddenly you can breathe easy. “Thanks, really,” you tell him, and the smile on your face is genuine this time.

“Anytime.”

—

You don’t know when he finds the time to pull them all aside, but the next morning when you walk into the gym and Bokuto catches sight of you, golden eyes widening in delight, he starts to bound towards you-

“Bokuto.”

-and stops mid-stride, face falling like a kicked puppy. His shoulders slump, glancing over his shoulder at the Captain, watching the both of you through narrowed eyes.

He doesn’t say another word to the wing-spiker, turning back around to continue his conversation with Adriah - something about tightening up their blocks before the game against the Adlers - and despite the fact you can see half the team’s attention drawn towards you both, none of them say a word either. 

It’s strange, compared to the last few weeks, it’s suddenly like you’re a ghost. They thank you when you pass them their towels and bottles, and for once Hinata sits still when you help him tape up his ankle, though his eyes still follow your every movement with unnerving focus.

They’re polite and respectful, but unless you’re directly addressing them or they need something, it’s like you don’t exist. 

Even Atsumu manages to keep his comments to himself when it comes time for the team to stretch out, though judging from the scowl on his face whenever he glances towards the Captain, he’s not particularly thrilled about it. 

There’s one more day before game day, and they’ve got bigger things to worry about, but for you it’s like you can suddenly breathe easy. You don’t have to tiptoe around your own discomfort, you can just do your job and help them. It’s not that you hate them, not even Atsumu - though he does grate on your nerves at times - you just can’t afford to let them fuck this up for you.

They’re your team, and you’ll help them and you’ll stand on the sidelines and cheer and support them until you’re red in the face. You’ll celebrate with them and commiserate if they lose, but there has to be a line. 

And maybe finally they’re realising that.

Meian sends you home while the others head off to the showers with a clap on your shoulder. “Go home. Today’s been long enough, and you need your rest. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

You don’t fight him on it, already feeling the exhaustion creeping through your body. 

But after months in this job, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to find that by the time you’ve had a quick catch-up with the coaches about tomorrow’s training, changed and gathered up your things, you find yourself falling into step with Sakusa, freshly showered and also on his way out. 

Dark eyes find yours, but he doesn’t say a word - at least until the two of you reach the big double doors at the gym’s entrance. “Do you need a lift home?”

It’s rare of him to offer, but you suppose that it’s later than you’d normally leave, the sun already disappearing beneath the horizon. Nevertheless, you shake your head, “No, it’s only a ten minute walk, I’ll be okay,” you say. And almost as an afterthought you smile and add, “Thank you, though.”

He regards you silently for a moment, but simply shrugs his shoulders, “Fine.”

Sakusa turns to leave, heading off to the carpark when a sudden thought strikes you, and before you can think better of it, you call out to him, “Your lineshots were incredible today, by the way. You played well. And please don’t forget we’ve got an early start tomorrow!”

It’s a pointless statement, on both counts. Sakusa doesn’t crave praise the way some of his teammates do, and you can imagine how little it means coming from you of all people. He’s also the most punctual, usually the first in, preferring to get stretched and warmed up before the rest of the team arrived. But the change in plans was kind of last minute and a reminder never hurts.

Sakusa pauses mid-stride, glancing back at you once more over his shoulder. “I know,” he says, and maybe it’s a trick of the light, but you swear there’s something different in his eyes as he stares back at you. Not angry per se, but… you can’t quite put a finger on it. It’s odd, you think, out of character for the usually aloof spiker. “Captain told us.”

—

It’s still dark when you arrive at the gym, and the lights are all off, not a soul in sight. That in itself doesn’t strike you as odd though, checking your phone you see that there’s still twenty or so minutes until you were all supposed to meet, but you would have thought that the coaches at least would’ve been here, or Sakusa maybe, if not Meian.

“Mornin’ princess,” a familiar voice drawls, and you jump a little at the sudden weight of his arm draping over your shoulders.

Atsumu’s smile is far too wide and upbeat considering it’s only a little after six in the morning. You’re used to a dead-stare, don’t-talk-to-me-until-I’ve-had-caffeine Atsumu, and it’s almost startling enough to make you forget the arm he has around you.

Either that, or you’re just bewildered that he’s actually arrived early for once in his life.

