#they never know when it will detonate and who it will take.

[lemedstudent2021]

Lost in translation

theres something i cant name about things written in a language and then translated to another to reach a wider audience. to me, there always seems to something missing. something that just doesnt cross the language barrier.

the english text is accurate and concise, but the original, while being shorter, somehow manages to pack 7 more times the emotion despite the mundanity of the story it narrates.

is this because the arabic language, one of the oldest and by far the richest language in the world, is so poetic in its nature that just about anything written or spoken in it is inherantly majestic?

is it because of the multitudes of cultures, traditions, history, and heritage each dialect of the language holds that makes it so diverse juxtaposing with the normalcy of the exchange?

or is it the simplicty and humanity of palestinian lives and the essence of their struggle captured in 4 sentences that symbolise the extent to which this conflict has reached, how the world has become, and how its people have descended?

i just cant put my finger on it.

[maliro-t]

some game design thinky thoughts.

[highvern]

Beggin' On My Knees

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, hint of angst, established relationship, biker! hoshi

warnings: pregnancy, impreg/breeding kink, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex, praise kink, body worship, spitting, praise kink

Length: ~8k

Note: inspired by the Please, Please, Please MV. this was originally an idea for taehyung but alas my top freak took over again. something about biker/mechanic hoshi really is beautiful thank u @tomodachiii @haologram and @gyuswhore for keeping me sane

summary: After another run in with the law, you come to terms with the fact your friends might be right about your fiancé.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Even at your age, it’s somehow more embarrassing to buy pregnancy tests than condoms. You wouldn’t know since you’ve never bought condoms. That particular responsibility falls exclusively on your fiance after the few times in college when you snagged handfuls from the bucket inside the campus clinic.

You’ve bought a pregnancy test before. Not for yourself but for friends too embarrassed to walk into the pharmacy and publicly declare how active their sex lives were. Now you understand why they wanted someone else to do it. Why are there twenty different brands? Why do they require some high school employee to unlock the case so you can pick the one you want? Why are they so damn expensive? The anxiety you feel rivals the first time you bought weed sophomore year of college from some sleazy frat boy.

You’ve got the box resting on the bathroom counter, a timer on your phone, and the test just out of sight while you pace back and forth in the small space. The door is shut for no other reason than to isolate away from Soonyoung in the event he gets off work early.

You should call Soonyoung. He’d want to know, fight the urge to say something stupid like “I’ll try harder next time” when the tests come back negative and instead offer to pee on one in solidarity if only to lighten the mood.

You never understood when people say a woman just knows until right now because with each passing second the reality that those tests are going to be positive sink in. Despite the fact you and Soonyoung almost always use a condom and the times without them end with him coming anywhere not inside you. You just know it.

Each second ticks down like a bomb waiting to detonate.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your stomach twists.  Surprisingly, you don’t dread it as much as you would have a year ago. But a million things a baby entails rush over you. Cleaning out the spare room upstairs, doctors appointments, daycare, clothes, school. Do you even know how to actually take care of a kid? One that belongs to you, who you can’t give back to their person when they get fussy or hurt.

Soonyoung was born to be a dad. He never hid how badly he wanted a family of his own, a family with you. He’s good with kids too. You’ve seen him with his nieces and nephews, your friends’ kids. The middle schoolers in your neighborhood come to him with broken bikes and scooters to be fixed, knock on your front door to ask if he can help them get their ball down from some tree. Even if he doesn't know what he’s doing he’d be there by your side.

As the initial shock washes away, the knots in your chest slowly unfurl. You can do this. Even though you planned your life down to the last detail, Soonyoung has a way of sweeping you into his tide. Engagement, marriage, house, babies. In that order. You’ve already got the house before he asked you to marry him and your wedding is only a month away. 

After the worst of the panic settles into restless jitters, you leave the solitude of the bathroom. Soonyoung still isn’t home from work yet but it isn’t unusual. He’s been pulling more hours, shouldering more responsibilities since Mr. Lee, the owner, hinted at a promotion. Glancing at the clock, you guess he’ll walk through the door in two hours which gives you plenty of time to put together something to surprise him.

After a long shower, you burn time by cleaning up non-existent messes; you can’t sit still. The ‘surprise’ ends up being lackluster. Your weekly grocery shopping trip is tomorrow so the fridge is slim pickings for dinner and you make the executive decision to go out once Soonyoung is home. Some fancy restaurant neither of you can afford with tiny dishes designed to leave you hungry and stopping at the diner at the edge of town for a burger. 

While the noise from the TV hums in the background, you scroll through internet searches on what to do when expecting. Doctors appointments, blood tests, advice on budgeting. It’s information overload but you’re giddy even with the stress.. Then you see it. A screenshot from one of your friends. No words, just a photo. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The longer you stare the quicker the realization becomes a reality. Soonyoung, your Soonyoung, the Soonyoung you’ve been waiting to get home, the reason for three positive pregnancy tests still on the bathroom counter, stares back. Or his mugshot does. A proud stain on the town jail’s website for everyone to see.

Storming out of the house, you notice Jeonghan’s car is gone from his own driveway. Hopefully he’s given your fiance an earful at the station already. If not, you’ve got plenty to say.

Whatever giddy happiness possessed you earlier is long gone, rotten disgust taking its place. How stupid do you look waiting for him at home while he’s gone and gotten himself locked up?

That stupid bike.

It isn’t the first time. That was the initial appeal back when you were a doe eyed freshman, finally out from under your parents thumb with more freedom than you knew how to handle. Soonyoung was the stereotypical bad boy with a taste for fast cars, working in a garage to your good girl persona who set the curve in all her classes. A few drinks at a run down dive bar landed you on his bike in some back alley, a hand under your skirt while he whispered the nastiest things you’ve ever heard. Then you returned the favor back at his apartment, riding him with enough vigor the headboard slapping against the wall sent his neighbors into a fit.

Then came the routine of Soonyoung picking you up from your dorms late at night, staying out until sunrise doing who knows what. He showed you off at street races, called you his girl in front of friends, and would take you out to the lake after winning a race and make you feel like a winner too. 

It was fun. 

Until the calls he’d been out street racing again wore down your patience as your friends’ giddy curiosity turned to embarrassment and ‘I told you so’s. It wasn’t enough to break your heart, but it tore your ego to shreds. They called him a loser and you defended him time and time again because you loved him. Because he promised it wouldn’t happen again.

