#they REFUSE to think for themselves even when this shit is made AS EASY AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE FOR THEM

[azsazz]

Over Ice

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I think we could really have fun with the different courts and Illyrian values on a thematic basis but ALSO if the reader is in something very artsy and hasn’t really been into sports and then she’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!! She decides to wear Cass’ jersey to make him mad and when he finally gets a hold of her after the game: *cue innocent shrug* he asked me to!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3032

Notes: While I work on a plot for an azzy hockey x figure skater au, please enjoy a rhys hockey au 🤪

This was originally an Az idea but I thought it fit better for Rhys bby so here we are. I feel like I've forgotten how to write and this is shit (dont judge me im going thru smthin rn)

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A giant FU stares up at you.

Well, actually, it’s only an F, but it may as well be the former with the way it’s circled in thick, red ink.

Three. Fucking. Times.

Tears sting the back of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. It never feels good, failing, and even if you’d gotten a C+ like you hoped, you would’ve still beaten yourself up over the grade because plain and simple: that’s who you are.

Two months ago, at the beginning of the semester, psychology had seemed like a breeze. The lectures were easy to listen to and intriguing, and you had no trouble following along with the professors’ slideshows as you took detailed notes of everything on the screen. Your assigned readings were completed in a similar state, though they weren’t graded but included important information you’d find on the tests.

Somewhere along the line, your grade slipped, and you don’t remember if it had been between studying for Biology or reveling in your newfound freedom away from your parents, partying and enjoying a true college experience with your roommates.

Whatever happened, the repercussions are hitting you right in the face, the taunting letter you have never seen before on any of your assignments throughout all your years of learning.

If your parents saw this, they would bring the entire house down with their scolding.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You studied, even if the word is a loose term for what material you used. Things started piling up this month, with it being a new semester and all. You didn’t schedule out the time to focus on psychology when the classes you were really interested in—Introduction to Nutrition and Kinesiology—took first and second place for your attention. Plus, with the number of social events your best friends—who are also conveniently your roommates—invited you too, it was almost impossible to say no. Friends are a vital part of the college experience and you were in desperate need of some fun after having spent the summer lounging at home with your parents.

You found a psych support group that met at the library once a week to study together. It wasn’t anything like you thought it would be, a bunch of clueless students with grades similar to yours. All they seemed to want to do with your precious time was bitch and moan about the professor instead of actually trying to conquer the areas of study for the upcoming test.

And now the consequences of your actions have made themselves known.

Grumbling, you shove the test into your binder before shutting it with a snap that does nothing to ease your frustration. A few students still trail from the room, though most bolted right after being released. Some linger at the bottom of the lecture hall where the professor sits, answering their questions.

You have about a million-and-one of your own but you’re too worked up about your grade to go down there and hash it out with Mr. Hybern. His peppery colored hair is perfectly coiffed on this terrible day, his beard trimmed close to his jowls. His gleaming, golden skin makes you think that maybe he’d spent his weekend grading tests out in the sun, and you have half a mind to stomp your way down the stairs and demand a second review of your test.

It wouldn’t solve your irritation, and it would certainly be embarrassing if in fact your F is correct.

Placing your binder, notebook, and pens back into your bag, you zip it, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way to the exit, holding your chin high because if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, is cry over your terrible, awful grade in public.

The waterworks will just have to wait until you’re locked in your private bedroom in your shared dorm.

There is good news. It’s Friday, which means you can snag the pint of your favorite ice cream that your roommates won’t dare touch because ‘no ice cream that’s worth it should have fruit in it, that’s like asking for a steak on your spaghetti.’ You have no idea what Mor—one of your roommates—was on about when she brought up the awful comparison, and in reply all you’d done is scooped out a chunk of cherries embedded into the creamy, pink goodness and stuffed it into your mouth.

With it being the weekend, you can also wallow well into the night without having to worry about hiding your puffy eyes in the morning. You’ll have all day tomorrow to figure out a plan of action, once you allow yourself the time to properly grieve and process…and maybe have a drink or two.

You shoulder through the heavy lecture hall door with your head down, hiding the red stain to your cheeks. So, maybe you’re not going to hold you head high as you trail back to your dorm, but you will not cry.

The door swings open and you barely catch the noise of surprise before you’re barreling into something that’s akin to a brick wall. Your breath leaves your body in a whoosh and your balance slips out from under you, arms flailing as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

Slowly, mortified because you know exactly what’s cushioned your fall, you peek your eyes open, carefully meeting a sapphire gaze that surely would take your breath away should you have any left.

This close, you can see the perfection of his angular features: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones under the dusting of pink that caresses his own face. His lashes are dark as charcoal, the same color of his hair that looks as soft as silk.

Whatever it is that has you entranced by his beauty, the sentiment seems to be mutual. Those bright eyes trace across your features, carefully drinking you in. You don’t know if you’re thankful that your face is already as red as the marker on your test or if you want him to see the way your cheeks go molten.

There’s a warmth against your hips that you don’t notice until he speaks, his hands that have a solid grip around you, keeping you steady to his chest. His whispered breath brushes across your lips. “By all means,” he teases softly, “Take your time.”

“Oh, my Gods, I am so sorry,” you squeak, rolling off his chest. You can hear his chuckling as you scramble to climb to your feet, but your knees are so weak at the sight—and touch—of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lifting gracefully to his feet, holding a hand down to help you up.

You try not to notice just how big his hand is in yours, and for the second time today, you fail.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, displaying an easy grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. The door opens with a loud click and the both of you startle. His hand comes down warmly on your spine, ushering you out of the way of the student that’s beaming grin falters into apology at the idea of almost running you down, already on the phone with someone and gushing over their test result.

It’s hard to reign in your glare.

The student’s conversation seems to jolt the man out of his stupor. He blinks, shaking his head as if to rid him of a spell you might have cast on him, or maybe he’s testing to see if he has a concussion from the fall.

When he returns his attention to you, it takes everything in your power not to melt into a puddle beneath that gaze.

“Is Mr. H still passing out tests?” he asks, and you swallow the sourness that accompanies the name of your professor. You and he are not on good terms right now, not that this boy knows that.

“Yeah,” you answer, remembering you saw him sitting on his throne (desk chair) with his loyal citizens (students) kissing his feet (talking through their tests). “I think so.” Then, because you’re pretty sure you would remember a face like his if he were in your lecture, you ask, “Are you in this class?”

“No,” he answers with a scoff that tells you he breezed by this class. “I took Psych 101 freshman year, but I have Professor Hybern again for Cognitive Psychology and I need to turn in my paper early.”

Turning in a paper early? What is he, some kind of genius?

“Oh,” you answer lamely, “Cool.”

His answering grin cracks open the casing of the butterflies you didn’t know were living in your stomach, taking off in a flurry of emotion.

He shrugs like he couldn’t really care less about any of it, but to you, the fact that he’s managed to pass Psych 101 at all is an impressive feat, though you don’t know why he’d sign up for even more torture. “Sure. Look, I’ve got to run, but are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s nice of him to ask if you’re okay when he’s the one who had his back painted to the floor only moments ago. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I should be the one asking you that. Are you okay?”

His laughter is rich and warm, and you want to melt into it. Before you have the chance to make even more a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger, he answers. “I’ve been checked harder, darling. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too,” your words trail off as he catches the door on its next outswing, ducking inside without waiting for your response.

Jeeze, he must really be in a rush, then.

It’s when you exit the doors to the psychology building that you curse yourself. You should’ve gotten his number, his name at least. You could’ve invited him over for something more distracting and yummier than the ice cream you’d planned on demolishing.

At least you have something better to think about tonight than your test.

With a heavy sigh, you allow your backpack to fall off your shoulder. Now that you’ve arrived back to your dorm, you’re suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever.

The walk home from class had been nice, your time spent thinking about the boy you’d run into. The broadness of his shoulders you didn’t seem to notice until he turned away, stretching wide beneath his tight t-shirt. The bulge of his biceps beneath said t-shirt, flexing as he pulled the door open for himself. The shape of his ass in those snug jeans.

The sight of that is what had your eyes nearly popping from your head. What’s he doing that gives him such a bubblicious ass? Squats? Lunges? You can do those. You choose not to, but if there’s a guarantee that you’d have an ass like that, you’d start right this second.

Tucking your lip into your mouth in concentration, you plant your hands on your hips, making your way to the refrigerator that your ice cream is housed in, lunging your way there.

It’s not that far, the communal space in your shared dorm is small, but your heartrate is elevated by the time you’re two lunges away from your prize: your ice cream.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Mother!” You shout as the voice of your roommate breaks your concentration. Your knees wobble and your thighs shake, unable to hold you up from the burst of exertion you used. You clearly need to get into the gym more, another thing to add to your already busy schedule. “You scared me!”

Mor rolls her chocolate-brown eyes, sliding into one of the stools at your counter. It’s not built for it, the laminate countertop doesn’t hang over the island far enough for your legs to fit, but you and your roommates thought they were cute, nonetheless. You can suffer having to hunch over your knees to reach your cereal bowls in the mornings in favor of having more space for company to sit.

When you haul yourself off the ground, you take in your roommate. She’s wearing some kind of jersey, one you’ve never even seen in her wardrobe before, and you probably spend more time in there than her because she has every item of clothing you could ever imagine. The top she’s wearing now totally clashes with everything that screams Mor: silk scarves, tight bodice tops, leather pants, and what she has on now isn’t even red, a color that’s a staple in her closet.

“Well, if you were paying attention,” she scolds playfully, flipping open the compact in her hand, checking her makeup in the tiny mirror. She makes a few faces that would make you chuckle if you didn’t notice how she looks like she’s ready to go out, and that means she’s going to try to drag you with. “You would’ve heard me walk into the room. I am wearing heels, you know.”

Of course you know. Mor doesn’t do sneakers, only when it’s five in the morning and the sun is still sleeping, the perfect time for working out where nobody will catch her. Maybe I should join her, you think, mind wandering back to that boy’s butt.

“Why are your cheeks all red?” She asks, planting her palms on the counter and leaning towards you, eyes narrowed in inquisition.

“Nothing,” you wave her off, reaching for the door to the freezer. It’s the last thing between you and the cherry chunk ice cream calling your name.

Before you can open it more than an inch, it slams closed, Mor’s sharp, bright red fingernails splayed out to stop you.

Damnit, how does she move so silently?

“What do you think you’re doing?” You question each other at the same time, biting back your smiles at the mistake.

She answers first. “Why do you look like you’re about to get the ice cream, put your pajamas on, and wallow in bed all night?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” you cross your arms over your chest defiantly. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” You trail off, hoping she’ll step away and leave you to your peace.

She doesn’t. That’s not Mor.

“I had a rough day!”

“You say that every day,” she whines, stomping her heel-clad foot. “Don’t you even want to know what I’m inviting you to tonight?”

“From the look of your clothes, no, I don’t want to know what you’re doing tonight, Mor, and no, I don’t want to join you, either.”

Your roommate scrunches her nose, tipping it towards the ceiling. “I’ll have you know that this outfit is cute.”

“Yeah, if the definition of cute changed to ‘not pleasing or appealing to look at.’”

“You take that back,” Mor shouts, full naming you.

As your lips part in apology, because that was rude of you, your other roommate pads out of her room. Her reading glasses are perched up on her nose, blue eyes round and wide, and it always looks like she’s looking around the room in wonder. She has a blanket thrown over her shoulders and looks every bit of cozy you wish you were.

“Gwyn,” you sigh in relief at the sight of her. “Please, help.”

“I already said no,” she offers you a sympathetic wince. “I don’t think there’s any getting you out of the hockey game, sorry babe.”

Now it’s your jaw that falls to the floor. No, it falls through the floor and about five more floors down, hitting the lobby with a crack that echoes through the building.

You whirl on Mor. “Hockey game? Since when have you been interested in hockey?”

“Since my cousin got named team captain this year,” she says smugly, and you don’t know why she’s acting vain, it just means that he’s captain of the douchebags now, even you know that. Mor turns, showing off the back of her jersey. The number one stands out like a beacon, and you brush her blonde hair over her shoulder to read the smaller patches spelling out what is in fact, her family name.

Cunningham.

“Think of all the parties we’ll get into,” she says over her shoulder, and she does have a point there. The athletes at your college are a group of students that you don’t ever interact with, nor do you care. Mor is all about connections though, and if she wants to go to the hockey game, then it looks like you’re going with her.

You wonder what excuse Gwyn used to get out of it. She looks mighty comfy right now, slinking over the plop down on the couch and turn on a movie.

“Why do we have to go to the game? Can’t we just go to the parties?” You ask, grasping for anything to get out of this. You don’t want to go sit in the cold arena and watch a bunch of guys wearing full-body padding slide up and down the ice. Why couldn’t her cousin have been on the baseball team? They have nice, tight uniforms.

“Because,” Mor emphasizes with a glare, spinning to face you once more to give you the full effect of her irritation. “I’m a good cousin, and if we don’t attend the games, we’re going to be blacklisted from the parties,” she grumbles, the fight leaving her a little bit. “I’ve already argued about it with Rhys, I don’t want to have to argue with you too.”

It’s with your sigh that Mor brightens. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’m not going to be happy about it. And don’t expect me to cheer.”

Her squeal pierces the sound barrier. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

Mor grabs your hand, dragging you towards the empty single room that’s left in your dorm. She uses it as an extension of her closet until someone else gets placed with you. So far, you’ve been lucky, living here since freshman year, just the three of you. “Great! I got you a shirt!”