“You’re awfully chipper,” you mutter, trying to shove his arm off of you as you walk in tandem towards the gym. It’s a pointless endeavour - he replaces it a moment later, tugging you closer. “And early. Do you normally do this the day before the season starts, or can we expect to see you bright and early every morning for training?”

The corner of his lip quirks into a lazy smirk, and Atsumu laughs, “Nah, I’m actually late. All the others are already here.”

You’re halfway through fishing for the keys when he just pushes the door open, and you falter. “Wait- they’re here already?” you glance inside, and the lights are all still off and there’s not a soul in sight, but- “I thought Meian said we were meeting at 6:30.”

There’s something in the way that his smirk widens that’s almost unsettling, but he’s already pushing you forward, flicking on the lights as you pass.

“Oh, he did.”

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion, but it’s too early and you’re too tired to try and decipher Atsumu’s cryptic bullshit. He already has you on edge with how close he’s got you - you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the familiar scent of his cologne invading your nose. “Fine, whatever. Just- just put your stuff away, grab the others if they’re here and I’ll see you on the court in a few minutes.”

You try to shrug off his arm, but his grip only tightens, “Nope,” he says, firmly steering the both of you in the direction of the locker room.

“Miya,” you start, squeezing your eyes shut. You can already feel the beginnings of a headache taking root in your skull, but Atsumu just chuckles lightly, patting your shoulder. 

“Relax, wouldja? Jeeze, yer so tense!” 

With no other sound but the eerie echoing of your footsteps across the linoleum floors, his laugh is too loud, too grating. It sets you on edge, and you have to bite back a scowl of your own and remind yourself that you only have to put up with him a little longer - just until Meian gets here. Unperturbed by your silent irritation, Atsumu continues, “We know how hard you’ve been working lately. We came in early to say thank you, y’know, for everythin’ ya do for us.”

And for one split second, regret fills you, snuffing out the spark of irritation simmering through your veins. Here you are, seconds away from slapping the setter when he is - for the first time in his life - actually trying to do something nice for you. You sigh quietly, smoothing your expression over as he slows down and pulls you to a stop.

He lets you slide out from under his arm, your back to the locker room door, moving so that he’s standing directly in front of you. You open your mouth to speak, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but once again, Atsumu beats you to it. “Yer the best manager we’ve ever had.” He takes your hand in his, twining long fingers with yours and steps closer.

Too close.

“Atsu-”

“We really do care about you - love ya, even -  which is why it kinda felt like a kick in the balls when the Cap came and told us ya wanted some space. Said we were bein’ too ‘overbearing’ and ‘inappropriate’, just cause we want ya nice and close.” Dark eyes harden, “It hurt us, baby. You gotta realise that.”

The grip he has on your hand is painfully tight, but you don’t have a moment to focus on that. Not as Atsumu sweeps forward to close the distance between the two of you, his lips crashing against yours. Hungry. Demanding. A tongue snaking between your lips, melding with your own.

His arm snakes behind you to open the door, and for a moment you’re stumbling backwards into the dark-

Only it’s not dark, not as the blinding fluorescent lights flicker on around you, and you’re not stumbling, not as you collide with a warm, muscular chest and strong arms find your middle to steady you. 

“You took too long,” Bokuto whines, and you’re yanked from Atsumu’s hold and spun, barely having a second to register the gleaming golden eyes before he’s dragging you into a needy kiss of his own.

Dizzy, lightheaded, your heart thumping erratically, you can’t think straight as his hot, wet mouth moves against yours. Greedy fingers grope and squeeze at your body - utterly frozen in shock, pliant under his touch. 

“Aw, quit yer whining, Bokkun,” the blonde growls as Bokuto finally pulls back enough to grant you a few precious gulps of air, gazing at you with a kind of love sick adoration that makes your stomach clench. 

A scoff sounds behind Bokuto, “A bit rich, coming from you, Miya. The two of you just are as bad as each other.”

It’s then that you realise the three of you aren’t alone. Wide eyed, on the edge of hyperventilating, you glance over your shoulder to find two pairs of eyes watching; russet eyes blown wide, enraptured, and swirling black depths, narrowed and glaring over at the blonde. 

Hinata and Sakusa.

It doesn’t feel real. Even with everything they’ve done so far, their possessive behaviour, their smothering affection - even the kisses, it feels like a fever dream. 

Even as Atsumu’s fingers are tugging your jacket off and Bokuto drags you forward, you can’t bring yourself to accept it, to properly fight back against it.