He promised the last time was the last time. The time before that was also the last time and the time before and so on. 

The parking lot of the police station is nearly empty this time of day; a few police cars and a handful of other vehicles. Otherwise, it sits deserted. 

Jeognhan is waiting for you at the front desk, pretending to type away at something on the computer but you know better. You’ve done this song and dance too many times. 

“What the fuck did he do this time?” 

He quirks an eyebrow, sliding a clipboard with the usual paperwork your way as he speaks. “What do you think?” 

You nearly rip through the paper from pressing the pen so hard as you sign. “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“Ma’am, language,” a young officer warns.

You’ve never seen him before and the stern look on his face pisses you off even more. His eyes widen in what must be fear because he scrambles back to the filing cabinet at the back of the room without speaking. “I didn’t know you had a new bitch, Han.” 

Jeonghan takes his clipboard back before you can whack him with it. “Nope, that's still your fiancé. Chan, go get Soonyoung from the box.” 

“Tell him I’ve got a hammer in the car for his balls,” you call. 

“Please refrain from making threats inside the police station.”

Soonyoung has the sense to look afraid when he rounds the corner. He’s still in his work clothes, oil stained shirt and dirty coveralls, hair matted to his forehead. You can only imagine what he sees. Last time you picked up he’d still been drunk from a bar fight and you made him sleep on the porch with Jeonghan’s engine as an alarm clock. You’d been too tired to make threats, half asleep the entire time. This time, you feel on the verge of crying, throwing up, and exploding into a fiery rage.

You don’t wait for him while Jeonghan hands over the bag of Soonyoung’s belongings. Halfway to the car, he races to catch up without a word and goes as far as rushing ahead to open the driver's door for you. There’s a fraction of a second you contemplate speeding off before he can get into the passenger seat, let him walk home in the dark as punishment for being a dumbass. But you don’t. You want to yell at him for being a dumbass until your throat bleeds.

The car smells like motor oil and sweat with him so close in the passenger seat. You gag at the stench, rolling all the windows down to avoid vomiting. The last thing you want right now is to need him.

Under usual circumstances the silence hanging heavy in the air would be comfortable, familiar and warm with the golden hue of the sunset and the sound of cicadas not far off. The world holds its breath, but you don’t.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to find out you got arrested from someone sending me your mugshot?” you ask at the first red light. Soonyoung tries to answer but you cut him off. “No, you don’t. Because I’d never put you in that position.”

He grumbles out the window. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re better than me.”

“You think I’m pissed because I think I’m better than you? I’m pissed because you act like a fucking loser. I’m pissed because you’re a liar! You promised me you wouldn’t do this dumb shit anymore. YOU PROMISED ME. And I look like an idiot because I’m stupid enough to trust you.”

You wait for an excuse. Some honeyed platitude about how much he loves you and it being a mistake and how it’ll never happen again but Soonyoung offers nothing. 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks.

You scoff. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Clearly!” you shriek, the vein in your neck throbbing. “Do you know how it feels to have my friends send me your mugshot? I’m at home tearing my hair out and you’re street racing some kid for kicks.”

“He wasn’t a kid—” 

“I don’t give a fuck!” The edges of your vision scorch red, teeth gnashing. You’ve never been this angry with him. You’ve never been this angry, period. “Grow up!”

He’s lucky Jeonghan caught him and not one of the other officers hell bent on cleaning up the streets. He’s lucky you didn’t have to front bail money neither of you have, especially now. Instead of spending the weekend in jail, Soonyoung’s punishment is fixing whatever Jeonghan sends his way for the next month free of charge but it’s not enough, not even close.

The kill shot bubbles on the tip of your tongue but that last bit of self control keeps it under lock and key. This isn’t how you thought you’d tell him, nowhere close to the way the evening happened in your head before you saw that picture. You wanted to surprise him. Watch the way the news sunk in slowly then all at once. You remember the test you left on the kitchen counter for him to find when he got home before everything went to shit. The ember of rage flairs back to life.

“You wanna race so bad, go fetch!” You don’t think as you rip the keys to that cursed bike from his hands and chuck them out the window into the grassy median, gone in a flash. It’s only a temporary solution but it feels good. It’s the next best thing to taking a bat to his bike until there’s nothing salvageable.

Soonyoung sputters. “Are you crazy?” 

Maybe. You’re absolutely toeing the line of unhinged. The car skids to a stop, tires burning against the asphalt. Thankfully the road is clear of any traffic.

“Get out,” you demand.

“What?”

“Get out. Get out, get out, get out!” You repeat the words over and over until he does what you tell him to. You feel the suffocating tightness in your chest signaling tears are seconds away. 

“Baby, let's talk about this,” Soonyoung begs. He tries to reach through the window, he knows your weak spots too well. You snatch your hand away before he can take advantage.

“You can have this back!” You launch the diamond band right at his chest before taking off.

You get back home on autopilot. There are red lights and stop signs and other traffic laws you can’t remember if you followed but you’re in the driveway and barreling up the porch with shaky breaths. Guilt doesn’t cross your mind for a second. Soonyoung didn’t feel guilty for racing like a dumbass until he got caught, so why should you feel guilty for letting him deal with the consequences? 

The urge to do something mean, not just mean but hurtful with the intent of seeing Soonyoung sick to his stomach, rears its head. If that’s what you wanted then mission accomplished. He saved for a year to buy that ring and you threw it in his face like it was nothing but cheap plastic. The ire from earlier rushes out of you like a deflating balloon. Your fingers itch for a cigarette but unlike your now ex fiance, you have to cut out all your vices. There’s no relief in pacing back and forth. There won’t be any solace inside the house either. You’re so tired. All the highs and lows of the day have drained you of everything. You don’t want to be mad or sad or anything anymore. You just want to go to bed and sleep off the entire day. 

You want to leave but you don’t. You want to yell some more but Soonyoung will be at least another hour. There’s nothing to anxiously clean while waiting so you water the crispy plants on the porch while you wait.

Jeonghan’s cruiser pulls into his driveway across the street thirty minutes later. Still no sign of Soonyoung, not a missed call or text. You think to worry but he gets out of Jeonghan’s passenger seat and trudges your way.

He looks angry and tired. But your swollen eyes and splotchy face melts the furrow in his brows.

“I’m—”

You silence him with a blast from the water hose. Soonyoung takes his punishment like a man, standing completely still while you douse him from head to toe. 