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Over Ice Taglist:

[222col]

Can we get a fic about womanizer Art who's a very famous tennis player and never committed to any woman before even though girls are throwing themselves at him and who doesn't sleep with the same girl twice until he meets y/n ( a maneater) and the sex is something that Art has never experienced before to the point he becomes obsessed with her, she's all what he thinks about and refuses to sleep with another girl and he's determined to make her his no matter what

uhhh yes of course 🧎🏻‍♀️

art donaldson. the man who's only lost two games is entire professional career, he's one of the most, if not the most, successful tennis players in history. he's out most weekends, celebrating another win, another trophy to add to the cabinet. taking a new girl home with him every night, they all fall to his feet like putty. he thinks it's pathetic, but hey, it gets him laid. he's been single during his adult career, too busy fucking random girls and focusing on his tennis to bother committing, not that he would want to anyhow. he never sleeps with the same girl twice, he did that once, some seven years ago. he couldn't stand the way she'd text him constantly afterwards.

he's just won another trophy hitting up the local club with his friends. patrick joins up with him, later in the night. "congrats donaldson, sorry i'm late man, we all bar crawled our way here." art surveys the people patrick has brought with him. you're laughing at something with one of the boys patrick's brought along. "who's that?" art questions, nodding towards you. patrick tells him your name, "she's uh, my buddy's girlfriends, cousin or sister or something, fuck i don't know," patrick laughs into his drink. target acquired, art finishes the vodka soda he's drinking, turning to place the empty cup on the side. your mouth is attached to the guy you were laughing with, your dress hitched up slightly as his hands dart around your waist. "look like he beat you to it, artie," art shakes his head at his friend. "games not over 'til it's over, patrick."

the group of you are shown over to a vip booth, near the back of the club. the guy you were making out with gets up to go to the bathroom, art stands, about to steal his seat next to you when another one of patrick's friends beats him to it. "fuck me," art whispers, slumping back to his place in the booth and backing another vodka soda. the new guy whispers something in your ear, hand on your thigh as you move to make out with him. art should be turned off with how easy you're acting, but honestly he's impressed, the way you have every guy here wrapped around your finger. they're throwing themselves at you the way in which girls do to him, he's intrigued. "game, set, match." patrick laughs to art. "uh uh, no way." art walks straight over to you, pulling the guy off you by his shoulder. "hey! hey- you're art donaldson!" art rolls his eyes. "i'll sign an autograph later, but right now, you're in my seat."

he raises his hands in defeat, moving for art to take his position next to you. "i'd tell you off for interrupting, but he was a shit kisser." you smirk to the blonde in front of you. "well, guess you'll just have to thank me instead." you sip your drink. "i wouldn't go that far, donaldson?" he nods. "art donaldson, and you are?" you introduce yourself. "and who are you that your face alone made that guy run for the hills?" wow, you really don't know him. it's refreshing. "a tennis player." it wasn't the answer you were expecting. "aren't you a bit too pretty to be a tennis player?" art fakes a pout. "i'm so sorry i don't meet your expectations, but hey, at least i know you think i'm pretty." you shrug at him. "it's just a fact. dance with me?" you ask, standing up, holding out your hand. he takes it, of course, joining you on the dance floor. art's not much of a dancer, but that doesn't stop his arm snaking around your waist as you grind against him.

he's whispering in your ear, disgusting, perverted things about the way your body feels against his. art's not shy in situations like this, he thrives, it's his weekly routine. "you gonna keep talking or are you gonna take me home and actually act on what you're telling me, donaldson." he's pulling you out of the club, jumping into the car he has waiting outside. the partition is already rolled up as art climbs on top of you the second the car door is shut. his lips touch yours for the first time tonight and he's intoxicated, your lipstick leaving stains on his skin but he can't get enough. you're reaching between your bodies, palming him through his jeans. "christ, you're like a teenager. all you've done is kiss me and you're already hard." he was hard the second you danced up against him, but that's not the point. "you gonna fucking do something about it then?" he's biting, kissing, sucking his way down your jaw to your neck. "no actually, i think you can grow up and wait until we're at wherever we're going." it's you biting his skin now, his earlobe, his neck, his shoulder. "we're going back to my house, where i can fuck you like the slut you are." you're desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan yet. the car pulls up to art's place, the door opening as he pulls you into the house.

you're kissing the way through the house as art leads you to his bedroom. pulling your dress over your head as you remove his shirt. "fuuuuck," he whispers as you push him backwards to the bed. undoing his jeans, discarding them across the room with his briefs. you crawl over his body, his hands looping behind you to undo your bra. "you're the hottest woman i've ever seen." he peppers your breasts with kisses before manhandling them. "bet you say that to all the girls you fuck in this bed." your hand reaching down between your bodies again, pumping his newly exposed cock in your hand. he groans as he replies. "i don't actually, you're the sexiest thing i've ever laid my eyes on." you scoff and pump his cock faster. "you're not so bad yourself, donaldson."

he flips you over onto your back, moving down your body, removing your panties with his teeth. "you've even got the prettiest little pussy i've ever seen." he immediately starts tonguing your clit, inserting two fingers into you. your moans are killing him, pre-cum falling out of his cock at the taste of you. he reaches over to his nightstand to pull out a condom. "don't, i'm on the pill." he smiles over to you, "fuck me, art." lining himself up with your entrance, "now, say please." god, the sound that escaped your lips in response could have had art confessing his love to you. "please, fuck, please art," he lifts your legs up, resting them on his shoulders as he slides himself into you. getting drunk of the sounds of you and the way you feel around him. he pushes your legs down closer to you, he's never felt this deep inside someone before. "jesus, you're fucking perfect," he mutters, leaning down to kiss your swollen lips.

he's already getting close, leaning back to thumb your clit as he fucks you quicker than before. "fuck, shit, you feel fucking amazing," your hands grasp the sheets, more profanities leaving your lips. "i'm so fucking close," he whispers, his grip around your ankle tightening. "fuck, come inside me, please, art." fuck. no one's ever let him do that before. in all these years, all these girls, not one as let him come inside of them. a few more thrusts is all it takes for art to finish inside your pussy. it feels like fucking heaven to him. that's it. that's what's been missing. he works your clit until you're a mess beneath his fingers, watching you orgasm as his load drips out of you. "fuck. i need to do that again." he falls down next to you on the bed. "which bit specifically?" you giggle, kissing his shoulder. "all of it. you. coming inside of you." his eyes meet yours. "i wanna see you again." placing kisses on your lips. "not my style, unfortunately for you, donaldson." you start sitting up, his hand grasping your wrist, stopping you in motion. "it wasn't a question."

he gets your number from patrick's friend's girlfriend, turns out you're her friend, not her sister or cousin. she likes art for you, so obliges when he requests your number. blowing up your phone, near enough begging you to see him again. it's been weeks since he saw you, skipping the clubs after matches to sit at home and stalk you on social media. there's just something about you, consuming his thoughts. you never replied further than 'who's this?' to his texts, you make him look pathetic.

i will literally do anything you ask if you just let me take you on a date.

it's late, he's becoming desperate for just a text back from you. throwing his phone across the room after he sends another text. "this is just ridiculous." he mumbles to himself, when a text notification lights up his phone, falling off the bed and running to it, he see's your name.

anything?

fucking finally. he's sat on the floor, smiling into his phone like a little boy texting his crush.

literally anything in the world.

he sends the text back immediately. fuck waiting around to make himself seem less desperate.

would you let me fuck you with a racket?

god, you're disgusting, he fucking loves it.

i would do whatever it takes just to taste you again.

he's staring at the three bubbles on his phone, like his world would shatter if they stopped.

you can take me to dinner tomorrow then.

[arcadianambivalence]

IWTV S2E2 and History

One thing I really appreciate about this show is how it interacts with its historical setting. I worried that when Louis and Claudia left New Orleans last season, the show would start to shirk the historical details, but the latest episode has given me enough historical tidbits to chew on (pun intended).

Hidden behind the humor of lines like "Paris is shit" and the thrill of meeting other vampires, there's a sense of foreboding lingering beside the recent traumas.

As with the first episode of season 2, Louis and Claudia are surrounded by reminders of war, even if they do not have the context (or empathy) for the survivors they encounter. Claudia complains that she has to pick twice as many pockets to get by, but the two are still able to afford an apartment. Meanwhile, food staples and clothing are still rationed, but people and pigeons are easy to come by.

"Paris was Nazi scar tissue at the time..."

Louis explains, but the scars historically ran deeper than a tourist (and Louis is The stereotypical tourist in this episode) could understand. Blackouts, food shortages, rations, soldiers, and refugees linger at the corners of the episode.

Even Madeline is introduced to us by a man warning Claudia that she was a collaborator or Nazi sympathizer (he does a subtle salute and points to the shop window), which will certainly influence how the next episodes take her through her narrative beats.

The plays performed by the Théâtre des Vampires cross 1920s to 1940s expressionism with absurdity and horror. Even after all this time, Louis is unenthused about the theatrical performances.

"The plays were weird. They always ended in death or some kind of cruel, barely motivated violence."

Armand's reply is dulled by the onstage spectacle:

"Life is cruel. Life is violent. [...] It was all a seduction to lure the cattle into a willing belief of disbelief."

It's a line that is all the more concerning if you know where the story is going...

Annika, the doomed woman onstage, is from Belgium, yet another country recovering from occupation and war. When she desperately tries to convince the audience to flee (not just for them to help her, but to save themselves), she speaks Dutch, so neither the French nor English-speaking audience members understand her.

Still in character, Santiago pretends to offer her a choice. She could live if she gives up someone to die in her place, if she, as the phrase goes, "turns someone in." First, he offers to take her husband, and she refuses. Then he offers to take her son, and again she refuses. Finally, he points to a man in the audience. She nods vigorously, but it's a cruel joke.

Santiago has already made up his mind about her. He addresses the man, warning him against trusting his neighbors:

"They'll give you up in a wink."

As if someone who spent the last five years in occupied France would need reminding.

The warning is for us, the viewers.

Later, the troupe takes Louis and Claudia to a mansion, ostensibly to eat people who, apparently, hoarded resources from the black market. Another show for Claudia and Louis, tourists who still think of themselves as the "good" vampires. Because why would a troupe of vampires concern themselves with that? They don't need anything from the black market. They don't eat anything from the black market. Where was this sense of justice in recent years?

As with Annika, it's yet another excuse to enact cruel and public violence against people they consider less than them.

So when Santiago's introductory prologue includes lines like:

"Being vampires, and by nature superior to you mortals, we can [...] disrupt your tiny ship called human decency."

"Our jobs, which is at the heart of it, to laugh alongside your misery while you cry and scream for more."

"Everything you're about to see is real. Remember that when you leave here tonight. You are all complicit [...] I love you for it."

You know things are not going to get better for Louis and Claudia.

[came-out-of-the-coffin-desisted]

not to out of left field dragon age post, but i’m thinking of replaying origins and it made me think about how like. mahariel and tamlen are definitely old enough to be married/bonded by dalish standards, and they’ve been friends for at least a fews years if not their whole lives (and it’s probably their whole lives honestly) so they’ve had time to get bonded.

so the implication is that either a) they haven’t gotten their shit together enough to tell each other how they feel much before like. the week origins begins OR b) the elders wouldn’t allow them to bond, the way they wouldn’t let mahariel’s parents bond, and eventually they relented. and i know a lot of people like the first one and i agree that it is like. nicer to the characters. but the second one makes me go INSANE because it’s like. we think you’re too immature, or maybe just one of you is, you’re too impetuous, you don’t think before you act, and you egg each other on, or one of you is too devoted to hold the other one back. whichever it is, it’s a matter of worrying they won’t be good for each other— they don’t approve of the match.

until someone (probably ashalle or marethari herself) intervenes, and the FIRST thing, the very first thing that happens is they find that cave. no matter how it happened— if tamlen refused to go back to prove that he was worthy, if they egged each other on, if mahariel led tamlen forward— they WERE bad for each other, but not out of malice. out of love. and afterwards, when mahariel is a warden and tamlen is gone from them forever (even if they will, unbeknownst to them, see him again, just in the most horrifying way possible,) i can just imagine them sitting up nights, afraid to sleep because of the horrible dreams, alternatively blaming the elders for not letting them be together sooner and blaming themselves for not going back, for not making him go back.

in the gauntlet, the spirit or demon or whatever it is takes the form of tamlen, taunts them about their failure, about their waking fucking nightmare.

and months later, when there have been so many loses that they’re sort of numb to it all, when they’ve made a new family and maybe fallen in love again, when they’re living every day like it could be their last (because it could be,) they wake up one night in a cold sweat, or they’re in the middle of ~something~ with their new partner, and shrieks ambush their camp. they have to come out and fight, back to back with their new family, with their lover— they finish the fight covered in blood, every inch the warden, every inch the hero of ferelden. and in the aftermath, there he is. the ghost of the one person they never thought they’d lose, their best friend, the soulmate they were /supposed/ to have. and he’s a ghoul, he’s dying, and if they don’t kill him, the blight will force their hand.

and then there’s one fucking line with alistair about it. you can’t follow up on it. …but imagine if you could. imagine if the warden absolutely melts down afterward. imagine if they got to feel, for once, the ENORMITY of what they’ve lost, the enormity of what the blight took from them, which they’ll never get back, even if they have people they love. even if they live through it all, they save the world, now they’re the warden commander and they get to live free of fear—they’ll still never be one half of the happy elder couple who laughs and jokes and says ‘yes’ to every match because they believe in love over all. they’ll never get to see merrill become keeper and tease her about how pompous she was as a kid, they’ll never have children. they’ll never hunt again, never sit with the halla and smile about the beauty of the world.

in a lot of ways i think that the elven wardens lose the least, because they gain power they’d otherwise never have— but they still lose things. there is no easy way to become a warden. the only way that a warden loses nothing by joining is if they had nothing to lose at all.