(Not that it would make a difference. They’re professional athletes, and there’s four of them against one of you.)

When your eyes fill with tears, Hinata’s there to brush them away, smiling down at you as he shrugs his own shirt off. “Don’t cry, angel. We’re gonna make you feel amazing, just wait!”

His words don’t fill you with ease. They can’t, not when he has that manic excitement bleeding through his expression - the same one you know he gets when he’s lost in the game, flying across the court like the laws of physics don’t apply to him. 

Hands are on you everywhere, teasing and exploring, too many to keep track of. Your clothes are pulled off, tossed aside and discarded without a second thought, and theirs follow suit. Fingers are tweaking your nipples and palming at your breasts, smoothing over the curve of your ass and trailing between your legs to play with your clit. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, ain’tcha? Our pretty girl, gonna be such a good little cockwhore for us.”

There’s lips against yours, at your neck, trailing down the column of your throat with a pleased hum. And between the kisses, you think that you’re crying, pleading for them to stop and let you go, but nobody listens as you’re manhandled onto one of the benches.

Your legs refuse to obey you, trembling as you try to kick out and wriggle away, only for rough hands to find your hips and drag you back. “C’mon, baby. Be good for us, you’ve already made us wait so long.”

Somebody smacks your ass and you jolt, crying out, only for a hand to soothe over the welt, another squeezing at your hip in a mockery of reassurance. “Don’t make us have to hurt ya, sweetheart.”

It’s easier, you think, to just close your eyes tight and pray that any second now, you’ll wake up in your bed to the blaring of your alarm. But the moment they flutter shut, teeth digging into your bottom lip as fingers dig into your thighs, warm breath ghosting across your sex, a low voice whispers in your ear, “Look at me.”

And you have no choice but to obey, forcing your eyes open to find Sakusa standing to your side, stroking his cock. It’s pretty, you distantly think, and you suppose that it suits him. Well groomed, long but not terribly thick with a slight curve, flushed pink at the tip and glistening with the pre-cum beading at his slit. His other hand comes to rest on your cheek, cupping it with a gentleness that feels out of place, considering the hunger burning in the black depths of his irises. 

He doesn’t say another word as he coaxes your mouth open and guides your head forward to take his cock into your mouth, but the low moan that escapes him as your lips wrap around his length makes you shiver. 

Sakusa isn’t gentle as he fucks your mouth, his thumb stroking your cheek as fresh tears well, but it’s hard to focus on that alone when Hinata’s face disappears between your legs, his tongue laving at your cunt, eager for a taste of you.

It doesn’t take long for the other two to join, and you’re manoeuvred between them, forced to sit on Bokuto’s lap, his thick cock stretching you out while Hinata sits between your legs, diligently slurping at your folds, sucking at your clit, one fist wrapped around his own length, lazily pumping it. Sakusa continues to use your mouth to get himself off, uttering backhanded praise between instructions, hissing in pleasure when he hits the back of your throat and you choke around him, while Atsumu has one hand playing with your tits, the other gripping yours, forcing you to jerk him off. 

It’s too much for your brain to take. 

Your sobs and whimpers, already muffled thanks to the cock in your mouth, are lost to the symphony of grunts and moans, lewd squelching and the sound of skin slapping against skin. There’s too many hands touching you, too much pain fused with unwanted pleasure, overwhelming you as heat and panic and terror build up inside of you, and it feels like there’s an inferno burning beneath your skin, and you can’t breathe and you just want it all to stop, you want to wake up, and-

Suddenly, the door to the locker room snaps open, and all five of you freeze in place as the Captain stops dead in his tracks and eyes the scene before him. 

There’s no possible way for Meian to misconstrue it, not with everything you told him. Not with your face flushed and teary, your eyes glazed over and all but broken from the sick, twisted debasement his teammates have subjected you to. You’re naked, your body littered in love-bites and bruises, spread out before him like a feast.

And still, your eyes meet his, silently pleading for him to say something and stop this.

Meian takes a single step forward and a muffled whine leaves your lips as the cock inside of you twitches insistently. Sakusa draws his hips back, pulling himself free from your mouth, and despite the burn in the back of your throat, you swallow and try to speak.

“Please.” It’s little more than a squeak, hoarse and choked, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. 