“I deserve that. Please, just listen to me—” He’s silent with another stream aimed at his chest. You feel some validation seeing him embody the way you feel: pathetic. 

“Will you put the hose down so we can talk about this?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you huff, dropping the hose for him to clean up.

“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”

“No.” You head towards the door with no intention of letting Soonyoung inside. “Go sleep at Jeonghan’s, I don’t wanna be around you right now.”

“He already told me no.”

Jeonghan would take mercy on Soonyoung in this state; soaked to the bone with your engagement ring in his pocket.

You turn to face him. “I want you to get rid of your bike.”

Soonyoung stays at the foot of the stairs leading up the porch. He knows how you feel and he has the sense to look ashamed.

“You want me to sell Tammy?” he asks.

“I want Tammy to fall off a cliff into the abyss but that’s obviously not going to happen,” you seethe, blinking away more frustrated tears.

“I have a lot of good memories with Tammy.”

“What? The first time you got arrested? Or the time you fell off and broke your arm? Oh, I know! When you ended up in a ditch?”

“The time I asked you to be my girlfriend. And the time I won enough money to help put a down payment on the house. When—“

“It’s me or her.”

Does it feel juvenile giving your fiance an ultimatum between you and a godforsaken bike? Absolutely. But you’ve got a kid to think about now and the thought of Soonyoung missing their life because he’s too busy chasing the rush makes you sick.

“It’s you.” Soonyoung says it with finality but you don’t believe him.

“Then prove it.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Sell it. First thing tomorrow morning.”

He laughs bitterly. “I’m not selling my bike.”

“Then I’ll be sure to tell your kid their dad is a fucking loser.” 

He blinks like the words don’t fully set in but your back is already to him by the time they do. Locked inside the house, you lean back against the door. You don’t want him to hear the crack of breath in your throat breaking into hot, wet tears. 

“What do you mean my kid?” Soonyoung’s panicked voice comes through the door. “YN! Open the door!”

“Go away.”

His whispered curses slip through the door while he scrambles for the spare key hidden in the potted plant by the door. If you really wanted him locked out, you would’ve remembered to move it before he got home. Part of you does want him stuck as far away as possible. You don’t want to face him because you know he’ll kiss your tears away and that’s all you want right now. You want him to hold you, promise you everything will be okay.

The lock of the bedroom door clicks into place right as Soonyoung gets the front door open. You hear him downstairs, looking for where you’re hidden. You can plot his course in your head: straight through the living into the kitchen where one of the positive tests waits to greet him on the counter, then he comes racing up the stairs and outside the door.

He twists the doorknob with no success. “YN.”

“Go away,” you sniffle into the pillow. His pillow. You’re on his side of the bed, in one of his old shirts because even if you wish you hated him.  

A dull thud against the door and a sigh signals his departure. You hear him shuffling back downstairs, but the sound of the front door never comes. The fatigue of the day takes over swiftly. Surrounded by the comforting smell of Soonyoung, you fall asleep until the smell of food wafts up through the vents. Not burnt but if Soonyoung is in the kitchen then it’s only a matter of time.

You creep down the stairs, careful to stay quiet so you can sneak back up without getting caught. Soonyoung’s body blocks whatever he’s organizing on the counter but you tell it’s a bribe from the sight of take out bags piled in the trash.

“What’s that?”

“Dinner. Do you want some?”

He’s got an entire pizza with garlic knots and cinnamon twists laid out like a feast. You watch him pretend to be nonchalant but he’s glued to your every move as you approach the counter and shove an entire garlic knot into your mouth, chewing with enough force to warn you haven’t forgiven him yet even though you're close to it. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Then we won’t talk,” he sighs into the base of your skull, fingers edging beneath your shirt for the comforting warmth of skin on skin. 

“Don’t,” you say, but lean back into the warmth of his body despite yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Sure he is. You know he means it. Soonyoung is always sorry but it doesn’t stop him from being a dumbass. But he’s your dumbass no matter how many fights you have.

He lets you eat, content to hide his face in your shoulder and his fingers warm against the waistband of your sweatpants. You hate crying and you hate crying in front of him – because of him – even more. The heavy silence of the kitchen and the love of your life clinging onto you like his life depends on it brings a fresh prick of tears. Once you start, you can’t stop. The tears keep coming as Soonyong maneuvers your face into his chest. His new, clean shirt turns into your tissue. You fall into him without hesitation.

“Are you really…” he asks quietly, dropping kiss after kiss against your hair while you wring out like a sponge. 

“Do you think I’d lie to make you feel bad?”

“No. I just—fuck. You’re pregnant.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“How do you feel?”

You blow your nose into his neck. “Like I wanna punch my kid’s dad in the nuts.”

“He probably deserves that.”

“He definitely does.”

“And he deserves to sleep outside.”

“Yep,” you nod.

“But you still love him?”

“Of course I do, you big idiot,” you sigh, leaning back to look at him. Mistake. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” His brow presses to yours, face rounded out, soft cheeks that make you want to scream. Brown eyes shine beneath his lashes. Soonyoung knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t but things would be a lot easier if you did.

Soonyoung takes the silence as an admission, and when you don’t object he falls to his knees, pulls your shirt out of the way and presses his face into your stomach. “We should name it Donatello.”

“No.”

“Leonardo.”

“No,” you giggle despite yourself.

“Raphael.”

“You are not naming our baby after a Ninja Turtle.”

“Mojo Jojo Jojo.”

“No.”

“Thanos.”

“Stop!”

“You’re laughing?” Soonyoung gasps, rushing to his feet to pin your squirmy body between him and the counter’s edge. “I’m trying to have a very serious conversation and you’re laughing?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you love me.”

You nod, hiding back into his chest where it’s safe. “Yeah, I love you.”

The silence marinates between you. 

“I’ll sell the bike, promise.”

“You’re not the best at keeping promises.”

“This time is different.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want our kid to grow up thinking their dad doesn’t worship the ground their mom walks on. Because I know she’s way too good for me and I’m lucky to have her.”

“I’m not too good for you, I hate when you say that.”

“You called me a loser.”

“I said you acted like a loser and I won’t take that back.” 

He looks away. “That’s fair.”

The icy wall of hurt freezes back up but you’re too tired to drag on the fight any longer. “When I found out my reaction wasn’t ’oh he’s being stupid.’ It was ‘how would I tell our kid their dad missed their birthday because he got himself locked up.’ That’s all I could think about. Explaining to our kid over and over why you’re never there.”