[jedi-enthusiast]

I've seen a lot of posts on my feed lately that have, in some way shape or form, said "the story of the Jedi is tragic cause the Jedi caused their own genocide" followed by a list of just...stuff that's either untrue or the other option would've been worse in that game of roulette that Palpatine set up specifically to force the Jedi to make questionable decisions and wear them down with the weight of them. (Untagged posts btw, if you're gonna post shit along these lines please for the love of fuck tag it "Jedi critical," there are tags for a reason)

So I'm here to outline why that's complete and utter bullshit in one easy, simple to understand, post! No matter what the Jedi did, or what you think they did, they did not cause their own genocide. The fault of their genocide is solely on those who chose to commit said genocide of their people and culture.

Ignoring the fact that Palpatine's entire plan, the whole point of everything that we see in the Prequels, was to kill off all of the Jedi and erase their culture--so he was gonna figure out some way to do it, with or without Anakin/the clones/Dooku/etc.

You cannot make someone commit genocide against you.

That is the stupidest argument ever.

Committing genocide is a choice, one that you actively have to make over and over again--which we see Anakin do, even long after all (or all except a measly few survivors, most of which were literal children in the Prequel-era and couldn't have possibly done anything to piss Anakin off) of the Prequel-era Jedi--aka the ones that people say "brought this on themselves"--were dead!

The Jedi Order as a whole could've been the shittiest, most repressed group of arrogant assholes the galaxy had ever seen. They could've called Anakin a whiny bitch to his face and told him that Dooku should've gone for his head instead of his arm. They could've danced on his mother's grave and had tea parties with the Tuskens.

And guess what?

They still could not have made Anakin and Palpatine commit genocide against them. It was their choice, and their choice alone.

The only people that had no choice in committing that genocide were the clones and guess who took that choice away from them? Because it certainly wasn't the fucking Jedi!

Which is hilarious because most of these posts I've seen have said something along the lines of "the Jedi used the clones as slaves," ignoring the fact that--even if that were true (and it's not)--Anakin and Palpatine used them as slaves too!

And it was so much worse when they did it because, not only were they not given a choice, they were fucking mind-controlled in order to commit genocide against their will! So they didn't even get the choice to refuse and face the consequences of that--which is an option for them during the Clone Wars, albeit a shitty one.

So no, the Jedi did not bring anything upon themselves.

Start holding Anakin responsible for his own shitty decisions, and start tagging your damn anti-Jedi and Jedi critical posts properly!

[thejujvtsupost]

Hello! This is my first time ever asking for a request 😭 I’m pretty shy but id like to request GetoxF!reader with smut where the reader is a new student/strong sorcerer and catches Getos attention

Weak to Sunshine

Hi anon! I love this idea sm 😌 okay technically I like anything with Geto but that’s beside the point.

Notes: F!reader, both Geto and reader are teachers and oblivious, Geto is mean at first but dw it’s just because he’s a little dumb, smut, oral (f receiving), light fluff, cocky attitudes lead to porn.

Geto wasn’t easy to surprise, but your sheer power was amazing. He’d prefer not to be on the receiving end of it ever again.

He was aware there was a new teacher and he didn’t go out of his way to welcome you the way others Gojo did.

When you tried to say hello to him in the hallway he acknowledged you with a grunt and nothing else. Gojo told you he was too grumpy all the time, that it probably wasn’t anything you did. So you still made sure to include him, inviting him to the activities you often did with Shoko and Gojo, saving space for him at lunch.

It wasn’t that he hated you or anything- quite the opposite. You had a sunshine personality, a soft demeanor and made students feel good about themselves, you were naturally caring. He valued people like that and found it adorable admirable.

But he didn’t understand why you were there. He had yet to see you spar (if he went outside once in a while he would see you training the kids every day) and you didn’t exude power the way other sorcerers did. If he wasn’t aware ahead of time, he would never have thought you were a sorcerer. So Geto, as nice as you seem and pretty as you were (wait, pretty?), didn’t think you could teach the students enough to be helpful- do you really belong there? And when Shoko was telling him he should be nicer to you, that every time you were around he grew quiet, he voiced his concerns. After all it was only Shoko.

Or he thought it was.

You went looking for her, intending to see if she wanted to get lunch together and you heard her voice down the hall.

You swear you weren’t eavesdropping. You knocked on the door frame but the pair didn’t acknowledge you, and when you walked inside you immediately wished you hadn’t.

“All I’m saying is if she can’t be valuable to the kids or the school then she shouldn’t be here. Her energy is so weak, she couldn’t overpower a first year. Seems pretty reliant on Gojo too. What use does the school have for someone that can’t train them? All she ever does is smile like a puppy, she makes the kids happy but do they even take her seriously?”

“She goes out just as often as Gojo for the hard curses. She picks up your slack and your missions, always saying she doesn’t mind helping out since you refuse to go anywhere. She can repress her energy dipshit. That’s mean Suguru, even for-” Shoko didn’t get to finish her sentence.

“So that’s what you think of me?” You could hear your voice crack. “You hate me because you think I’m weak? You really think I’m nice because I can’t do anything else?”

“Look I’m just trying to say…”

“I fucking heard what you said, you got your panties in a bunch because I know how to repress my energy! That’s pathetic. It’s not your job to evaluate my attitude or my work performance when I’m the one doing your shit on top of mine you lazy ass. What do you do all day while I risk my life to do your job for you?” Shoko decided it would be best to back away slowly. Standing in the doorway behind you was safer than between two angry sorcerers.

Gojo ended up standing beside her when he heard the commotion- you were both lucky the students weren’t around right now.

Geto’s fists clenched at his sides where he stood in an attempt to calm himself, “You have no idea what Gojo and I have done for this school, you have no right to call me-”

“Heyyy buddy maybe you shouldn’t-” Gojo went unheard and Shoko just put a hand in front of him to let you two work it out. If he intervened it only made you look like you couldn’t handle yourself.

“Oh fuck Gojo, you know he has nothing to do with this! You’re using him as a crutch for your excuses-”

“Oh so that’s it? It makes sense now. You’re fucking Gojo, no wonder he thinks so highly of you, or maybe lowly of you, I’m not in your bedroom.”

That’s when all hell broke loose. You made a strangled noise in the back of your throat and tried to hold back your tears. You wanted to hit him, it would’ve been more satisfying.

“Fuck you, Geto.” Instead, you raised your hand out from your body and blasted him through the wall of his classroom and into the courtyard. For the first time in a long time, you were happy it was pouring rain.

Once again Gojo and Shoko were ignored, you stomped past them and left for your office. You were gone before Geto could see your tears. You were sick of everyone treating you like that; being able to control your energy output was an advanced skill that most people didn’t have. You were strong. There was more to your life than being a sorcerer, being in control was an advantage to maintaining that.

And more than anything you were hurt. A little humiliated that the person you really liked thought you were a floozy and not to mention it was more than obvious he didn’t care to know you. What he actually thought of you hurt the most. You didn’t expect him to like you the way you liked him, but you at least wanted to be friends.

Shoko shook her head and went back to work, “Karma.”

“Oof- that’s gonna hurt for a few days!” Gojo approached Geto sitting in the rain and mud.

“Shut up Satoru.”

“Hmm nope! That was kinda mean of you but damnnnn she threw you like thirty feet. For someone so short she’s got a lot of fire in her.” Gojo wasn’t one to contain his teasing, this wasn’t an exception. If anything it was a golden opportunity to make fun of him for years to come. He took several selfies, some with a peace sign and they all had Geto’s soaked, irritated face. “Oh by the way, we’re not fucking. She’s cute buuuut not my type, and I’m not her type either. She has feelings for, well maybe not now, someone else; it’s much more of a brother/sister type of thing. So there’s no need to be jealous.”

Jealous? “I’m not jealous!” But who the hell did you have feelings for?

“That’s exactly what a jealous person would say! You should probably apologize if you want her to talk to you ever again, though you’ll be lucky is she does.” He waved and left Geto on his own, he’d be fine.

Since then you’ve avoided him. When you couldn’t, you ignored him. When you had to speak of him you were back to calling him Geto. You no longer tried to say hello or talk to him (it was nice of you, though he always gave you vague responses). You didn’t invite him to things. Actually, you didn’t go out or eat lunch with your friends at all these days. Always saying you felt sick or tired, letting them drag you places but staying home otherwise. Your insecurities were getting the best of you because even though you had no proof, what if the others didn’t actually see you as a teacher? What if they thought you were as weak as Geto did? Maybe not Shoko or Gojo, but you were careful with your own cursed energy, had been since you were a teenager. Much like Gojo’s infinity, it was second nature.

At first he thought you were being ridiculous. By week nine he was trying to actively engage with you. To no avail.

The break room was cold, the spaces you used to be were empty and he found himself missing your warm disposition, who’d thought he’d miss you calling his first name excitedly inviting him to sit with you guys. His friends didn’t mention you and when he tried to ask why you weren’t sitting with them, they gave him a dirty look. Gojo sighed, “Ah. She doesn’t really do lunch these days, at all anymore.”

Shoko enjoyed adding some guilt, rubbing salt into the wound. “She chose to step back so you could hang out with your best friends because ‘you were here first.’ She sits in her office alone and refuses to let us take her out after work unless we drag her. The students know she’s unhappy too, you should be grateful she hasn’t said anything like a professional because those kids would eat you alive- especially the first years. If they found out you’re the reason she’s putting in a transfer request for Kyoto they’d be devastated. All she’s said to us is that she wants to start fresh and act more professional- that she wants to be someone taken seriously like everyone else- except for Gojo. No one takes him seriously.” Gojo’s protest was background noise to Geto. “She looked up to you Suguru, she tried to be your friend and get to know you. Still she doesn’t bad mouth you even though it’s justified, she hasn’t even blamed you- she’s serious about it.”

“I figured she was just busy…” You looked up to him? He thought you were friendly but he must not have been paying enough attention, you wanted to know him. Him. Guilt flooded him like a tsunami.

“Clearly you thought wrong.” Shoko snapped at him and the rest of their lunch was silent.

Enough was enough, he needed to find a way to make it up to you. Fuck, he missed you.

So he tried to say hi to you every day.

You only nodded at him to be polite in front of others, professional.

He brought you fresh coffee to your now dreary classroom before you ran off to your office. When had you taken your colorful posters down? Where did your little desk ornaments go?

it went untouched.

Every attempt was denied.

It wasn’t until you were stuck in your office far past after hours, waiting out the rain that just wasn’t letting up- that he was able to talk to you.

He was finally able to leave and he was happy to but he noticed your office light was on.

Right, you don’t drive and everyone, including Ijichi already left; you wouldn’t bother him even though he’d happily come get you. (You happened to be one of his favorites.)

He knocked on your door and got no response, so he opened the door to check if you were actually there.

Oh god, you were. But you were asleep at your desk. He closed the door behind him and crouched down at your side. He knew he was tall, waking you up standing over you wasn’t a good way to start a conversation. “Hey, c’mon you can’t sleep here.” He kept his voice low and was gentle when he nudged your shoulder and rubbed your arm.

You mumbled something he couldn’t understand before blinking your eyes open and looking at him. “You gotta go home, your desk can’t be comfortable.” It was the first time you looked at him in weeks, he hated the dark circles under your eyes that weren’t as bright as they used to be- how they should be.

“Whatever. You can’t tell me what to do. And not that’s it’s any of your business since we’re professionals, but I am staying here.” You hid a yawn behind your hand and sat upright, rubbing the crick in your neck did little to soothe the ache.

Geto wasn’t good at apologizing but with the way you avoided him like it plague it was now or never. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said any of that. Everyone thinks you’re a great teacher. Shoko said you’re trying to transfer to Kyoto, but you just got here.”

You wanted to ignore him again, you wanted to throw him out of your office and sleep on your couch with the throw blanket you were grateful you kept on the back cushions. But he struck a nerve and your lip wobbled, “Doesn’t matter. You said it yourself people don’t take me seriously here, if I go to Kyoto they won’t think I’m a pushover there. It’ll open up a job for someone else who can help better than I can.” You were doing everything you could to hold yourself together, going as far as wrapping your arms around your midsection for comfort. “Thanks for apologizing but you said your piece and I said mine so can you go? I really just want to sleep right now.”

“I was wrong. You’re not a pushover. I don’t let people in easily and I took you for granted and then I got jealous and lashed out.” Ah shit, he said too much. But if being honest might get you to stay then he might as well go for it.

“Jealous?” You sounded so small and tired- it hurt his heart.

“I thought…” he tipped his head back with a groan. “You can make fun of me if you want after this, it’s dumb and not my business anyway. But I thought you were interested in Gojo and it irritated me. The more I saw you two together the more I wanted to block you out-” he stopped when we started giggling. Your tears spilled over and he didn’t know if you were crying because you were laughing or not. “You could’ve at least waited until I left I room to laugh but I suppose I deserve it.”

You shook your head and tried to get yourself under control. “No- no it’s not that. You’re just an idiot, I was-” you had to take another few breaths before you started giggling again. “I was hanging out with Shoko and Gojo so much because we’re friends and they knew I had feelings for you. Oh god this is hilarious.”

He pulled your hand into his, “You really mean that?”

You nodded and finally regulated your breathing. It was enough for him. He leaned up and kissed you.

Your surprised squeak made him smile against your lips and then you were kissing him back. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned into him more- when you broke apart he was holding your face in his hands and wiping away your remaining tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being an ass. I’m sorry you were the one picking up my slack and I’m sorry I made you stop smiling- I really miss your smile.”