The Captain barely acknowledges that you’ve spoken at all, his attention fixated instead on your body; the way your pussy’s clenching around the base of Bokuto’s length, the tremor of your thighs under Hinata’s rough hands, the way your tits rise and fall with every quickened breath, your lips, swollen and beautifully fucked, glistening with spit before finally, those dark eyes meet yours once more.

And slowly, a grin breaks across his face. “You’d better hurry it up, the others aren’t too far off.”

[jxngh]

request : jungkook is in love with you but you don't know yet ksdjs I was wondering if he would be the type to kiss you first or to tell you his feelings

< requested by anon >

pairing : jeongguk x reader

genre : fluff but what if i say i added some angst ✨✨

warnings : none.

author's note : officially hit 900! i can't believe all of you took the time to read my work. i'm thankful 🥺🤍 hope you'll keep enjoying them !

" i can't handle it anymore. " jungkook spoke to himself after throwing his gym bag to the corner of his house. he was sweaty, his mind showing the picture of you nd him talking again nd again. he brushed his long, black hair back looking at the mirror then went to the bathroom. hoping the water will erase his thoughts right away.

but it wasn't going that easily.

he tried to think about other things, the basketball game that he's gonna be a part of. no, your face were still behind his eyelids.

he should've told you about his feelings before. he knew it. he could feel it in the way his chest fills with regret.

his friends tried to help him forget you. they made him see other people nd spent some time with them. he didn't even want to talk with them twice. his heart was getting heavy.

it was hard for him to see you. even harder when you're not around. his mind always showed him the worst scenarios. you falling for someone else in front of his eyes. nd today he was afraid that it was coming true.

you were smiling nd talking to their teams captain.

you were looking like an angel, your light purple based outfit only makes him wanna get you in his arms nd never let go.

that's enough he thought. i will talk to her. whatever it takes. cause it was too much to bear, seeing you, watching you hang out with your friends, slowly humming your songs while you hears similar words to the title nd the most effective one, seeing you smile but not being the reason.

nd you. you had no idea. too lost on your mind all the time. but your friends were talking about him. a very handsome basketball player, one of them said that he can play drums nd sing too. you were pretty sure that you saw him in the games, he was a star.

but you did recognize his name when he asked you to talk privately in the celebration party of their game. you saw him checking you out during it. but you thought he was looking someone else because how fast he took his gaze from you.

you never thought he'd be shy. in anything. his sharp style made you think that way. tattooed hands, piercing in the eyebrow nd lip, wearing cool outfits.

" i'm sorry i kinda took you from your conversation. " he said looking into your eyes. you could tell that he's not comfortable. his eyes were wandering around, trying to make sure you two are alone.

" it's okay. i'm listening... jeongguk, right? " you said, trying to make him calm. his body language nd a feeling inside you were telling that he's gonna talk about love. was it a friend of yours ?

no, please you thought, not believing you just wanted him to yourself. you didn't even know him.

" yes. we have common classes nd i'm in the team as you know. " he said lowering his voice, almost talking to himself at the end.

the way he lowered his head a little nd caressed his own arm made you feel soft. guys like that exists in real life ?

" i know, i mean i've been in most of your games. you really are a good player. " you said smilingly.

then he smiled back, nodding his head nd thanking.

you couldn't believe how he affected you with simple gestures, plus the endearing smile made you feel... like there were nobody else.

" i wanna talk about something... but i don't know if this will make you... uncomfortable. i really don't want to make you uncomfortable. but... ugh. maybe i should just go... i'm so- " he said trying to explain.

so cute. all the time he tried to speak to you your mind was saying the same two words. so cute. you couldn't even believe how cool he looks but how soft he talks. so you shushed him, touching his lips with your fingers.

" whatever it is, i'm okay. " you said, not remembering to pull your fingers back.

he did. he held your ankle nd slowly lowered it down, eyes looking deep into yours. damn, you were feeling lost.

" i've been... i'm... oh this is harder than i imagined. " he said.

he looked at you again. questions in his eyes.

" i may regret this... " he said, making you furrow your eyebrows. then he got your cheeks in his hands nd kissed you.

it was a quick one, just to let you know he's into you. then he looked at your reaction.

your lips were parted, heartbeat got fast.

" jeongguk. " you whispered, looking at his eyes from his lips.

" we don't even... know each other. " you said, not believing how you're feeling close to him.