The words rest like a wet blanket over his flame of excitement. He doesn’t want to be that kind of dad; the one who misses their child’s life for something as stupid as street racing. Who leaves you to pick up a broken heart time and time again, two broken hearts.

You’re at arms length, Soonyoung examining you like a puzzle he can’t figure out but wants to try anyway. You hate when he looks at you like that. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he can’t quite believe you’re real. “You’re gonna be a great mom.”

“Shut up.” You hide the blush staining across your cheeks with another slice of pizza. 

“You are.”

“Well,” you swallow. “I need you to be a good dad. And if you can’t then I’m not afraid to do it by myself.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Can I talk to it?”

“If you want to.” You don’t tell him that the thing growing in your womb curiously of him is the size of a pea and doesn’t have a face, let alone ears. You want to hear what his first words as a dad are.

He rucks your shirt up higher until it’s bunched beneath your breast, stomach on full display for him to bury his face into. 

“Hi. I’m your dad,” he starts timidly. You bite back a smile at his earnestness. “I don’t usually make your mom this angry. Usually, she’s pretty happy with me.” His lips brush your stomach with each word, tickling them into your skin. “I hope you take after her. She’s smart, and she’s pretty. God, she’s so pretty. I remember the first time I saw your mom and I knew I wanted to marry her.”

You snort. “You did not.”

“Yes, I did,” he corrects. “We were at this bar. You’re not allowed to go there. Ever. Maybe when you’re thirty or I’m dead. But I remember seeing her when she walked in and I thought ‘that is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and if she talks to me, I’ll throw up.’ I still feel like that sometimes. Even when she’s mad at me. And then when I got the courage to talk to her, I didn’t throw up because your old man is cool.”

Your heart swells too big for your chest. The night you met him wasn’t the stuff of fairytales. You saw him across the bar, all blonde hair and ruby cheeks as he screamed with his friends. He did throw up the first time you talked to him. After an hour of riding him until it hurt, you melted boneless in his lap and he snuck away to the bathroom to toss the used condom. You faked asleep as he emptied his guts into the toilet bowl before crawling back to bed and begging for cuddles. Pure romance.

“So cool,” you tease.

Soonyoung laces your fingers together, nipping at your fingertips in protest. “Your mom is mean to me but it’s okay because I love her. You’ll love her too. I just hope you’ll love me.”

You fight the urge to cry, only a single tear streaking down your cheek before stopping. “They’ll love you.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

“How?”

“Because I love you and I’m very smart. Remember?”

“I did say that, didn't I?”

You hum in agreement, pulling him up your body to nudge his nose along yours. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.” You let him shower you in gentle touches, his hands smoothing up your sides. Soonyoung traps you between his body and the counter, his lips sweeping over your chin, your jaw, your covered chest. That’s when you feel it. “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing.”

“Feels a lot like your penis to me.”

“That’s a part of the apology,” he whispers, the weight of his cocky heavy against your thigh, harder with each controlled grind. “Can’t believe I knocked you up and I never even came inside of you.”

“I can. You talk about kids so much I bet you manifested this.”

“You want it though, right?”

“Yeah.”

You’re lifted onto the countertop, legs spread around his hips. He’s got one hand wedge between your ass and panties to keep you close. “Do you think I’ll be a good dad?”

Not the conversation you thought would happen while you’re tugging his shirt off and working at the tie in his pajamas pants but you humor him.

“I think you’ll be a great dad.” You kiss him gently. His lips, his nose, his cheeks that round in your favorite smile. “If you stop getting arrested. How are you gonna ground Michaelangelo if you keep getting in trouble too?”

“She’s gonna be too smart for that. Just like her mom.”

“Oh, it’s a she now?”

“I’ve got a feeling.” He nips at your throat, a sweet flick of his tongue to soothe the sting. “Back to me coming inside you.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Gonna take it all for me?”

Your chin tips back to provide more skin for Soonyoung to mark up. “Want it.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he heaves. You’re trapped between a hand against the crotch of your panties and one pawing at your ass like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“Take your pants off.”

An amused breath warms your throat. “Someone’s bossy”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you to take your pants off.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Shirt gone, sweats pooled around his ankles, Soonyoung stands in nothing but a pair of tenting briefs and the thin chain you gifted him a week after he placed that band on your ring finger.

“Wow, who knew you'd be such a DILF.”

His cheeks tinged pink from the complement. “I’ve been a dad for five minutes and you’re already trying to hit on me.”

“We’re engaged, doofus.”

“Speaking of.” He snatches his pants off the floor, digging through the pockets until a familiar ring appears. “Don’t take this off again.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He catches your chin between his fingers, pining you in his gaze. “I don’t care how angry you are with me. When I asked you to marry me, I meant forever.”

You can count on one hand the number of times he’s used that tone of voice with you. Soonyoung doesn't get angry often; at least, not with you. The last time he talked to you like this was when you wandered on the wrong side of town late at night, alone and drunk without a way home. You were pissed about a grade and wanted to do something reckless like every other kid at your university got to. Luckily, Soonyoung found you before trouble could. He used the same tone to chastise you for an hour about how stupid you’d been. 

But he isn’t just mad at your antics. He’s scared too. You look at him — really look at him for the first time since this morning when you kissed him goodbye before work. Red eyes, lip bruised, not from kisses but the way he chews it when he’s anxious.

“I’m sorry.” You pull him back, arms wrapped so tightly around his torso he probably can’t breathe and you both like the certainty of it. The tension in his shoulders softens like candle wax but he doesn’t let go. 

There’s still the matter of damp underwear and his boner. You want him, the gnawing aching way you always want him. Between your legs, stroking your sensitive spots to life over and over again until you beg for mercy he’s too eager to deny.

You nose against his cheek, adoring kiss after kiss against his skin until mouths meet. Soonyoung slips his tongue between the seam of your lips. You feel it the way down to your toes. On instinct, your hand trickles down his front, wedged tight between your bodies to paw at the fabric. A few dry jerks is all it takes for him to unravel.

“Wait,” Soonyoung gasps, hips rutting into the tight squeeze.

He keens with another tug, neck flushing a pretty shade of pink. The linoleum bites into your knees before you mouth over his underwear for a taste of what's to come. You suck the head through his underwear before leaning back to tease him with a kiss.

“Bedroom.”