“Really?” The upturn of your lips, though not a full smile, already made him feel warmer than he had in weeks.

“Really, it’s like sunshine. You look like you haven’t been sleeping for a while though, you’re a little zombie.”

You snorted a little laugh, it made him smile. “I’ve been working on ways to improve my teaching and looking for apartments in Kyoto. Do you know how hard it is to find an apartment in Kyoto on a teacher’s salary? It’s hard to relax.”

“Poor baby,” you could tell he wasn’t mocking you, he really felt bad and wanted to make it better. He stood and lifted you onto your desk- the change of position made you dizzy. How did he do that so fast? “How about you stop looking for apartments and I’ll make it up to you.” He kissed both of your cheeks before trailing them down your jaw and neck.

It lit you on fire, “Make it up to me?”

“Yeah baby, I’ll make it up to you good.” His hand laid on your upper thigh and gently started pushing your skirt up. “This okay? I’ll stop no problem if you want.”

You were already squirming for him. A tall, strong man you had feelings for, who you just made up with, who could crush you like a grape was between your legs and wanted to make it up to you. Why would you ever say no? “Please don’t stop?” You sounded more desperate than you’d like but it spurred him on.

“Hold on to me.” You did as he asked; he picked you up, sat you on the couch and got on his knees in front of you.

“What’re you doing I thought-” oh god.

He lifted your skirt to your waist and massaged along your thighs until he reached the edge of your panties, he played with the lace and looked up at you for permission with his blown pupils, he needed you so badly.

You nodded at him to continue and he was fast. You barely had to lift your hips before you were bare, Geto spread your legs and you had a flash of insecurity.

“Fuck you’re so pretty down here, so wet f’me.” He looked entranced by the sight of you. Insecurity waved.

He didn’t hesitate to hold your thighs in place and duck his head to give the first hint of pleasure to your clit, he moaned almost louder than you did. You heard him mutter something like “fuck” before he attacked himself to your cunt, eating like he’d been starved his entire life.

It was embarrassing how fast you were on the edge, you tried to push his head back but he growled. “God, m’already worked up. Gonna cum too soon.” Your face was red from the stimulation and the mortification.

“Not too soon-” he got distracted and went back to eating you out until you nudged him again. “I want it, s’mine, let me have it. Need to feel you cum- fuck ya later I just need to taste you so bad fuck…”

You didn’t disturb him again, he held onto you tighter when you started shaking. He slipped a finger into you and found your sensitive spot. You were so tight and wet for him it was driving him crazy.

“Suguru! Gonna- gonna!”

He didn’t let up at all, insistently licking and sucking your clit, rubbing you perfectly from the inside- you clamped your thighs around his head and came harder than you could ever remember.

The finger withdrew after a minute, letting you ride your orgasm out with something to clench on. His mouth however, didn’t stop. Careful to avoid overstimulating you, he cleaned you up with his own tongue.

Your body was boneless, dead weight and ready to fucking sleep but that wouldn’t be fair. You reached out for him and he held your hand in his clean one. “What’s wrong?”

Your eyes were closed but you just knew he was looking at you concerned. “W’about you?”

It took him a minute to realize what you meant and he chuckled, “No baby, I was making it up to you remember?” You were too tired to remember.

You shook your head and he adjusted your skirt to pull it down. “Let me clean up and I’ll take you home, yeah?”

“Too tired, don’t want y’too leave.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave you alone, you’re coming with me. I got a comfortable bed and a big tub for a soak with your name on it. Hold onto me again, I’ll carry you.”

You held onto him like a koala while he grabbed your purse and coat, draping it over you to keep you warm. The rain finally came to a drizzle, it was good timing on Mother Nature’s part.

After he grabbed his own keys he had you buckled in the passenger seat with the seat heater on blast. He didn’t like that you were shivering.

Geto was more than happy. Not only were you canceling your transfer, you were his now.

In his heart, he knew deep down Gojo was going to tease him relentlessly.

Worth it.

Thinking about making a request? Check my bio to see if they’re open! <3

[blood-grove]

(Pup) Kid stuck in tree

dog!ghost + child!reader

662 words

tw; none

summary; humans little blunt claws can get them anywhere (maybe we should buy locks or chop down trees)

God fucking damn it.

What is with his weird human thing and getting into places they shouldn't be.

First off, They fucking somehow ended up in the garage and on top of one of the highest shelves almost all of Nik's things strewn about on the floor all because Price had revoked some of there toys.

Another thing apparently humans even when there as young as Pup are very clever and are quick to find out where they hid the sweets he remember Gaz's tired expression in the early morning as he dragged them back to there room by the scruff Pup later on getting a scolding. And now Ghost felt like he should give up now,

Staring up into the tree that the fucking pup had gotten themselves into, How? He didn't fuckin' know but they were stuck whimpering like a newborn as he sighed trotting over.

"How the hell did you climb this.." Ghost groaned as he looked around the tree looking for some possible way they used there blunt little claws and flat feet to get up there. "I- I don't knoww-" You whined sniffling as you clung onto the thick branch refusing to look down trembling.

Ghost sighed heavily as he got a good look at where they were as he propped himself up on his hind legs front ones supporting himself against the tree taking a moment to consider his options,

He could one go and get anyone fucking else to deal with this,

Two leave them there (Heh),

And three have pity on the idiotic Pup and help them down..somehow.

Two sounds pretty good.

So why was he climbing the tree claws digging into the tough bark using the stronger branches to help his ascend pulling himself onto the branch they had clung too rolling his eyes ever so slightly flinching as they let go of the branch and clung onto me.

"T-Thank you!-"

"Don't thank me we haven't even gotten down.." "Oh"

Yeah to say the least he didn't plan this out well he had no idea how he'd guide them down maybe carry them? No they were almost as heavy as e was the added weight would make any grip he had.

To say the least he was thoroughly embarrassed as Gaz let up the self rising ladder, In other news Soap was also in the tree with them now daft bastard had gotten spooked his excuse for coming up and getting stuck as well (also for adding pressure to the branch Ghost doubt could hold much) was that we looked like two giant cats and not wanting a repeat of what happened back a few months ago he had to check first.

I think I may retire I'm getting to old for this shit Pup was at least more grateful than Soap both of them were basically children.

Thought it was nice to see a little drawing of him with a cape at his door the next morning, He tucked it away in his drawer and he stretched getting on with his 'absurd' early morning routine no one should be awake really other than Price but all he found was Pup in the main room asleep having clearly tried to stay awake long enough to see him if the several drawings on him were a clue.

Picking Pup up was relatively easy trying not to wake them as he carried them by the scruff back to there bed pulling the covers over them and the extra ones too the lack of fur always made them worry about the upcoming winter months they'd been having special clothes made for them of course but that was a surprise.

What also was a surprise was Pups arms wrapping around him gently mumbling about staying, Which he thought about and said no.

Laying down as they lightly hugged him it didn't take much for them to fall asleep entirely.

Maybe he could sleep in for another hour.

[beansricejc]

John Wick x F!Reader: Fake It

summary: AU, in a post apocalyptic world, John has assigned himself a daunting task. he buys you off of a group of raiders, and you don’t necessarily have a choice when he has you help with his mission. in fact, it’s either your help, or his wrath. 5382 words.

warnings: unprotected piv, NONcon, fuck or die, breeding k!nk, creampie, cursing, threats of violence, firearms, human trafficking, forced breeding, kidnapping. Dead Dove, Do Not Eat! Minors DNI. not proofread!

author’s note: here’s to my darkest yet, if you like this one, please support me by liking and reblogging, Ty!

The infection spread efficiently and ruthlessly. Originating at a scientific testing facility in Toronto, it didn’t take very long for the world to go to shit. Zombies made life a hell of a lot worse for everyone on the planet.

And 5 years later, the population declined by 70 percent. Everyone surviving now was either in some sort of encampment, a survivor in the wasteland, or, in John’s case, in a repopulation center.

About fifty miles north of Rock Springs, Wyoming, is a fortification built by John and as the group of men that all had the same goal.

Survive.

Soon enough, they made a name for themselves after trading with raiders who would snatch up female survivors. John was picky. They needed to be healthy, with good genetics, and the ability to carry a child. Just because you had a pussy didn’t just mean free access to the compound, there were standards.

So when a truck full of raiders pulled up to the large gates of John’s fortress and dragged you out of it, John’s immediately intrigued. You’re kicking and screaming into the duct tape gag over your lips, definitely not making it easy for the three burly men to hoist you over for John to inspect you.

Your eyes widen at the middle aged man with long hair, it’s slicked back in a ponytail and he’s got a full beard. He honestly reminds you of those vinyl hipsters before the infection, but meaner.

His sharp brown eyes scan your body, he likes what he sees. Of course you don’t know this, no one does, for John is a master at hiding his emotions.

“She’ll do.” John states plainly, standing up straight and facing the raiders. ‘She’ll do’ was the understatement of the year, he was absolutely attracted to you. Of course he can’t let that show, otherwise the raiders will demand more items to trade you for.

“100 rounds of 9 millimeter ammunition, and four medical packs. I’ll even throw in three gallons of gasoline.” John offers, the raiders immediately grunt in agreement, the leader shaking John’s hand to seal the deal.

You’re still kicking and struggling against your restraints, refusing to be auctioned off like a damn cow. Oh if only you knew what you were in for.

In reality, John has never used his own sperm for his repopulation project. It’s only been his own men, which he has plenty of. His fortification’s ratio of women to men is 1:15, which just goes to show how rare females are in the apocalypse. Women are a hot commodity, and no amount of feminist waves are going to stop that. Men will be men, thirsting over the opposite sex, and once they lay their eyes on one? They’ll stop at nothing to get a piece.

Revolting to think about but it’s just the truth. It is the end of the world after all.

“Take her to my quarters. Now.” John orders his group of men, which two of them scoop you up from the dirt road as you squirm and scream into your gag. John sees your futile determination, and it lights a fire within him.

If he’s not careful, he’s going to get hard in front of everyone at the gate.

John cleared his throat and walked ahead, trying to think of quite literally anything else as he attempted to get his mind off of you, and hearing your muffled pleas for mercy don’t help him in the slightest. A tingle trickles down his long spine, and the little hairs on his arm rise as goosebumps begin to form, just from hearing your voice.

“Shit.” He murmured to himself, as he books it to the nearest building, he needs to distract himself quickly.

-

John’s men heave you into his personal cabin, plopping you down on the comfy vintage looking couch in the corner. You grunt and the men scurry out of the cabin. They know better than to look at John’s new prize.

Little do any of them know, you’re a fighter. Surviving in the wasteland alone is an impressive feat. A feat you have only overcome because you’re tough as hell. You can hunt, scavenge, shoot, stab, whatever it takes to survive, you can do it. The only reason why you’re here in the first place is because 5 grimy raiders jumped you while you were resting in an abandoned building. You felt pathetic, now in the predicament of a lifetime.

There were a few options.

You knew this fancy trick where you could dislocate your own shoulder blades in order to force your arms to be in front of you instead of being bound from behind. Painful but quick, then you could take your gag off and then thrust your arms into your own torso. The fast motion and force would tear the tape from your hands.

But then there were all of the men outside. There was about, what? 30, 40 men from what you could count when the two guards brought you inside. There were women too, not very many though, and for some odd reason, they were all pregnant.

Noticeably so.

You were good at killing, but 40 all at once? You didn’t have a chance in hell.

So, either a suicide mission, or you could wait it out and see what the hell was going on.

You decide on the latter.

Not to mention, those raiders stole all of the equipment and weapons that you had. So that fucking sucks.

Waiting it out sucks too. You may or may not have dozed off on the old comfy couch, your taped face resting against the floral patterned fabric while you rested. Awoken only by the soft sound of the wooden door creaking open, you decided to fake being asleep. Maybe it would give some sort of insight on what the hell was going to happen to you.

John’s boots squeak over the wooden flooring, he groans and immediately goes for the large glass bottle that was sealed underneath the small sink in his cabin.

John’s living space is very nice compared to the other residents in his compound. It’s about 750 square feet of a cabin that looks like it’s straight from the 70s. The small home is of course run on a solar powered generator, providing semi luxury living in the apocalypse.

You noticed this when you were scanning the place for any noticeable weapons to use to your advantage. Unfortunately there wasn’t much.

Nothing out in the open anyway. You continue to fake sleep, laying down on the couch with your pretty eyes closed.

John grunts as he flips through a stack of papers, figuring you would be asleep when he arrived. He knows you’ve been tied up in here for about three hours. The man takes a few steps over towards the couch, looking over it and staring at your lying figure. His heart rate goes up by a few beats.

“Gorgeous, might have to keep you for myself.” John mumbles under his breath, you catch the comment.

John looks at his papers, scribbling a few words down. While he looks at your sleeping face, he debates on whether to wake you up or not. He does. John’s large and calloused hand runs through your hair for a moment, and now you can’t help but open your eyes. This gives you a good time to study your captor’s facial features, he’s towering over you at the moment.

His back bends over and his hand that rubbed your head is now ripping the duct tape off of your mouth as if it were a bandaid. Yelping, you glare at him and clench your jaw.

“Hey shithead, that fucking hurt!” You cough out, gritting your teeth. His stoic expression seemed to lighten for a whole three seconds before he jotted something down on that stack of papers, before sitting in a recliner that was against a wall.

His jeans rub against the leather of the seat, and his brown eyes never leave you, paying even more attention when you manage to wriggle your way up into somewhat of a seated position.

“You’re probably wondering what you’re doing here.” John’s voice is gravelly, and he even seems a bit awkward. “I’m sorry, I typically don’t do anything with intake. Made an exception this time.”