" i know. i know. i should've waited for you to know me nd love me back. but i swear i'm serious about my feelings. will you give me a chance? i promise no more surprise kisses. " he asked with big doe eyes. hands still holding your face.

you watched his face. " i don't know if im making the right decision but...okay. let's."

taglist : @nglmrk - @allora1233 - @sizzlebangtan4 - @youmyjhope - @raiiisstuff -@alexmin606 - @bookfrog242 - @athiesam

.·´ tell me anything in here

[wri0thesley]

thank you for infecting me with total naoya brain rot, nat. can i request a breeding kink scenario with him and curvy, thick reader that he thinks looks perfect for bearing him an heir 👀 feel free to make him as nasty as you want, i love to read about this absolute trash fire of a man

Covet - Naoya x Fem!Reader (3.6k)

Naoya wants something from you - you see a chance to get something you want too.

warnings: afab reader, fem pronouns. breeding. power imbalance (reader is a maid at the zen’in estate). talk of pregnancy, knives, misogyny, fingering, coming inside/creampies. the mandatory warning that this fic is about naoya.

You are fairly certain that Naoya Zenin does not know whether you exist. If he has ever noticed you attending to your duties, so much lower and less important than he, he probably doesn’t like you.

At least, you did not think he liked you before this moment. Even now, with his hands on your hips and your body pressed flush against the wall outside his chambers, you’re not certain – there’s a weight to the way he’s holding you, a twist to his lips that you can see from where your cheek has met cool wallpaper. He looks like he’s considering you; sizing you up.

Your cheeks burn as he sizes up your lower half, eyes tracing your hips and ass and thighs without even a hint of remorse, as if it’s his god-given right to look upon you like this even though you’ve barely ever spoken more than a cursory polite; ‘I brought you this, Sir’. That’s what you’ve been taught to do.

Be respectful, stick to the shadows, do what you’re told. It’s an honour to serve the Zenin clan, it’s an honour to be here in the estate – it’s an honour to get a brief moment of any of their time, even if they’re just making demands on you. You sometimes hate yourself, for not being born one of them - you want, you want, you want, like a physical ache. The luxury. The nice treatment. People to think that you merely blessing them with a look is an honour--

It’s an especial honour to be worth Naoya’s time – everybody knows that he’s going to be the next leader. There are always rumours buzzing around the grounds about him; about his power, about his temper, about his personality . . . about which pretty young woman he’ll make his wife and have beside him to rule the clan.

You’re brought back to what’s currently happening by his hands sliding down from where he is clinging onto your hips, generously tracing the curve, admiring just how broad they are.

“Pity you have to hide beneath that,” he says, smirking. Your cheeks are hot. “You’re pretty, you know. At least. . .” One hand moves from your hip, thumb and forefinger squeezing your cheeks to turn them more thoroughly towards him. He looks entirely unruffled by the situation, every inch of him at ease that you will bend to what he wants. “Your body is pretty.” Eyes scan over your face, and you’re suddenly aware of every imperfection, every feature you’ve ever scrutinised. “Hm. Not bad either.”

“I . . . I don’t understand,” You find yourself breathing. He raises one elegant eyebrow. The hand that’s on your hip moves, tracing the plush of your ass through fabric, his lip curling into a smirk. He presses a little bit forward and you feel something stiff press against your other cheek (the one not occupied by his hand) – and your throat goes dry as you realise precisely what he means.

Oh.

Oh.

You should run. Good girls do not do what Naoya wants you to do. You have duties to attend to! You have things that must be done, lest your seniors sigh and tut at you and punish you for neglecting your work. But your throat is very dry and your heart is pounding and there is suddenly a strange twist of heat low in your gut, as Naoya Zenin looks down at you with the air of a man who will devour you if you let him.

You can’t deny it’s thrilling to be wanted – more thrilling to be wanted by someone like him.

“I’ll give you ten seconds,” he says, and his tone is patronising. “If you don’t want me to take you to bed and fuck you, I suggest you make yourself scarce.”

He says it so openly, so brazenly – you suppose that’s what comes of being born into this family. He has nothing to fear in these walls. Not like you.

You imagine yourself underneath him for a second, his hair in disarray, hakama abandoned, his perfectly composed face twisted in pleasure. You should not go to his bed. But . . . you want to. And don’t you deserve something you want, when you’ve spent your entire life watching other people enjoy it?