“Didn’t think I’d see the day you’d refuse a kitchen blowjob,” you snicker.

Soonyoung doesn’t laugh. He pulls you back up into a bruising kiss, biting at your lip until you’re sure it’s bruised. His hand gropes down your ass, fingers tight to your entrance from behind. Whatever he wants like this you’ll agree to.

“Want you on my mouth.”

You’d kneel over his face right here on the kitchen floor if he wanted. But knowing your fiance, his sights are glued to whatever fantasies boil beneath that blond hair of his. 

You race up the stairs, Soonyoung hands heavy on your sides. His thumbs press into the bare curve of your hips. Your clothes fall until just your underwear remains. You want to turn around and mount him on the steps but the second floor landing is close enough you don’t get a chance. 

Soonyoung flicks all the bedroom lights on, eager to see every part of you as you crawl up the bed on all fours in nothing but your underwear. A few years ago you wouldn’t dream of sex with a lamp on let alone the overhead light but years of his utter devotion to your body and wanting to watch you get off like it’s his very own miracle gave you confidence. He looks ready to jump out of his own skin at the doorway. You glance over back and arch your spine a little more, ass higher in the air for his viewing. You might just finger yourself like this to see him suffer. You’ve done it before.

You stretch out, naked chest on display. “Are you coming?”

“Fuck yeah, I am.” Unconsciously, he palms his cock and approaches the side of the bed, pulling you into a kiss with a heavy lick of his tongue.

It doesn’t take much to drag him on top of you, dick hot to your thigh, perfect to rut against. There’s too much Soonyoung to think of anything else. His hands pinning you in place, his breath fanning across your chest as he suckles across the slope of your breast, thighs surging between yours in a dry hump you can’t help but beg for more of. His hips stutter when you do.

He follows the same playbook you did earlier; fingers trailing to the wet patch of your wants, mouth following closely. You’re in for a treat when he’s on his knees like this. He wants to tease you the way you did him but Soonyoung isn’t committed to denying you anything, he wants to rake you over hot coals by giving too much. 

Your hands eagerly hook beneath your knees, legs spread wide before him like a feast..

“Taste so good,” he rasps with a soft suck at your clit. “You’re so hot.”

Even with the barrier of your underwear each lick lights you on fire. Soonyoung moans a lewd melody, lost in his own paradise. Your thighs twitch with each gentle prod at your entrance, folded away by his shoulders so he can touch as much as he wants.

The promise from earlier lights up your brain. You twist a tight grip in his hair, pulling hard enough to detach him from your body. Lips wet, eyes blown, Soonyoung tries to dive back down until another twist of your nails makes him wince.

“Call Jeonghan.”

His mouth may be gone but his fingers circle your clit in the way that makes you whine. “What?”

“Call. Him,” you command. 

You snatch your phone from the end table, forcing it into Soonyoung’s grasp. He still doesn’t understand what you’ve asked.

“Sell him the bike right now.”

“Now?” He looks down at your pussy still on display, underwear soaked in spit and arousal.

You nod. Soonyoung knows better than to argue. He’s back in your good graces but only just, the promise of shipping that infernal bike off to someone else keeping him afloat. 

Your body throbs for release, for his mouth to go back to work instead of whispering into the phone when Jeonghan answers. 

“Two grand? Bullshit! There's at least…” he trails off.

You’re not going to stop just because he’s busy. You grab your breasts, taunt nipples visible between your fingers. Clad in a pair of sticky panties and nothing else, you’ve reduced him into a stuttering mess. Any other night he’d already be smothering himself in the wetness. You can see the urge in his gaze as he swallows loudly.

“Four,” Soonyoung counters. His face twists between wanting to argue with the neighbor, brows furrowed, lips in a heavy pout, and watch in awe as you suck on your own fingers before pinching at your chest again.

You’ve got him distracted with a hand between your legs, pushing your underwear out of the way to flash him exactly what he’s earning. Flushed and wet, the smell of sex hangs in the air.

“Thirty-five,” his voice cracks as you spread your legs wider, pulling his hand right where it belongs.

Soonyoung bats your hands away, fingers twisting through your heat. A gentle prod at your entrance like he hasn’t mastered your pussy enough to make you stupid and strung out with a few touches. There’s no way Jeonghan can’t hear every pleased sigh, the wet noise echoing from your pussy, the annoyance in Soonyoung’s voice as they barter back and forth. 

Soonyoung leans over and spits where his fingers disappear, making you jolt with the force as he does it again. You nearly ask him to spit in your mouth just to see his eyes bulge but the opportunity disappears with the sound of Jeonghan’s cackle through the line.

“Fine, three. I’ll give you the keys tomorrow.” He ends the call, forces your hand out of the way, and eagerly makes up for the minutes lost.

Both of your hands find the soft strands of his hair to hold him in place. Your feet plant on the bed beside his wide shoulders, allowing you to hump his face pathetically only to be welcomed with a grunt. The rip of fabric registers right before what was once your underwear is left stretched across the middle of your thigh. 

“S-shit, don’t stop.”

His fingers spread for his tongue to lick between. You punish him for such a dirty move with a harsh pull of his hair that he loves more than anything. Soonyoung does what he does best: groveling for your forgiveness. You’ll give it to him like always. But you both want him to work for it; it’s better when he does. 

He spreads your legs wider, gives a pleased grunt when you hold him in place and grind into his mouth. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant; vision blurry, body on fire.

Soonyoung moans into the sloppy mess of your pussy, sucking your clit between his lips, wedging another finger between the two already ruining you. 

“Oh god—there.”

Your thighs crush his head but he forces them up and open, pinned in place. The tender glow of the end escalates into a scalding burn as it rips through every muscle. You clench so tight around his fingers he can’t move them more than a tight curl. When you cry at the overstimulation he finally rests.

“Did you just—”

Pins and needles ripple through your muscles and all you can do is nod. Once the initial shock fades, there’s a smug twitch of his lips. He catches your foot and pins it before you can kick him.

“Shut up.”

“Have I told you how much I think about you being pregnant?” he asks, watching your every move.

You shake your head. His fingers keep working in gentle strokes, the wet noises quieter than before but loud in your ears. 

“It’s a lot,” he grunts. “Fuck, you’re gonna be so sexy.”

“I’m not already?” you half laugh, half gasp. The spark of arousal already demands more so you rock your hips down despite the sensitivity.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“But I’m not sexy?”