You frown, more confused than anything.

John’s hands fumble with the stack of papers that’s in his hands, as he goes over a few pages before looking up at you again.

“Can I start with your name?”

Blinking a few times, it wasn’t what you were expecting. You could tell him a lie but for some reason your conscious is screaming at you to tell the truth.

So you do, your first name falls from your lips as if you’re talking to a trusted peer. Last names don’t matter anymore in the apocalypse, it’s just one of those things that fell off of the importance scale.

John hums out loud, nodding as he writes your name down, crossing his legs.

“Age?”

You tell him the truth. His bottom lip sticks out a bit and he nodded, jotting that down as well.

“Still have some time left.” John breathes out, so softly that you can’t even hear him.

“Marital status?”

You frown again.

“Why does it matter?” you asked, looking at John with this dumbfounded expression. He sighs.

“Just, whatever it was before the infection.” John elaborates. Still. It was quite irrelevant. At least to you.

“Engaged.” You tell him, honesty is the best policy here. “Died a few years ago.”

John paused before writing anything down.

“Sorry to hear that.” John apologizes, his expression is quite somber, as if he’s recalling bad memories. His canine tooth is digging into his tongue. “Any allergies?”

This strange interrogation went on for about 25 minutes, with answers you provided and small talk in between. You don’t know why but you’re starting to feel a bit more comfortable around him.

“Let me get to the chase.” John sighed, he had told you his name in the middle of your conversation, and it’s been nice having a name to put next to his face. It was so simple and so fitting. John.

“You have two options. Both are similar but one is much nicer than the other.” John tells you, as the hairs on your neck stand up. Your fingers twitch from behind, it’s hard to contain your anxiousness when you’re bound.

“You’re a woman that’s in excellent health, a diamond in the rough, really. Your age is decent for it as well.” John mentions. “You’re also such a sight for sore eyes. I haven’t even seen anyone come in here that was close to looking like you.” He sighs.

Silence fills the room as we stare at each other.

“Our goal at my compound is to do our best to repopulate the country, and to inspire other groups to do as we do.” He explains further. “We have an extensive human breeding program in our compound. It’s a requirement for the females that are brought here to participate.”

During his entire ramble his dark eyes have been ogling your legs and hips.

“So, here are your options.” He starts.

You can’t even fucking believe what you’re hearing right now. The pure shock is causing a ringing in your ears, and you barely pick up what he’s telling you next. John stands from his recliner and takes a few steps towards you.

“I’ll assign you to a random member of our community. You’ll live with him, and he’ll be attempting to conceive with you, my men aren’t known really for being all too kind or gentle.” John says, clasping his hands in front of him.

Your heart is racing and John notices the panic running through your body.

“If they don’t take a liking to you after you reach conception, we’ll just send you to live with the other women on the other side of the fortress.” John shrugs, tapping his boot restlessly on the cabin floor. “Or…” his large hand grabs your chin and lifts it to force you to look up at him.

His rough feeling thumb rolls over your bottom lip, the gears in his head turning while he takes a deep breath. “I can keep you for myself.”

John’s taking in every aspect of your body language and face, he’s noticing the way you are just barely trembling under his touch. He’s really hoping you don’t notice his cock twitch in his pants. He’s gotta get ahold of himself, honestly, he’s a grown man. Why are you making him feel like a horny teenager all over again?

You’re going over the options in your head, while still attempting to find anything to bash John over the head with. But your arms are still bound behind your back. As it stands, you’re completely at the mercy of the long haired man who’s practically drooling over you.

Your pretty eyes blink up at him as your mind races, your heart thumps, it feels like you might even pass out. Was this even real? This had to be a nightmare, right?! Right. There was absolutely no way you were traded for some bullets, gasoline, and a first aid kit and dragged into a human breeding camp, right? All you had to do was wake up.

Wake up. Come on.

Fucking wake up.

Except it was all too real, proven to you by the lingering sting on your mouth from the ripped duct tape. Your lip was even bleeding a bit still from the injury.

Shit.

“I wanna show you how good I am.” John interrupts your rampant train of thought, and snaps you back into your hell hole of a reality. His hand clenches a bit harder against your face, thumb shoving inside of your mouth once you open it to respond to him. This move gives you no time to even create words, instead it gives off a risqué image. An image John is enjoying purely for himself, of his large thumb in between your pretty pink lips. John grunts.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” John asks rhetorically. “God you’re stunning, your parents really blessed you with good genetics.”

You have no idea what the hell you should do, so you do what you think would be best in this scenario.

You suck his thumb. The act in itself is suggestive, but with your pretty eyes batting up at him, your lips around his finger, and a slight bob of your head.

You have John in a frenzy. There’s a bead of sweat that even rolls down the back of his neck, as his breath hitches to the sight of you taking his finger into your lips.

“We could make such good looking children.” John groans at the sight of you. “Please, just, oh god.” His eyes roll to the back of his head. John pulls his thumb from your mouth as he catches his breath.

He’s been anticipating finding the right woman to come along. Delusional as he currently is, he thinks he’s been waiting all of these years just to meet you. It has to be fate, right? You’re just so perfect to him.

“Just, ugh, fuck it.” John growls, his right hand latched onto your throat as he forcibly kissed your dry lips. You gasp in surprise, as his grip on your throat becomes tighter.

“Wa-wait!” you choke out, it doesn’t stop him. He easily grabs your body and brings it to his bed, tossing you onto the mattress. You sit up quickly, but then hear a click, the feeling of cold metal pressing against your head makes you freeze.

Looking up, John’s smiling down at you, his heart fluttering at the mere sight of you. He’s holding a pistol straight to your temple, clicking his tongue at you while your pretty eyes widen at the sudden tension change.

“No waiting, sweetpea.” John grumbles as you notice the handgun safety is off. Shit. “You’re gonna cooperate. I’m not going to let you make that choice, there’s no way in hell I’m letting my men breed you.”

The gun is still being pressed against your skull as he grabs a book from his bedside table, he flips through a few pages and reads the contents over. You’re not able to see what he’s reading since you don’t dare make any sudden movements. His eyes are still on the book while he asks you a question.

“When did you last menstruate?”

You’re still in shock from everything he’s said so far, and this certainly didn’t help.

“Uh, what?” you can’t even comprehend the fact that he asked you such a personal question.

John pressed the gun to your head harder. “Answer me!” he yelled, frustrated at your stalling. John’s deep and frightening voice bellows off of the wooden walls of his cabin, making you wince.

“I think like, 2 and a half weeks ago?” you shakily reply, it feels like you’re about to pass out from the chaotic situation at hand.

He hums affirmatively and grabs a knife, flicking it open.

“No, no please! Please I-“

He goes to cut the tape off from your wrists, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the trash nearby. John chuckles at your sudden fear as he continues to hold the gun to your head.

“I haven’t made love to anyone since my wife died.” John croaked out, his eyes looking a little empty and off to the distance as he spoke. He shakes the firearm a bit to intimidate you a bit. As if you’re not already. There’s a gentle smile that plays on his lips and a crazed glint in his brown eyes.

“I never partook in the repopulation process, I just could never see myself making love to any of those other women.” He informs you. “But, you? You’re just,” he takes a sharp inhale and bites his lip. “I think I can manage to be passionate with you.” John whispers, rubbing the back of his neck and nodding to himself. “You're going to reciprocate. Like we’ve known each other for years. And you’re going to do a good job, if not,” he taps the barrel of the gun against your head. You’re trembling beneath him.

“Think you can do that for me?” John asks, looking back at his book and flipping through some pages.

You reluctantly nod, battling the urge to scream and fight for your life. He gives you that same deranged but soft smile, sighing in relief as if he was expecting you to say no, as if there wasn’t the threat of death in the air.

“By the way,” he sighs. “My name’s John.”

You nod awkwardly, as he looks over his book for a few more moments.

“The book says that missionary is the position that has the most success in conceiving.” John mentions, as the reality sets in. This is actually happening. You feel like your world is collapsing in on itself. “Really sell it to me; okay? I’d hate to shoot you.”

All you can do is force a nervous smile and nod, before he sets his firearm down on the bedside table. John continued to stare at you before he cleared his throat.

“Well? Take your clothes off for me, sweet pea.”

You’re slightly disgusted that you’re even listening to the orders that John is giving you. As if you actually have known him for years now. As if you loved him. Your stomach feels sick, you attempt to hide your disdain as you quickly peel off your long sleeve shirt, before John places his hand on your arm before you can pull it over your head.

“Put it back on.”

You let out a deep exhale through your nose, eyebrows furrowing, but you obey. Slipping the shirt back over your body.

“I changed my mind. Stand up.” John commands, as he switches positions, sitting where you were on the bed, as you rise. “Do a strip tease for me.”

He had to be fucking with you now. So you frown and grimace at the thought.

“You’re kidding.” you laugh.

John reaches for his gun.

“Okay! Okay, fine.” You grunt, sighing. You didn’t even know how to do such a thing. John smiles wickedly, leaning back a bit on his bed as you turn around from him. Your hands slowly lift your shirt up, and over your head, John’s staring at your bare skin while the shirt drops to the floor. He bites the inside of his cheek while his shaft presses against his jeans.

You undress to only your undergarments, and you quite literally have no idea what to do next. You really don’t want to wing it and anger him, but you have a feeling if he keeps guiding you through it he’ll lose his patience. So you turn around, surprised to see John with his belt and pants undone.

His large hand is giving his own cock a few long strokes. Speaking of long.

You’re terrified of what that thing is going to do to you tonight. The tip is thick in itself, that’s the spot John’s hand seems to give the most attention. He’s even bucking his hips and thrusting upwards into the grip of his own hand, his eyes never leaving your body.

“Sell it to me. Don’t make me question it. If you don’t, I’ll fucking kill you.” John moans, and your heartbeat races. You notice his free hand is gripping his gun that’s sitting on the mattress.

It’s now or never.

You’ve done this a few times before, it’s been years, but you can probably fake it pretty well. Right?

You saunter up to him, mustering up all of the energy in your body to act this out as realistically as you can.

It’s not like John was ugly. He had a handsome face, you can tell he’s in shape, with those brown eyes that seem to stare into your soul. And you have a thing for big noses anyway. Not to mention, his cock looks really nice.

Alright. You got this.

You straddle his waist, biting your plump lip and taking John’s shirt for him.

“Can’t just have me take my clothes off without you doing the same. Or it’s not fair.” You tease, giggling while your small hand grazes John’s lower shaft in a playful manner, pulling your hand away just as quick.

You were right. He is in shape. He’s lean with a muscular figure, alright, you’ll admit it, he’s attractive. This will help sell it.

“John, baby…” you mew, batting your eyelashes. His breathing gets heavier when you call him that. Okay, that’s good. He likes that.

“You should touch me instead.” you tell him softly, removing his hand from his cock and moving it to your breasts. John even lets go of his gun to unclasp your bra from behind your back. Your nipples harden from the cool cabin air hitting them, and John’s fingertips run over both of them.

“My pretty girl,” he grunts. John’s hands travel down to your hips and he grabs them with a killer grip. You try your best not to wince, but you know damn well there’s going to be bruises all over your after this.

“Our baby’s going to be beautiful…” he mumbles as his lips attach themselves to your neck, planting kisses on your throat. One of his hands trace down to your underwear, sliding it to the side a bit as his finger gently moves onto your clit. You jerk a bit from the sudden pressure, John chuckles at your reaction and from how wet you are, despite him forcing you to go through this.

“Oh yeah. You’re lucky that I make so much cum. It makes this process so much easier.” John tells you, and for some reason, it makes your stomach jump.

A whimper escapes you as he massages your sensitive nub, your head burying itself in the crook of his neck and collarbone, you’re instinctively grinding yourself against his finger.

You hate to admit it but this feels fantastic. It’s been years since you’ve even touched someone else like this. Shit, it’s the end of the world, the last thing that’s been on your mind was a good fuck.

That’s when you feel the gun against your chest this time. The barrel is ice cold compared to John’s flesh, and you look into John’s eyes as he continues to rub your clit.

“Say it.” John demands, finger on the trigger, with that same deranged twinkle in his brown eyes.

“S-say what?” You blubber out in between needy moans. John frowns.

“You know what I mean. Say it like you mean it.” He orders. He must get off on this. John’s gotta get off on having a helpless woman in his arms, with the threat of her losing her life, while also pleasuring her to the brink of euphoria.

You know what he means. But those three words, they’re important. You can’t just throw those around at every crazed man that insists on it. They’re reserved for people who actually deserve it.

Well, you are pretending after all.

The metal digs harder into your upper breast, and you grunt.

“John, I love you.”

He tossed the gun onto the floor and grabbed you closer, kissing you frantically as he took off the rest of his clothing, switching positions so he’s now on top of you.

You hate yourself for liking the way he smells. For the way you moan whenever he touches you in a pleasurable way. You don’t want a child, let alone want a child with an insane, breeding obsessed man.

John’s breathing is ragged while he lifts your hips up, yanking your thong off and sliding a pillow under the small of your back.

“Gravity, it helps sperm reach the cervix.” John musters out in between sloppy kisses between your neck, jaw, and mouth. “Won’t last long, it’s been years since I’ve done this.” he says, quickly moving his cock towards your mouth as you’re pinned down to his mattress. “Come on.”

You unhappily oblige. Opening your mouth to let his dick travel through your lips and down your throat. Swirling your tongue quickly around the shaft as he groans in pleasure from above, pulling himself out quickly. Strings of your saliva hang from his tip as he spreads around the moisture all around his erection. He lines himself up with your cunt, spreading your legs and even lifting each one onto his shoulders.