“You don’t need to,” you breathe, swallowing. Naoya pulls back in amusement, his eyes darkening. He seems so much taller and stronger than you. Even swathed in fabric, it’s clear that there is muscle and strength beneath the clothes. He has been trained to within an inch of his life since the day he was born. He makes a considering noise in the back of his throat. A thumb trails over your cheek.

“Are you sure about that?” The smirk in his voice says that he knows you are. “I won’t be gentle with you, you know. I don’t have all day to romance you. I just want to get you on your back . . .” His thumb slides over your jawline, past your earlobe, until he’s taken a hank of your hair and yanks it back roughly, exposing your throat and making you gasp. “And fuck a son into you.”

He must see the look on your face, because he laughs, the sound cruel even to your ears. He’s still pressed so close to you. Nobody who walked down this hallway would mistake the embrace the two of you were currently in for anything clandestine. You suppose he has nothing to worry about – but your reputation? He’d ruin you for marriage.

“Come on,” he murmurs, chuckling. “Have you seen yourself? You’re made for bearing a child, sweetheart.” The pet name is almost mocking, but your heart skips a beat anyway. “Don’t worry too much. You don’t think I could take care of you, if you carried my heir? You’re a servant, right? You already know how to behave.” His smile is like a wolf. “So, I give you my word that if it takes, I’ll take care of you. Sounds fair, huh?” He jerks on your hair again. “Ten seconds,” he reminds you. “If you want to get out of it. You don’t think there are girls lining up around the block to have me?”

(Judging by the whispers about him, you actually don’t think there are – but judging from Naoya’s eyes, he certainly thinks so.)

He lets go. He steps back. His eyes are still on you, but he raises his arms either side of him as if to show you that you’re free to go. And you do consider it – you let the possibility of running flicker through your head. It’s quickly replaced by the thought of Naoya on top of you, an end to the aching between your legs, and the knowledge of just how you might be treated if Naoya did succeed in his mission.

It’s fine to want nice things, every once in a while.

“Five,” he says, warningly, but his eyes are dark with hunger. “Four. Three.”

You turn towards his bedroom door and grasp the handle, and he laughs, the sound very loud.

“Oh,” he says, “so you’re going to be fun.”

The minute his bedroom door clicks behind him, Naoya wastes no time on being on you. He’s full throttle, immediately – hands pulling at your clothes, rough, his mouth on your neck. He avoids your mouth, like he doesn’t quite want to kiss you – but as you bite back a moan as he nips at your throat and he groans in response at the noise, you realise that he wants to hear you.

Figures a man like that wants the reassurance that you’re enjoying yourself. Figures he wants to crow over every whimper that drops from your lips. Hands pull at your kimono, almost ripping it in his hurry to have the fabric out of his way and on the floor. You barely even notice he’s been pushing you across the room until you’re pushed hard down, and your back meets pillows and sheets instead of the floor.

The way you fall makes a perfect tableaux; the material of your outfit pooling around you, your body in the middle of it, clad in only your underwear. His light eyes rake over you hungrily.

“Fuck,” he says. His hands immediately go to your hips, thumbs pressing hard into the soft flesh. You barely fit in his hands, the curve of you dramatic. “You’re going to be perfect for this, huh? Look at you. It’s a fucking shame you’re not knocked up right now--”

Your body reacts to his touch and his look, though you can’t help but be embarrassed by it – it’s one thing to be entranced by someone pretty, you think, but it’s another thing to be entranced by the idea of how pretty someone will look when their stomach is swollen and their breasts have swelled and their hips have filled out because they’re bearing your child.

He doesn’t bother with unclipping your bra. He reaches into his hakama and panic flashes before your eyes when he pulls out a knife, but he uses it merely to slice the gore between your bra cups, right between the cute bow adorning them.

“I—I liked that,” you say, but your voice sounds very wobbly in the room, under Naoya’s gaze, under his hands. He snorts.

“I like you better without it,” he says shortly, as if your likes and dislikes are not a consideration to be taken into account. For him, you suppose they’re not. “Besides.” Hands travel from your hips to cup your breasts, squeezing the meat of the mounds so that you groan and arch your back, desire pooling between your legs. “I wanted to see these. I wanted to touch them.” He grins. “I wanted to imagine how nice they’re going to look when they get bigger.”

He squeezes the point of each of your nipples, so hard that the pleasure almost becomes pain.