“Don’t pick an argument with me right now, please,” Soonyoung begs. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m thinking about coming in you until you can’t take anymore.”

“Then I’ll be sexy?” you goad.

“You’ve always been sexy.” He punctuates the compliment with a kiss to your left hip bone. “Beautiful.” Another on your right. “Gorgeous.” One on the plush of your thigh. “I love you.”

He folds you in half, knees to chest like you possess the flexibility to stay there, ankles cuffed in his hand, lips hot on the back of your thigh. 

“We should fuck on the bike one more time,” you tease. 

“You want me to defile the mother of my child on a motorcycle?”

You moan at his words. You want him to come wherever he wants, as many times as he can. Until he can’t anymore. To feel nasty and used however he sees fit. You want him on top of you, behind you, bending you over every surface he can until you’re shaking.

“You’re about to defile me right here. W-what’s the difference?”

Soonyoung curls the fingers inside you tight, eyes glued to the way you heave before answering. He fucks into that spot that makes you his puppet and all you want is to ruin him the same way he ruins you with the slightest touch. “You said I should stop doing things that’ll get me arrested.”

You choke on another tease as he sucks on your clit, tongue coaxing pathetic sighs right out of your lungs. He could do this all night. He’d be happy to. Soonyoung grips you tighter as you squirm away. It’s too much. He knows it and that’s why he loves it so much, knowing he can make you cum hard enough to scream.

“Are the cameras still broken at the garage?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, already knowing exactly what you’re thinking.

“Then you can defile me at your place of business, over the bike. Just like old times.”

“No condoms.”

“How else are you gonna stuff me full of cum?”

Soonyoung groans, pushing your legs wider as his hips rut into the mattress. “Wanna come inside you.”

“Then get up here and do it.”

You’re soaked between the legs, sensitive and swollen. Soonyoung settles into the warm cradle of your thighs easily, pressing his cock into the wet mess of spit and arousal. Your body acts of instinct, hips tilting until he slips between your walls.

“Oh my god.” He laps at the swell of your breast. “‘S okay?”

“Yeah, they don’t hurt yet.”

The sharp edge of his teeth leaves lines across your skin while he sucks at your chest until your spine breaks in half. His fingers keep firm pressure against your clit. Sloppy but enough to keep you pulled taunt. You’ll come a second time if he keeps it up.

“Oh my god,” you echo. 

Soonyoung likes to fuck hard. Hard enough you feel like all your seams are splitting, just shy of shattering your limit. Now’s no different but there's a new edge of caution. Even with his hips flat, inside you until nothing is left to give, he tangles your fingers together and pins them over head in the pillows.

You push your body against his, needy and pliant. Blind want acting as a guide, your ankles lock around his waist. It feels so much better than all the other times he’s fucked you like this; knowing the risk of him coming inside no longer counts and he can do it as many times as you ask. 

The slap of your skin against his fills the room, grunts and pathetic whines passing between mouths with narrowed vision. Nails biting into his shoulders, you flutter tight, trying to pull Soonyoung deeper even if he’s snug to the hilt. Stretched full beyond belief.

“More,” you beg. Frantic. Needy. All those feelings Soonyoung can incite with the barest of touches and a look.

He rises back on his hands, lighting up with each pathetic whimper of his name. “More what?”

If you had the brain power you’d knock the stupid smirk off his face. “Fuck me.”

“I am,” Soonyoung taunts.

“Breed me.”

“Already h-have.” Soonyoung looks like he wants to laugh but he sinks as much weight as he can into his hips, rhythm clumsy but it’s so good you don’t care. “Fuck, such a good girl. Aren’t you?”

You clench around him. He isn’t the most inspired with dirty talk but he knows your buttons, loves to press on your praise kink when you least expect it. 

“Say it.”

“I-I’m,” you stutter from his fingers finding your raw clit. “I’m your good girl.”

“My pretty little wife,” Soonyoung gasps. “Perfect.”

Every bit of praise adds a drop in the bucket, chest tightening until it explodes without permission; shredding through your veins. Your teeth sink into his shoulder. Hard enough to bruise as you cry, “Soonyoung.”

He doesn’t stop for your orgasm, not for a second. You asked him to breed you and it’s his sole purpose until you’re both satisfied. “G-gonna come.”

“Want it, want you to come in me,” you sob.

Soonyoung grabs for your hair, a gentle tug with enough force your eyes open to find his.

“Want it?” he pants, tilting your hips to fuck deeper. You nod with limited room thanks to his grip. “Then take it.”

The sticky heat you’re accustomed to on your skin stains your insides for the first time. There’s no way you can go back. Not after knowing how right it feels to have him fill you. You shiver beneath his weight, nerves twitching from the idea of him doing it again. Immediately.

“Love you, love you, love you…” Soonyoung chants into your skin, lips slipping over your throat with each breathless gasp.

You roll down into the nasty feel of cum and cock, the minor relief not nearly enough. Not with the idea of sucking the combined taste off him rearing its head. But Soonyoung collapses with a point flex of his thighs to stop your motions.

“Holy fuck,” he shudders. “If you let me do that sooner, we’d have ten kids by now.”

You’re flustered at the idea. “Do you think my vagina is a baby rocket launcher?”

“It’s definitely something.”

“How romantic,” you snort. “Give it a few months and I’ll be so hormonal you won’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

“Is that what you think?” he hums, face still hidden in your neck like he’s too exhausted to move except to lap at the dip in your throat. A subtle grind reminds you of his cock still wedge in your guts, stiff like he didn’t come hard enough to see stars.

It’s hard to think that after so many years together, this is the biggest love rush you’ve ever experienced. The urge to keep him wrapped in your arms for as long as possible brings tears to your eyes. 

Soonyoung pops over your face after the first sniffle, terrified. “Are you crying?”

“No.” You swipe at the tears. “Shut up.”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, failing to hide his amusement.  

“I’m carrying your child, sorry my hormones are all over the place.” You bat his hand away unsuccessfully, leaning your cheek into the comforting warmth of his palm.  “We’re ready for this?”

“I mean, I was planning to knock you up on our honeymoon anyway,” he shrugs, lips soft on your hairline. “Do you have any more of those tests?”

“Why?”

“I wanna see what’d happen if I pee on one.”

“Nothing.” You push him off, rolling onto hands and knees with your ass in the air, face buried in the pillows. “Now, fuck me again.”