Fear sets in as you know he’s going to go deep. John shudders in pure ecstasy as he inserts his tip into you, the natural lube helps but it’s been far too long, your initial reaction is to dig your nails into his muscular back and wince.

It’s weird, John seems to actually care about your pleasure. Which in itself is odd since he’s a complete stranger, with only one goal in mind at the moment. He peers down at you, reading your facial expressions, before his thumb lightly kneads your clit once again.

His other hand goes towards your face, stroking your warm and flushed cheek as he kisses your calf that’s placed on his shoulder. Your cunt is now in a mixture of pain and pleasure, confusing you as grunts and whimpers leave your mouth.

“That better? When I do that?” John questions, his long hair draping over his eyes.

You nod.

John begins to thrust, slow and shallow, actually allowing you to adjust to his size. “Say it again, pretty girl.” he grumbled, pushing deeper into your tight cunt. You yelp from the sheer girth that is his cock, nails still making wounds into his flesh.

“I love you! I love you, John!” you cry out, his fingers moving faster on your clit while his thrusts quicken. You still have to sell it to him, so you reach your small hands up to his face and pull him into your own, slamming your lips onto his. You can help but moan loudly against his lips, since the slight repositioning of his body has given him even deeper access to your pussy.

But even this, you can’t fake. Your moans and pleads for more are all too real. And by the way John is wickedly smiling down at you, he can tell. Your tits bounce in rhythm to his movements, as he goes faster, chasing his own climax.

While he pounds into you, you can feel yourself getting close. Your legs instinctively tighten around John’s shoulders as you wheeze. John puts his large hand over your womb, feeling his bulge move in and out of you as he fucks you. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, drawing blood, going absolutely feral at the thought of his seed working it’s way inside of you.

“You’re gonna be my good little breeding doll, aren’t ya? It’s for the greater good, sweetpea.” John moans out, while sweat drips from his forehead. “For the greater good, greater good,” He’s repeating the phrase to himself as he fucks into you, his balls smacking the cusp of your cunt and ass. You can hardly handle the sheer overstimulation you’re experiencing, barely realizing he’s speaking to you.

“Tell me you love me, sweetheart.” John growls. “Be a good little wife, come on now.”

You feel your orgasm drawing closer the faster he goes. You’ve definitely had good sex but nothing like this. It was wrong. You didn’t want it. You don’t even know this man. Tears brimmed your eyelids as you made unhinged noises underneath him.

“I, I l-love you, J-John,” you manage to sputter out, suddenly, you’re seeing double since your eyes are crossing, your orgasm hitting you like a brick.

Your cunt clenched around John’s cock, sending him over the edge. He holds you closer to his large muscular frame, his arms swimming under your back and squeezing you tight. John grunts and moans as he cums, panting as he fills you with it.

“That’s right, baby doll, take my seed, that’s it.” John moans, keeping himself buried deep into your pussy as it finishes dripping out of him. Setting you back down on the mattress, John notices your body that’s completely limp from your cock drunk state. You can hardly move but that doesn’t stop you from feeling John’s cum shooting inside of you.

He strokes your cheek gently and smiles, sucking the blood from his lip and sighing.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” John asks, planting messy kisses on your bare chest and torso, caressing your stomach as he does so. He pulls out, keeping your thighs and hips elevated on the pillow beneath you.

You can hardly think, hell, you can hardly breathe. The weight of the situation sets in your chest but you can’t deal with the emotional repercussions of it at the moment. All you can think of is that gun that’s on the bedside table.

You hate that he made you cum so easily.

You hate the feeling of his cum dripping further into your cunt.

You hate that you didn’t just let him shoot you in the damn head.

You hate that he has a pretty smile and pretty eyes, no matter how demented they look.

You fucking hate that you’re probably going to miss your next period.

You swear you’re gonna be sick.

John is sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over to grab his underwear and pants. Against your better judgement, your arm thrashes towards the firearm on the table, and you graze the barrel against the back of his skull of long dark hair. To your surprise, he doesn’t budge, and when your small finger pulls the trigger…

Click.

Click.

Another damn click.

You frown, pressing the magazine release button, only to realize it has been empty the entire time.

Your hands shake with the hunk of metal in them, your jaw clenching.

You swear you’re seeing red, as John lets out a deep throaty laugh from above.

It’s that handsome shit eating grin again.

Pearly whites accompanied by his five o’clock shadow, he’s already tied his long hair back and is even giving you a nod of appreciation.

“Oh, now I know I chose the right woman to carry my child.”

[wildgeese98]

This episode made a lot about Alice click into place for me. A big part of her deal is that she's lonely and she can't stand being lonely. Alice is outgoing, gregarious, I wouldn't call her friendly exactly, but she's personable and likes being around people. She wants to hang out at the pub. She wants to shoot the shit and joke around with people. She clearly misses Teddy, the only person at the OIAR she was properly friendly with and she's obviously upset that he's been lowkey ghosting her since he quit.

She's the one who went and tried to get Colin back. Despite claiming not to like her, she can't seem to leave Gwen alone and has some genuine care and concern for her. I know people will come at that from a dyhard angle but it could also just be that Alice is a genuinely caring person who is protective of "her people". Family wise she's only got her brother who seems to be away on tour a lot.

Working night shift is naturally isolating. It's obviously tough on someone like her. She got Sam hired because with Teddy leaving she desperately needed a friend. She, maybe naively, thought she could protect him. She thought she'd be able to teach him her strategy for ignoring the horrors and they'd be work buds and hang out and she wouldn't have to be so horribly alone. She wasn't counting on Freddy and Celia and day one Magnus Institute name drops.

Also, just maybe, she's kind of been failing to see Sam as a whole, complex person. She's so eager to have her work friend that she's failed to recognize that Sam isn't the same guy he was when they were together. He's got new baggage now and whatever happened in their relationship he's not interested in repeating it.

She's mentioned so many times now the people who "went weird" on the job. I can't help imagining that some of those people were her friends, and she's watched over and over as people she cares about lose themselves obsessing over the horrors. How she loses them before they're even properly gone. Over and over the pattern repeats and she's alone again. Now she's watching it happen again but this time it's worse because it's Sam and she brought him in and thought she could protect him. Her increasingly desperate attempts are already pushing him away and that spectre of loneliness is looming once again.

Just, thinking too hard about Alice makes me want to cry a little. She's kind of in a hell of her own making that she's struggling against but also refusing to actually try to get out of. She's let the "easy money" and her weird pride at being the only one "immune" to the horrors trap her in this miserable situation. She could leave, but she won't. I still think there's more to why she won't leave, but I do think a lot of it is just stagnation. Accepting the bearably awful over the terrifying uncertainty of the unknown.

[ruwriteshours]

HIT THE BLOCK! SERIES

status: ongoing

summary: It seems as if the group can't catch a break; from having those five seconds of fame, to illegal money lendings to financial issues and now... they're studio is destroyed! Someone is out to get them and they're going to make sure that they'll get those bastards, along with making a name for themselves again... by signing a contract to become ballet teachers? Oh boy, how they've officially lost it.

or in other words..

a group of unprofessional dancers tries to manage a ballet class... who would've thought that it will somehow backfires?

➢ pairing: nct 127! x fem! reader(s)

(each member would have their own love interest so it's not poly)

➢ genre: street dance AU, crack, fluff, cheating, slight angst, toxic friendships, alcohol, swearing, smut (MINORS DNI)

inspired from the movie 'street dance' but VERY loosely based on it.

THE OPENING:

Life always had its ups and downs. It took Lee Taeyong through hell for him to understand. He was reckless and frankly, impulsive. He often thought things ideally, not thinking of the consequences. Afterall, he was only a teenage boy looking for a dream. Moving out when he was barely the legal age, ready to make those dreams come through. Little did he know, that he would make one of the most life-changing decision when he decided to audition to one of the most shittiest companies known to man-kind. Partly an exaggeration, but he would be lying if he said he liked being there.

Moon Taeil had dealt with hard decisions in his life. Leaving university to pursue his passion, not knowing if it would backfire on him.

Newsflash: It totally did!

But he was no quitter, an obstacle perhaps. Taeil tries to be a positive thinker. Practically having his life fall apart, from catching his cheating girlfriend, to blindly following Taeyong in a path to their new journey; consist of illegal gambling, unnecessary fights and late night smoking sessions. But hey, it was better than that shithole. Those nights where he would drink away into total abyss, forgetting about his shitty ex. Indeed, he is no quitter!

Years and years had passed by, Johnny Suh watched people come and go. Those eight years of experience taught him a valueable lesson. People are only temporary and he was not gonna take the chance to warm up to anyone anymore. He was officially done with that shit. You'd think those eight years would've given him some patience but Johnny is having none of it. Of course, it's no suprise for the hot-headed man to not hesitate to curse out his instructor before walking off, following suit with a group of people who share the same frustation: FUCK THIS!

In contrary, Kim Doyoung was the complete opposite. A little too patient for his liking, he hated that he held in most of his emotions. His pride was stronger though, more determined to prove those fuckers that he can take their mistreatment. Even when Johnny had practically forced him to stand up to himself, he refused to stoop low. Well, guess we'll see how tolerable he can get before it all blows up. And it's gonna be hell when it gets to that point.

Did I mention that he was a patient man?

Yuta Nakamoto has always had a flirty exterior. That was when he wanted something he knew he could get. Deep down, he was a master manipulator (of course, for a good cause). He knows his charms and it doesn't hurt to have a little fun with it. It becomes a little too tiring when it becomes easy, Yuta wasn't one to favour something being handed to him in a silver spoon. He wants to fight for it. He wants to have that taste of glory and satisfaction to a challenge. He is a hardworker, if you'd ask me.

Studying abroad, Jung Jaehyun wonders if he had made the right choice. He is a handsome man and a handsome man can make someone disregard their intelligence. He really did wonder if becoming a dancer would strip away his self-worth. The company practically set him up to be this hunky dude with no brains. Girls fawning and drooling on the floor over him. He hated that his job scope included fan service: AND HE'S NOT EVEN AN IDOL. Maybe one day, he'll show them that he is way more than his looks.

Dong Sicheng is hated by all. It's funny considering that it's not like he wanted to be here in the first place. In fact, that thought never crossed his mind until his friend encouraged him to, telling him he needed to let loose for once. He was semi-glad that his friend had pushed him into this path, but he wasn't so sure if he actually wanted it. Barely given the chance for the try-outs and yet was accepted pretty quickly. Maybe that's why he had so many issues with his steps, maybe then, he wouldn't have to deal with the constant insults thrown his way. Oh well, guess he'll have to try harder next time!

Kim Jungwoo was set up to fail. Or so he thinks. He's quite a pessimistic though, it might come as a shock considering his bubbly personality. A replacement, is what he felt. That small chance of recognition is purely by luck and it was very evident from the way everyone seemed to have these look of envy in their eyes. Even when he felt that shred of success, everyone seems to claw it all up and tear it down, giving him nothing but disappointment. Maybe he is a failure, afterall.

Fame comes in easy for some people, Mark Lee is one of those people. The people where other people think that they don't work hard for their position. When in reality, people like Mark are pouring their blood, sweat and tears for it. But in human's selfish nature, they always assume the worst of others. Mark Lee was never an exception and he had to live down to it. Fuck the fact he moved all across states to come here, fuck the fact that he spent nine hours training which, mind you: when he was only sixteen and fuck the fact that he had been hospitalised for weeks because of it. Who cares?

And last but not least, Lee Donghyuck—though would recommend to call him Haechan, youngest of them all. The mood-maker, they say. The jokester is what people think of him. It's not like he minded, until it became too much. He hated that people never took him seriously because of that. Even when he shifted his entire personality, everyone would crack a smile and told him to stop being a wimp. He was more than that too, you know. Well, at least his friends took him seriously and that was enough for him.

No thanks to the company, the group managed to uphold a greater offer for themselves than that shithole ever will. But they couldn't take the full credit, at least the shitty building did something right by bringing them together in the first place. The only thing they did right.

chapter i.

more chapters coming soon...

©ruwriteshours

[bengiyo]

Last Twilight Ep 3 Stray Thoughts

Last time, Mhok began working and was pleased with his salary. He may be rough around the edges, but he was doing his "easy" job. He had some initial friction with Day around moving his things and taking care of the fish, but things came to a head when Day tried to run from strangers seeing his condition. Mhok got triggered, thinking Day might hurt himself, and broke into his room. Mhok got fired, but Porjai came to talk to Day about Mhok putting himself through an exercise to understand Day's disability more and the two have reconciled for now.

I like the two of them straightening Day's room together and understanding the system to help him find things. It's a relief to see Day having fun with it.

The inflatable dino costumes are so silly. This is fun.

Now, Mhok, you know better than to swipe through someone else's pictures.

They saw Day making progress around the house and made him instantly clam back up by suggesting he go back to school.

Mhok's relationship with Porjai is used very well here. I love that she has moved on from Mhok and is happy, so I don't feel bad about her giving perspective and wondering about some jealousy plotline.

I like the pace of the relationship between Mhok and Day so far. Day is already asking Mhok for help on his own.

I will always love teachers who refuse to let students give up on themselves.

Mhok is a good listener and supporter. I like that he doesn't involve himself in the conversations between the family or the teacher, and that he aids Day's attempt to avoid notice.

Said the name of the show. Finish your drinks.

Thank you for keeping the lights on, Oishii.

I like how Mhok plays with the preconceptions that he doesn't know much to encourage Day to figure out some things. It's a very gentle approach that uses Day's own ego to move him forward.