“I think I’ll leave marks on you,” he says, conversationally. He pulls an arm back and suddenly has slapped you, your breast stinging, a brief imprint of his hand showing on your skin. He admires how your breast moves with the force – you’re too surprised to even make a noise of pain. “Good girl. I want you to remember how I feel when we’re done.”

You don’t think you could forget. You definitely can’t forget the sting of the second slap, this one making you moan – it hurts, but part of it feels good to be marked by him. You definitely can’t forget his thumbs hooking into your underwear, dragging it past your thighs – the way that he drinks in the wet patch on the fabric. You definitely don’t think you’ll be able to forget the chuckle that leaves his mouth as he spreads your thighs and sees your sex for the first time, already slick.

“You like being treated rough, huh?” He asks you. There’s that grin again; a predator, a man who has never been told no, a man who doesn’t know what it’s like to not have everything he has ever wanted at his fingertips. “Good. I like playing rough.”

He still doesn’t kiss you. He dives his head down, though, his teeth once more nipping at your neck, at your breast, tongue lathing across your nipples. One of his hand delves between your legs, spreading the plump labia, fingers briefly stroking your clit and sending a hot bolt of lightning all through you.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, as he pushes a finger inside of you. You’re slick and tight around his digits, hot and silky – one of his fingers alone is like a vice. You’re going to feel so good. He doesn’t much care whether his cock hurts you or not – but he wants you to be so fucked out by the time he’s come inside you that you don’t care about him leaving your legs propped up so not a single trickle of come leaks out of you. He doesn’t want a whimpering little bitch in his bed – he wants someone who’ll lie there, patiently, prettily, and let him make sure it takes.

You’re going to be good for that, he knows it. With a body like that, and eyes like that, and a clear longing for something better than the shitty hand you’ve been dealt? Oh, yes. You might not know it, but Naoya likes you immensely.

That you’re a servant, who’s been taught your place - that you’ll look at the ground respectfully and walk behind him and agree to whatever he says, like women should? Even better. Perfect. Fuck any of those snooty young women of a clan who think that just because they were born with a name, they were somehow more than a cunt for breeding--

Two fingers. This one gets a cry from you, almost too full – Naoya clicks his tongue against his teeth. He’s not patient, but he slows down, scissoring you open. One of your hands seems to flex out as if going to grab his bicep – but thinks better of it, clutching for purchase on the bed instead. Cute.

He can’t help but watch his fingers dive in and out of you, already coated in your liberal slick. They already look so good – he can’t even imagine how good his cock will look, hilted so deep in you he’s all you can feel.

Three fingers. You’re making soft little noises, circling your hips – there’s a coil in your belly that Naoya’s fingers are stoking in a way you didn’t expect, one that you feel like you’re so close to getting to spring forth – he slides his fingers out of you as he feels you tightening and tensing around him. If you’re close enough to come on his fingers, he reasons, you’re close enough to take his cock.

He didn’t expect to be so entranced by how pretty you looked, all curves and soft on his bed – but there’s time for that later. Right now, his cock is driving a hole through his own underwear. The thought of fucking his seed into you, of having you coming around his cock . . . you moan in frustration at the lack of stimulation as his hands busy themselves peeling off his own clothes.

“What’s the matter?” He asks you, a little breathless. You don’t notice that – good. He hates people witnessing weakness. “You need to be filled up?”

“I—” your teeth dig into your bottom lip, and Naoya has the urge to kiss you that he pushes back.

Not now. Not yet. Not while you’re still scum. He can transform you, and maybe you’ll be worthy of that – but right now, you’re an empty shell, and Naoya needs to mould you into something fuller and better before he’ll lower himself to brush his lips over your own. That’s too intimate. That’s too much.

“You don’t need to use your words,” he purrs. “You’re soaking wet.”

You urge your thighs further apart as Naoya’s clothes slip off of him and you see his cock jutting proud against his stomach. You haven’t had much experience to know whether it’s a nice cock, whether he’s big – but Naoya grins when he sees you looking, ferocity sparking in his expression.

“You may as well look at it,” he tells you, “because it’s going to be buried inside you in just a moment--”

He’s on the bed, his body on top of yours. His hands are clinging to the hips he’s admired so much, his grip tight enough to mark. His face is close enough that you can see the sculpt of his lips and the fan of his eyelashes, the dark pupils. The wet head of his cock smears precome on your thigh as he positions himself at your entrance – and as he sinks inside, your body welcomes him.