Soonyoung pushes the head of his cock through the mess of cum leaking out before sinking back inside with a grunt. “Yes, ma’am.”

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[sosa2imagines]

Hey can I please request a Lloyd x reader where she is his ex-wife but he wants her back? Maybe they have a child together (they're the only people who he is really sweet and soft with, he lights up when he sees them) and idk maybe their child wants them together too? He's trying to find excuses to see her or kiss her and he has their child as a support?

Idk whatever you find interesting or have inspo for ❤️

Thank you for this amazing ask. I hope you like it. Warning- Little angst and fluff.

Your hands tremble slightly as you pack your son's backpack for his weekend with Lloyd. It’s a routine exchange, one you've done countless times since the divorce, but the familiar ache always lingers. 

Sharing custody of Victor is always a bittersweet affair. Every time you see him, the resemblance to his father becomes more and more apparent. His bright eyes and mischievous smile are like a living reminder of what you once had together. Yet, despite the pang in your heart, you push your feelings aside, knowing that this arrangement is for the best.

The doorbell rings, and you exhale deeply before opening it.

Lloyd stands before you, immaculate in his polo shirt and with that same cocky smirk you've come to know all too well. Despite your best efforts, your pulse quickens at the sight of him, a reaction you've tried to suppress but have never been able to completely control.

Damn that moustache! Always been your weakness.

You fix your expression, forcing a neutral smile as you step aside to let him in. You're used to this routine by now, but the sight of him still dredges up a mix of emotions you'd rather keep bottled up.

“Ready for our little guy?” he asks, his voice annoyingly smooth, like melted chocolate. Victor bolts past you, yelling, “Daddy!” as Lloyd scoops him up effortlessly, peppering his son's face with exaggerated kisses that make the boy squeal with laughter.  

When your son was born, Lloyd had named him Victor, saying he's his biggest victory in life.

You force a polite smile, ignoring the way Lloyd's eyes flick to yours, softening. He always looks at you like that, like you're still the most important thing in his world, even after everything.  

After Sierra Six.  

The memory burns like acid. Sierra Six had been your breaking point. Lloyd's obsession with catching the rogue operative consumed him, pulling him deeper into his dangerous world and further away from you. You had begged him to walk away, to prioritize his family, but he couldn’t let it go.  

“You don't understand, Sugar!” he'd said during one of your final arguments, his voice sharp but his eyes pleading. “This isn't just a mission. It's personal.”  

It became personal for you too, when Six's retaliation nearly cost you and Victor your lives. A car bomb meant for Lloyd had detonated outside your home, leaving shards of glass and smoke as a grim reminder of the risk you couldn’t live with anymore. You’d left that night, taking Victor with you, and filed for divorce shortly after.  

“Thanks for packing his stuff…” Lloyd says now, breaking you out of your thoughts. He hesitates, then adds, “You could come with us, you know? We're just going to the park.”  

“That’s your time with him…” you reply, keeping your tone neutral.  

Victor tugs at your sleeve. “But, Mommy, you should come! Daddy says he misses you.”  

Your breath catches, and Lloyd clears his throat, awkwardly running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “Victor, buddy, why don't you go grab your soccer ball from the car?”  

Once Victor bounds away, Lloyd steps closer. “He’s not wrong…” he says softly, his gaze holding yours.  

“Lloyd…” You start to protest, but he cuts you off.  

“I know I screwed up. I know I didn’t protect you the way I should have, but I’m trying, Sugar. I’m trying to fix things. For you. For Victor. For us.”  

You cross your arms, a shield against the vulnerability in his voice. “You can’t just say these things and expect everything to magically go back to how it was.”  

“Then let me show you...” he says, taking another step closer. His hand brushes yours, testing waters. “Let me prove it to you.”  

Before you can respond, Victor runs back, his soccer ball in hand. “I got it! Mommy, are you coming with us?”  

Lloyd kneels down, pulling Victor into a side hug. “Tell you what, buddy. Why don’t we see if we can convince Mommy to join us next time, huh?”  

Victor pouts dramatically, his big eyes, the same shade of blue as his father’s turns on you, “Please, Mommy? Daddy says families should stick together.”  

Your heart squeezes at the sight of them, your two boys. Lloyd stands, his eyes never leaving yours, and he leans down just slightly, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath.  

“Think about it…” he murmurs, before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. It lingers, a promise in its tenderness, and leaves you standing there, your resolve crumbling ever so slightly.  

As they walk away, Victor waves enthusiastically, and Lloyd throws you a smile over his shoulder. It’s cocky and hopeful all at once, like he knows the kiss wasn’t just for show.  

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll find a way to win you back.  

The weekend passes slowly without Victor. You spend the quiet hours tidying up, trying to distract yourself from the lingering thoughts of Lloyd’s kiss and the words he left unspoken. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop replaying his plea, “Let me prove it to you.”  

On Sunday evening, Lloyd drops Victor off as planned. Your son runs inside, chattering about their adventures at the park, the ice cream truck they chased down, and how Daddy let him drive his tiny remote-controlled car.  

Lloyd lingers at the door.  

“Can I come in for a minute?” he asks. His tone is careful, cautious, as though he’s testing the waters.  

You hesitate, but something about the vulnerability in his expression makes you step aside. “Just for a minute…” you say.  

Victor is already in the living room, playing with his toys, oblivious to the quiet tension between you and his father.  

Lloyd takes a deep breath, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day. About things not magically going back to how they were.” He pauses, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’re right. They won’t. And they shouldn’t. Because I want things to be better than they were before.”  

You swallow hard, your heart beating faster, “Lloyd, I…”  

“Let me finish, Sugar.” His voice softens, and he steps closer, closing the distance between you. “I’m not asking you to forgive me overnight. I’m not asking you to forget what I did or the pain I caused. I just… I’m asking for a chance to show you that I’ve changed. That I’m trying to be the man you and Victor deserve.”  

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you hold them back. “You think one kiss and a few sweet words will fix everything?”  

“No!” he says firmly. “But I think being here, every day, showing you how much I care… that might. I’m not giving up on us, Sugar. Not now, not ever.”  

Before you can respond, Victor runs up to the two of you, holding a drawing in his little hands. “Look! I made this at Daddy’s house!”  

The picture is messy but a clear stick-figure family of three, all holding hands. Above it, in Victor’s uneven handwriting, are the words, “My family.”