WE HAVE FINALLY USED THE BANGKOK METRO SYSTEM IN A BL. 🎉 IPYTM came close, but we never went inside.

I love that Mhok tried to prank Day with the pink shirt. Later, in the dressing room, we know he's watching out for Day because he confirmed that he knew what was on the shirt he picked.

I like the way the physical tension between them around Day's exposed body is building.

And Day made Mhok get the pink shirt! I love this.

Mhok being sure to include Day in the conversation with the bookstore owner is a great touch. I like that he didn't let Day give up and insisted they find the book today.

Even if it's a bit artificial, I like Mhok slipping the book where Day would find it to help him have a sense of accomplishment since Day had been also sifting through books.

The last page is missing? How will we know the ending? Okay, Aof. I see you.

Increasing the price because he's Mhok's friend was so fun. It's the kind of detail that makes the world feel like it has a history. It was clearly a joke and let Day have fun.

Oh, we were having such a good day, and now Mhok feels like he has to defend Porjai and in a fight against Porjai's two-timing boyfriend. Now Day is lost.

Oh my goodness, did Mhok switch to the pink shirt to make himself more visible? I am going to melt.

Mhok is so ready for people to look down on him that he immediately owned his own history rather than let the mom hold it over him.

Oh shit that was great eye shine from Jimmy when Day started saying how much he appreciates Mhok.

Not sure what all is going on with Night and Day yet, but I like that he came to Mhok's defense after they left the room.

That was a really well done wind down for this episode.

More of Film next week!!

So, I'm really loving this show and so glad that a GMMTV show is back to sound episodic structure. Jimmy and Sea both feel much more attuned to their characters and their chemistry feels a lot easier than their last outing. This is a solid watch

[save-the-villainous-cat]

U or Epic should write villain getting sick from a party and throwing up n hero is there to comfort them and it's totally not like I'm asking that bc my parents r going thru the same thing (nZ I'm sick too i think. Def v tired...)

“How are you feeling?” Considering that the villain was still nearly kissing the toilet seat, it was a rather dumb question. However, the hero felt like a simple “better” or “worse” would help them more than stating the obvious. And they knew the villain understood the politeness in the question.

“…’m good…” Obviously nothing new, that. The denial and refusing help others offered. Even if their relationship was less rocky, the villain didn’t accept much from the hero.

“I’d say this is karma but I don’t believe in it.” They handed the villain the glass of water which the villain actually took from them with shaky hands.

“…always get sick when I party…” The villain sipped on the water, slowly and carefully, for the water the hero had handed them five minutes earlier, didn’t stay in their stomach. But now it seemed better. The worst was over and the hero wondered if the villain was actually improving while simultaneously daring to hope that this was the truth.

The hero couldn’t swallow their laugh. “And how you partied…”

Something between amusement and pity conjured inside the hero. The villain could be a real piece of shit, so seeing them like this, white-knuckled clawing on the toilet was a little fun. But mostly, the hero was pitying them. Being hungover and sick wasn’t fun. And after what they’d done yesterday…

They crouched down and pushed the villain’s hair out of their eyes.

“Take it easy. You’ve barely slept.”

“…didn’t do it for you,” the villain clarified. They’d closed their eyes, leaning against the wall. “They played Spice Girls all night.”

That made the hero smirk.

“I don’t see a problem with that.”

“Punched them because the music sucked, alright?” The villain’s glassy eyes went over the hero again and again, as if they were searching for something. “Didn’t do it for you.”

“Sure…” Though the hero didn’t want to, they had to blush as they remembered how uncomfortable they’d been yesterday. Shame had overwhelmed them as the host made an extremely inappropriate comment about their outfit. It had left the hero with a bitter taste on their tongue and a feeling of being dirty. That kind of dirt they couldn’t just scrub off their skin.

And the villain, drunk and uncontrollable, had punched said individual bloody, resulting in both of them being thrown out. A silent walk to the hero’s apartment had followed, alongside with a night full of vomiting and pushing the villain’s hair out of their sight.

“I’m never gonna drink again,” the villain whispered, their eyes still closed. Both knew that was a lie.

“Are we friends?” the hero asked suddenly. Usually, the hero was the one people looked up to. They were the symbol of hope everyone turned to when all was lost. They were a beacon of courage. They were the one who stood up for everyone.

And yet, the hero realised, no one had ever done the same for them until now. No one had ever defended them like the villain had because everyone expected the hero to fight for themselves.

Though the hero was great at fighting for others, they weren’t quite sure if they could even tell a waiter they’d been served the wrong dish.

“I don’t know,” the villain said. They opened their eyes to find the hero’s. “Are we?”

“I don’t want to be friends,” the hero admitted. The villain seemed to have stopped breathing. They were paler and the hero feared it wasn’t just from throwing up all night.

“Well, there’s your answer, I guess.” The villain laughed humourlessly and it was easy to hear how tired they were. Hell, they hadn’t slept one bit. They looked more than a little weary.

“I want to be more than friends,” the hero said. “I want to be more than this. Whatever this is. Whatever we are.”

Now, it was the villain’s turn to (hide their) smile. The villain leaned their head against the wall again and sighed.

“We will destroy each other,” the villain said. “There is no way around it.”

“Then why did you punch them? Playing Spice Girls isn’t a reason.”

The villain looked at them and some kind of sadness filled their eyes. As if their fate was inevitably tragic. Bound to destroy. It seemed like both were too scared to say a word now.

So, the hero sat down beside the villain.

And the villain took their hand.

[randomficrecss]

My Hero Academia Fic Rec

i’m not super picky with my mha ships so here’s some of my fav fics for bakudeku, kiribaku, and tododeku! enjoy<3

KiriBaku

An Abundance of Penguin Shit by vixensheart

T | 295.1K | 25/25 | AU no quirks, AU animal handler, Slowburn, penguins, panic attacks

Penguins are overrated, in Katsuki's mind. They smell, they're loud, and they shit every ten minutes. How he ended up working with them, he doesn't know, but he hates it.

Okay, so maybe he needed a pay raise. Sue him. That doesn't mean he enjoys it. It's hard to enjoy getting bit every time he so much as looks at a penguin, after all. Let alone when he tries to handle one.

It certainly doesn't help that he keeps getting paired with Kirishima, who's all smiles and way too damn friendly for his own good.

~

Or, when Katsuki works as an animal handler because he's broke and hungry, and inadvertently warms up to both the penguins, and a certain red-haired boy.

I wasn’t looking for love (but then there you were) by dragontrappedinhumanskin

T | 35.5K | 1/1 | AU college, fluff and angst, strangers to lovers, first dates, public transportation, basketball player kirishima

(past child abuse)

Bakugo always fucking hated riding the subway every week, its crowded, loud and he's tired, but then he starts seeing the same redhead every time.

--

Katsuki blinked in disbelief. What the shit, he’s asking to play rock, paper, scissors. Is he fucking five years old? Who can be this stupid?! And he took his hand off the handle, does he want to fall?

Katsuki glared at him, but the redhead just smiled, and his eyes glint with a challenge, and before Katsuki can really think it through he’s taking his free hand and making a fist in front of himself.

The redhead’s smile turned less challenging and more cheerful, and Katsuki decided that this might not be that bad. He’s going to fucking crush him at rock, paper, scissors, even if it’s a stupid game.

neon season by chonideno

T | 26.3K | 1/1 | AU no quirks, road trips, aged up characters, sharing a bed, happy ending

the car is old and the road is long. nothing truly feels real, gas stations are empty, hotel rooms are on another plane of existence, street lights flicker when they walk past them. the fabric of their relationship changes a bit with every new city they drive through, progressively muffling the buzzing static of their thoughts

or how kirishima and bakugou share food, beds, bodies, and refuse to admit they want it to last

slow it down (go easy on me) by newamsterdam

T | 26.9K | 3/3 | time travel, marriage, future fic, angst with a happy ending

It’s at that moment that Bakugou realizes something is very, very wrong. He glances down at himself and sees scars he’s never had before along his arms, little nicks and scratches he’d never have been oblivious to. When he reaches up, his limbs feel longer, and as he staggers to his feet he stands several centimeters taller than he had, last thing he knew. He glances at the mirror, catches sight of his reflection, and screams.

One of the doors on the opposite side of the room bursts open, steam spilling out into the bedroom. A man crosses the room in quick strides, looking around for some enemy he can’t yet see.

No, not just a man. Kirishima.

When a confrontation with a villain throws Bakugou through time, he's forced to face a future he never imagined, and maybe something he can't leave behind.

the easy parts by chonideno

T | 11.6K | 1/1 | hurt/comfort, canon compliant, scars, insecurity, happy ending

Kirishima made it out alive but his body is covered in wounds that won't heal without leaving marks behind. He hides them away from the sight of others, away from his own, and he hates every part of it. Bakugou watches him reduce his own character to a parody of what it used to be, and he can't stand it.

Or how Bakugou and Kirishima learn to deal with these scars, with themselves, with each other.

Tonight, We’re the Sea by idratherhaveyou

M | 60.7K | 11/11 | AU no quirks, slowburn, hurt/comfort, soft, the ocean

Kirishima goes to a quiet seaside town to take care of his grandmother after she has a bad fall. There he meets Bakugou Katsuki and falls in love.

TodoDeku

sore must be the storm by Pouler (poulerslashes)

T | 10.4K | 1/1 | injury, claustrophobia, near death scenario, hurt/comfort, aged up characters, future fic

(past child abuse)

“We were in a fight,” he said.

“Yes,” Todoroki returned.

“And now we’re trapped?”

“Yes.”

“Under a building.”

“So it would seem.”

Two friends share time and words together as they try to keep a dark situation from turning into a hopeless one.

Summer Stars by PitViperOfDoom

T | 61.2K | 13/13 | hurt/comfort, mutual pining

(past child abuse)

It's been judged safe to send the students of UA home to their families for the first three weeks of summer, much to the relief of everyone whose name isn't Todoroki Shouto. Luckily, Midoriya has a solution for him, and Midoriya Inko has a lot of love to give.

i love you like the sun came out by unreemarkable

T | 46.5K | 6/6 | fluff, angst, developing relationship

(reference child abuse)

Todoroki Shouto is untouchable, until he isn't. What comes after goes a little like this.

[In which Todoroki falls, slowly, steadily, with his eyes wide open.]

Hooked On You by Trenchcoatkitten (love this one bc i just started crocheting like 2 months ago!)

T | 23.3K | 3/3 | crochet AU, college students, getting together, quirkless AU

While looking for a way to get a sweater for his dog, Shouto finds that he may be able to make one himself–and his main way to learn how is from a streamer with gnarled, scarred hands and a very kind voice that Shouto is rapidly coming to like.

OR

The crochet au that nobody asked for but I decided to write because it's like chicken soup for the soul.

prince & prince by Authoress

E | 183K | 22/22 | princes AU, arranged marriage, quirks equal royalty, undercover deku, slowbuild, hurt/comfort

Note to self: don't accidentally fall in love with a prince who's in an arranged marriage keeping your kingdoms from declaring war against each other. Especially when you're spying on him as his manservant.

Checks and Balances by indirectkissesiniceland (literally my fav omg, read the whole series!!)

T | 113.8K | 30/30 | AU college, hockey, cheerleaders, slowburn, friends to lovers

(referenced child abuse)

Izuku Midoriya was a competitive cheerleader up until an injury to his hand made tumbling and stunting an impossibility. It's devastating to think that cheer could be out of his life for good—until a pair of enthusiastic classmates show up at Izuku's dorm room with a signup sheet for a new hockey cheerleading club. All that's left to do is learn how exactly hockey works...and try not to think too much about the prodigious freshman right wing, who's just about the most wonderful person Izuku's ever met.

Shouto Todoroki has eaten, slept, and breathed hockey his whole life. He's got a legacy to live up to with his pro-hockey old man, and he's no stranger to the scrutiny and expectations of his coaches and teammates. It's different now that he plays for UA, though. He's got a former pro coach who sees potential in him and teammates who might actually like him as a person. Then there's the cheerleading captain, who's kind and compassionate in a way Shouto's never known—and who won't rest until Shouto stops dismissing hockey as nothing more than his old man's game.

When He Sees Me by Trenchcoatkitten

no rating | 81.1K | 14/14 | AU no quirks, blind midoriya izuku, dancer todoroki shouto, angst with a happy ending

(referenced child abuse)

“Sorry,” Midoriya says. “I tend to get off in my own little world sometimes. Guess I just talk a lot. Hope that won't bother you.”

“It's fine. I don't talk very much.”

Midoriya grins again, lighting up the booth brighter than the light hanging over the table. “We're a perfect pair, then!”

xx

Todoroki Shouto moves in with someone he's never met, just while he's in town for his show. He's never really known what home could mean, and, well, Izuku's the perfect ball of sunshine to show him.

Basically, this is a Blind!Izuku and Dancer!Shouto AU :)

BakuDeku

i was a little bit lost (but i’m not anymore) by starkliquors

E | 58.7K | 9/9 | AU sugar daddy, ABO dynamics, kid fic, sugar daddy bakugo,

Struggling as a single parent sucks. Especially when he had so many other responsibilities. So when Izuku asks his best friend to help him find a better job, he doesn't expect that to lead to becoming the sugar baby of the Symbol of Victory himself, Ground Zero.

No Perfect Time by ThyNameNotSpoken (read part 2 if u like shinsou hitoshi/kaminari denki, it’s so good)

E | 73.9K | 9/9 | hurt/comfort, dad katsuki, quirkless midoriya, eventual smut, single parents

Katsuki Bakugo has lived his life with no regrets. He goes all in. He doesn’t lose. He doesn’t fail.

Until he does.

Now he's stuck taking care of a baby he swore to protect.