He hisses in fluid pleasure as his cock descends inside of you inch by slow, inexorable inch – the stretch, the burn, the slick fluid pleasure. This time, one of your hands does find purchase on his shoulder – but Naoya is enjoying the feeling of your walls kissing his cock, embracing him tight and deep, too much to snap at you for being such an insolent thing. Your nails leave little crescent moon marks in his shoulder that he decides to forgive. After all – you’ll have bruises in the shape of his handprints tomorrow, he knows it. He doesn’t have a single crumb of shame about it.

If he gets his way, you’ll have more than just those as a mark of tonight. He hilts inside you, his skin pressing hot against yours. You’re so full – he feels so very deep, buried as far as he can go. All of your breath has been knocked out of you.

Your eyes meet his for just a moment.

“Better hold on,” he tells you. “I told you I wouldn’t be gentle.”

The first pull out is swift, immediately thrusting back inside you with such force that your body rocks on the bed. He wasn’t lying about not being gentle; his hips quickly establish a punishing rhythm, helped along by the slick glide of your channel, the wetness leaking around his cock. He pulls you a little with every thrust, the hands on his hips assisting him being able to watch his cock drive in and out of your sex. It’s a mark of the strength he has that the only sign that you weigh anything at all is a huff of breath in between his thrusts – you’ve never exactly felt delicate  in your life, but something about Naoya’s way of handling you makes you think that he could break you in half if he tried.

That is, if his rough thrusts in and out of you don’t split you in two first. You give up trying to do anything other than hold onto him, your mouth dropping open in a series of wordless wails and moans.

(Naoya prefers quiet women, he has to admit – but there’s something endearing about you giving up in bed, giving yourself to him in voice as well as body. Perhaps he doesn’t mind a loud woman, as long as the reason she’s loud is because he’s fucking her silly).

His skin slaps against your skin. The sound mixes with your own whimpers and gasps, Naoya’s quieter breathing, the embarrassingly wet sounds of his cock plunging in and out of you. The release that was denied to you earlier with his fingers is creeping back up on you again, all hot pleasure and tight tension. With every thrust, Naoya is hitting a spot amongst your plush walls that has your eyes rolling back in your head and your body all hot and needy. He doesn’t care if you come, really – this isn’t about you – but . . . just another of those things he supposes he could get used to, as the ball of pleasure inside of you finally unravels and you feel yourself come.

And oh, he could get used to that feeling too – how your walls pulsate around him, pulling his cock tighter inside of you, practically milking him. His hips just get faster, snapping against you like a man possessed – heh. Isn’t that funny?

Your chest is heaving, but he’s enjoying the feel of your hips too much to play with your tits again. When they’re all swollen with milk and bigger and rounder, he’ll probably fuck you again, slower . . . and then, he’ll get his feel of touching them. Just like he’ll get his feel of your thighs even plusher, your stomach rounder, your hips even better in his grip--

It’s those thoughts that push him over the edge. Your body softened and rounded with his child – his son, his heir. You’re fucking perfect for it. He groans, his hips snapping and driving so deep inside you that you think he’ll break – and then, he’s groaning, and his cock is pulsing inside you as the sensation of his come painting your walls hot and thick overtakes your senses.

He pumps his cock a few more times inside of you after the initial release, as if he’s trying to push his seed even further within you. You’re shuddering, exhausted, your body aching – and so, you don’t argue beyond a soft noise of pain at the unpleasant prickle as he pulls his cock out of you. You don’t argue when he slides a pillow beneath your hips and says;

“Keep your legs bent like that.”

Naoya takes a moment to admire you. Your pretty cunt is darkened from his aggressive fucking, clit swollen, slick with your own desire-- he frowns as he notices a drop of something whiter and thicker. That won’t do. Two fingers roughly push his come back into you, pressing it deeply, making you groan and your hips weakly thrust against them.

It’s cute that you’re still welcoming to his fingers; that your sex still sucks them in as if it’s greedy to be fucked again. Your eyes are half-lidded, glassy – your lips bitten dark. He thinks he could fuck you again and you wouldn’t even complain.

Yes. He grins at you. Give it a little while, to make sure his come takes – and then, he thinks, he will fuck you again. There’s no harm in being thorough, right?