But he needs help. He knows now that he can't do everything alone. That's how Izuku comes into his life. . .and never leaves

Baby Face by VersaceThong (classic “who did this to you” fic)

E | 16.5K | 1/1 | friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, trauma, injury, scar, falling in love, sexual content

A thick bloody gash runs from Deku’s right brow, across the bridge of his nose, over his cheek, and all the way down to the edge of his jaw. A sickening, jagged line etched diagonally over his face, wide enough to miss one of his eyes by mere milimeters.

He almost crashes into Deku, grabbing his arm in one hand and his face in the other. Katsuki’s index and thumb press into either side of his jaw, squishing Deku’s cheeks together.

With a voice so low he doesn’t recognize it as his own, Katsuki grinds out his words.

“Who did this to you?”

______________________________

Or; a villain leaves a scar on Deku's face and Katsuki absolutely loses it.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: The Things We Leave behind

Author: Briston

Artist: Merv (fruitmixtape)

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Dean/Cas

Length: 52000

Warnings: minor character death, discussion of historical child abuse, substance use disorder.

Tags: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Divorce Arc, Bad Parent John Winchester, Alcohol Abuse, Rehab, Discussion of Cheating, Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Recovering Alcoholic Dean Winchester

Posting Date: October 31, 2023

Summary: Cas has been getting progressively worried about Dean’s drinking for a while but mentioning it only causes tension in their marriage. The sudden death of Dean’s father brings everything to the breaking point. After a particularly bad fight, his husband seeks solace in whiskey and flirty women in the aftermath. When Cas finds out, he decides he’s had his fill, packs his bags, and leaves. Sam lives in California and has built a career as a well respected addictions counselor. When Cas calls to tell him that Dean is missing on a bender and their marriage is likely over, he drops everything to come to Kansas to find his brother. Dean clearly needs help. Sam convinces him to go with him to California and go through a rehab program. Dean only agrees because Cas refuses to have anything to do with him unless he stops drinking permanently. If he can't, their marriage is finished. Along the way, Sam and Dean discover that their father left them with more than just painful memories of a traumatic childhood. Their half-brother Adam might be exactly who they need to help pull all the fractured pieces together. Cas is giving Dean one last chance to turn things around. Nothing is easy, but maybe it’s still worth fighting for.

Excerpt: “You know the only difference that would have made was that you would be as miserable as he was.” Cas grabbed both of their toothbrushes and toothpaste from the ensuite bathroom, tossing Dean’s his way. “I could’ve tried harder to get him to quit, go to rehab or something.” The toiletries went in the bag with some deodorant, a flannel, and some denim. He shot Cas a dirty look when he heard him huff in exasperation. “How many times did you ask him to quit? Remember when Sam flew in for an intervention? He’s a professional addictions counselor and the only thing that happened was that Sam flew home with a black eye and a refusal to ever come back.” “That’s just because they’re too much alike and can’t stop themselves from fighting.” Dean was starting to raise his voice. Cas wasn’t having any of it. “No,” he knew he sounded snarky as shit but was so very tired of having the same argument about John Winchester’s parenting skills. “It’s because your father is a narcissistic asshole with undiagnosed mental health issues that he self-medicates with whiskey.” Dean walked around the bed to where Cas was and grabbed his arm. The grip wasn’t rough but it wasn’t gentle either. His green eyes were anguished and pleading.   “Don’t say that, he could be dying right now.” Somewhere deep down Cas knew he should be feeling guilty about just how little empathy he had for John right then. He’d feel more compassion for a complete stranger than he did for the man who had hurt Dean again and again, both as a child and as an adult. He felt a small flash of resentment at having to defend Dean from his own negative thinking. “It was always going to be this way with him, Dean. Every counselor you’ve ever had has told you the same thing for years. You are not responsible for fixing him. Don’t kill yourself trying to be accepted by someone who doesn’t even deserve you.”

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

[firecrackerhh]

I sometimes wonder if the reason (if not at least one of many reasons) why antis are so against Hazbin Hotel as a show (besides the obvious anti viv bullshit) is because the very concept of redemption is anathema to them.

They do not believe people can change, and thus the entire premise of hazbin, (and frankly helluva too) is something they literally cannot understand. Refuse to understand at the least.

They don’t care about other people, they do not care if their actions in the name of their own twisted form of justice causes undue suffering, they simply want to be seen as a “good person” without putting in any actual effort to be good.

Sure, it’s easy to find a shitty person online and rake them over the coals for things they’ve said or done years ago. Effortless. But it takes real patience, compassion, perhaps slight firmness but certainly no undue cruelty to convince people they need to change, and even then, that’s a personal journey that others can at most try to influence, but they can’t make people change.

And even if the person they’re bitching about does, it’ll never be good enough.

There’s nothing Viv can do to change these peoples minds, nothing we can do. No matter how many apologies she gives they will never accept it. No matter what we say they will never accept that Viv is not fucking Satan incarnate.

Engaging with these people is a waste of time. Always has been. If Viv is so irredeemable to them, they likely look at us the same way.

I wonder what skeletons people like this must hide, anyone who acts holier than thou about being a “better” person while engaging in reprehensible behavior themselves is a rather irritating form of hypocrisy that boggles my mind.

I am no saint, god knows I’m no fucking saint, but I know what’s right and wrong and antis are wrong every. Single. Time. Any evidence they claim to have of Viv’s awful behavior is either nearly a decade old and thus clearly irrelevant given the people who vouch for her in the present, doctored discord messages (which even if they were real, shows no dates, so we have no idea how old those are to begin with) or the ‘evidence’ is so flimsy that if a lawyer looked at it he would say you’re wasting his time.

I think these people don’t like Viv’s shows because they are morally incompatible with it. They do not believe in redemption. They believe once you’ve fucked up in life, that’s it, no second chances.

I fear what they must think of our current prison population. I fear what they might say.

These people have no moral high ground whatsoever.

They dare to talk shit about the fandom, Viv, anyone else associated with the show, pretending that they’re saying what they’re saying in the name of justice, as if attacking people with their past when they have clearly changed and made apologies is in any way a justifiable thing to do.

They don’t have to like Viv, they really don’t, but calling her irredeemable, calling us irredeemable, is fucking bullshit.

None of us are irredeemable.

The fucking conceit. The fucking gall. The fucking balls on these people.

Everyone has the capacity to make good and bad choices in this life. Yes, many people don’t make the best choices, but that doesn’t mean that they should be stoned to death for the most minor of offenses. For shit that’s long been in the past and apologized for.

I’m not going to say I think very highly of humanity as a whole, I’m a fucking misanthrope through-and-through, but I don’t think we’re incapable of being good, or doing good things, we just…choose not to, a lot of the time.

I also do not deny that there are some crimes so horrible that redemption isn’t even on the table, nowhere near it. But I feel like antis treat every perceived fault of Viv as some most grievous sin that must be met with full penance by…doing what exactly?

Apologize? Again, they won’t accept it.

Donate to charities or causes? She gets shit on for it, say she’s “flaunting her wealth.”

Get off the internet entirely? In an anti’s wet dreams maybe.

Her very existence makes them so mad. It would be funny if it wasn’t so fucking pathetic.

These people twist her words in every way imaginable to make her look like some horrible person undeserving of her success, without realizing they make themselves look far worse than her by several measures.

They claim she’s racist and queerphobic, but if anything acting as if BIPOC and queer people shouldn’t ever be shown doing awful things because “bad queer/ BIPOC rep” or whatever I think is just as racist and queerphobic. Minorities are human beings, and as such they are just as capable of being shitty. I already made a post about this before, so I’ll keep this paragraph short.

They claim she’s abusive to her coworkers when it seems the one person bitching about it has no problem putting other past co workers under the bus for their personal gain. Antis claim she’s abusive while engaging in downright emotionally abusive behavior (I know that sounds kinda dramatic but I’m making a point) themselves as they shit on us for the stupidest reason imaginable: liking a cartoon.

They cry about ableism while ignoring their own.

Not that I’m all that offended if I’m honest, it’s just more evidence that antis aren’t any better than the people they bitch about.

I could go on about this for a while but you get the point.

I repeat, these people have no moral high ground whatsoever.

Frankly, as much as it bothers me that they leak patreon shit and whatnot, many fans are actively warning against them, and I think the idea of someone actively choosing to give money to someone they hate just so they have more content to shit on is fucking pathetic and getting upset about it is exactly what they want.

They want you to be just as miserable as they are. They just want to suck all the fun out of this fandom, I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again, these people are tar pits, trying to drown us in their muck. It’s pathetic and sad. No use in having sympathy, they don’t deserve any.

It’s funny how antis scream and cry about how awful we are as they ignore their own sins and mistakes, hypocrites.

If anything, their behavior is far more irredeemable than Viv’s has ever been.

I wonder when they will realize that, if they ever do. I can only hope some of them grow the fuck up and realize what the fuck they’ve done. If the ensuing guilt eats them alive, I can’t say I have pity for them.

Wonder how many of us would accept their apologies, if they chose to make one.

Alright it’s almost 7 am I gotta get to bed. Peace.

🔥🧨~Firecracker out~🧨🔥

[potential-fool]

How would sage react to reader refusing to get healed by her or Skye? Reader doesn’t want them wasting energy and much rather just patch themselves up and go (even if it’s a shit job).

How would Sage react to after countless times of reader turning down the healing and slowly recovering her finding out why they refused?

A/N: First of all, I love me some sage x reader so thank you for requesting this ;-; Second- where are my dom!sage enjoyers?? I need to collect y'all so I can be surrounded by dom!sage content This became a lot more wholesome than originally intended but yk what we chillin

Tags: Established relationship, fluff, GN!reader

"Let me help you love" Sage x Reader

You were not one to ask for help, or accept it when it was offered. As a child you were praised for this trait, people would tell you how strong or tough you were because of it. And while this wasn't done with any malicious intent it still had a negative affect on your life to this day.

You were a Radiant, with an ability you called "blood-bending." The name alone being fairly self explanatory you could manipulate the blood of yourself and other creatures. You tried not to use your own blood... though... you didn't always have other options.

Lately you haven't had other options.

You were dedicated to the protocol, already having accepted that each mission you took could very well be your last. This, along with your refusal for help led to a lot of.. well.. you refusing to accept the help of your fellow healers.

At first you were able to pass it off as needing easy access to your own blood, and most of the time it works, even if they don't like you exerting yourself like this.

It was another long mission, you were engaging enemies on a map dubbed Haven, it was a grueling mission and another instance where you'd been forced to use your own blood to fuel your abilities. It was a long.. very long.. and very hard battle.

Though your victory was ever more satisfying.

Sage was checking in with everyone over the coms as you all headed back to the rendezvous point.

"(Y/N)..? you're awfully silent, are you okay?" Sage's voice rang through your earpiece and the deadly projectile you made of your own blood changed from a hard object to liquid as you released your focus from it; the blood splattering down onto the ground and making your uniform stain red.

"I'm..." You struggled to speak through the dizziness in your head "I'm fine Sage... really.."

Sage did not believe you and unbeknownst to you while she had the others make their way back onto the ship she went out to your location, meeting you half way to the pick up spot.

You'd wrapped a crude bandage around your arm where you'd drawn your own blood but it was hard to do even a half decent job when the pounding in your skull was all you could think about.

Sage's pace quickened as she spotted you "Oh my darling.." She cupped your cheek, worry flooding her tone "I can patch you up, let's get back to the ship"

"It's okay.." You heaved, each breath feeling like a task to complete "I..- I can do it myself,, you look tired... don't waste your energy on me... I ca...." Your voice faded, trialing off and you fought for consciousness. "I can do it... do it...." Your head was spinning, and the spinning soon morphed into darkness as blood loss and exhaustion took over.

Sage caught you in her arms, more worried now than ever before, she called for Sova to come help carry you--she knew she could carry you herself--however--not while trying to heal you at the same time.

Sova arrived quickly a concerned look on his face as he saw the state you were in "Again...? It's getting bad Sage.. you must talk with them.."

Sage sighed, nodding a small nod. Sage was fixing the bandage on your arm and patching up the major cuts on your body before simply healing the smaller ones; cyan fog emitting from her hand as she used her gift to help you.

The next time you awoke it was in the infirmary of the Protocol's home base. Sage was by your side when consciousness finally returned to you, "...mmph.." You managed to pull yourself up into a sitting position, the sound of movement alerting Sage that you were awake "..shit...I'm sorry Ling- you shouldn't have to-"

You were quickly cut off with a soft kiss from your lover, a quick and loving kiss, though one that did the job Ling needed it to.

"Don't ever apologize for needing help, it's okay my love.. let me help you, let Skye help you.. I could've lost you-" Her voice began to break, as she cupped your face, tears pricking her eyes, "You may be okay with death but It's my job to keep you alive. My love.. I need you.. and I need you alive.. please... why do you refuse my aid?"

The desperation in her tone.. in her eyes.. it was a look you couldn't stand to see and as the tears began to roll down her face you felt them in your eyes as well

"I just..- I.." "I don't wanna burden you- waste your energy- it should go to anyone other than me... gods know I don't deserve it.."

You'd never admitted that to anyone before.. it felt.. nice... to get it off your chest.

Ling's expression shifted to one of grim determination, "My love.. my darling, my starlight, you are far from a burden. You are my north star, my guide in the night, and you are anything but a burden. This ends, no more feeling like this, the next time you feel like this please tell me, we can work it out... it may not be easy but.. you must try... for me...?"

The tears rolled down your face and you pulled Ling closer to you in a warm and loving embrace,, "oh'kay... for you.... thank you.."

"Anytime starlight"