Your chest tightens, and you glance at Lloyd, whose eyes are filled with unshed tears. He kneels down to Victor’s level, gently ruffling his hair. “That’s a beautiful drawing, buddy.”  

Victor grins and turns to you. “Mommy, don’t you think we should be a family again? Daddy’s been so sad without you.”  

You look down at your son, then at Lloyd, who is watching you with a mixture of hope and fear.  

“I don’t know, Victor,” you say softly. “It’s… complicated.”  

“But you love Daddy, right?” Victor asks innocently, his big blue eyes staring up at you.  

You hesitate, the truth sitting heavy on your tongue. “Yes…” you finally admit. “I do.”  

Lloyd stands, his expression unreadable. “Sugar, I know I’ve made mistakes. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for them if you’ll let me.”  

Victor tugs on your hand, his face lighting up with excitement. “Please, Mommy? Let Daddy stay.”  

The weight of the moment presses down on you. Slowly, you nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay. Let’s see where this goes.”  

Lloyd’s eyes widen in surprise, and then a rare, genuine smile spreads across his face. “You mean it?”  

“Yes,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But you’re on thin ice, Hansen.”  

He chuckles, his confidence returning. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Sugar.”  

Victor cheers, throwing his arms around both of you, and for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope.  

Maybe, just maybe, you can be a family again.  

The days that follow are a whirlwind of emotions. Lloyd takes your cautious ‘okay’ as a challenge to prove himself, and he doesn’t waste any time.  

He starts small, picking Victor up from school, helping him with homework, and showing up at your door with dinner. Each time he’s around, you find yourself torn between wanting to push him away and feeling your walls crumble a little more.  

One evening, as you’re washing dishes, Lloyd appears beside you, drying a plate you hadn’t asked him to touch. “You know,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “we make a pretty good team.”  

“Lloyd, I don’t need your help.” you say, trying to focus on the sink.  

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “You might not need it, but I like being here. With you.”  

Your face heats up, and you elbow him gently. “Back off, Hansen.”  

But instead of retreating, he grins and presses a kiss to your temple, quick and soft. You whirl on him, glaring. “What do you think you’re doing?”  

“Testing my limits,” he replies smugly, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “You’re adorable when you’re mad.”  

You roll your eyes, but the blush on your cheeks betrays you. He notices, of course, and his grin only grows wider.  

Lloyd’s efforts intensifies over the period.

Over the next few weeks, Lloyd becomes a constant presence in your life. He shows up unannounced with groceries, fixes the broken cabinet in your kitchen, and even surprises Victor with a mini soccer goal for the backyard.  

One afternoon, while Victor is napping, you find yourself sitting on the porch with Lloyd. He’s unusually quiet, his gaze fixed on the horizon.  

“Why are you doing all this?” you ask, breaking the silence.  

He looks at you, his expression sincere. “Because I lost you once, Sugar. And I’m not making that mistake again. You and Victor… you’re everything to me.”  

The raw honesty in his voice leaves you speechless. Before you can think of a response, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours. It’s soft, tentative, as if he’s giving you a chance to pull away. But you don’t.  

When he deepens the kiss, his hand rests gently on your cheek, you lose yourself for a moment, the familiar warmth of him overwhelming your senses.  

When you finally pull back, your heart is racing. “You’re impossible…” you mutter, your cheeks burning.  

“And you’re beautiful,” he replies, his lips quirking into a lopsided smile. 

Despite your reluctance to admit it, Lloyd’s persistence begins to wear down your defenses. He’s patient with Victor, kind to you, and relentless in his mission to win you back.  

One night, as you’re tucking Victor into bed, he grabs your hand. “Mommy, do you still love Daddy?”  

Caught off guard, you glance at Lloyd, who’s standing in the doorway, watching you with an unreadable expression.  

“I…” you start, unsure of how to answer.  

“I know you do,” Victor says confidently. “Because you smile more when he’s here.”  

Lloyd chuckles softly, stepping into the room. “Our kid is a great observer, you can’t hide anything from him.” he teases.  

“Go to sleep, Victor…” you say quickly, pressing a kiss to your son’s forehead before retreating to the living room.  

Lloyd follows you, closing the door behind him. “He’s not wrong, you know,” he says quietly.  

You sigh, turning to face him. “Lloyd, this isn’t easy for me. You broke my trust…”  

“And I’ll spend the rest of my life earning it back!” he interrupts, stepping closer. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, and I’ll fight for you every day if that’s what it takes.”  

Tears well up in your eyes as you finally let the weight of his words sink in. “I’m scared…” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.   

“I know,” he whispers, cupping your face in his hands. “But I’m here, Sugar. I’m not going anywhere.”  

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of pancakes. Victor’s laughter echoes from the kitchen, and when you walk in, you see Lloyd standing at the stove, flipping pancakes like he’s been doing it for years.  

“Morning, Sugar,” he says, flashing you a boyish grin. “Thought I’d make breakfast for my family.”  

You shake your head, but there’s no hiding the smile on your face.  

Later that day, as the three of you play soccer in the backyard, Victor pauses and looks up at you. “Does this mean Daddy’s staying forever?”  

You glance at Lloyd, who’s watching you with hopeful eyes. Slowly, you nod. “Yeah, buddy... I think it does.”  

Victor cheers, throwing his arms around both of you. Lloyd pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your hair.  

“I love you…” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.  

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you could have your happy ending after all. 

 

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[thewertsearch]

@krixwell asked: I think it's general theory summary o'clock. Broadly, what are your expectations for the rest of Act 5 and its ending?

I'm a little late answering this one - but hey, better late than never!

I can't predict the rest of the Act anymore, but I can try and predict the ending. Here are my predictions for what'll happen in Cascade, organized by character.

Rose & Dave

The Derse twins, who have dispatched DD together, meet Aradia at the Green Sun. The Tumor detonates as planned, but Aradia is able to save them somehow, possibly by spiriting them away with time travel...

...or, by telling them how she cheated death.

Aradia was able to resurrect herself without a backup body, from a pedestal hidden within the moon of Derse; the very moon the kids are currently piloting. Doc Scratch has already hinted that Rose might ascend on 'another quest bed somewhere', and I think this is how she - and Dave - could do it.

If Rose and Dave died destroying the Sun, it would almost certainly count as Heroic – but that doesn't actually matter. If the twins die on Quest Slabs, they won't die as God Tiers - they'll die as mortals, and resurrect as God Tiers. They should reincarnate safely, as the Sun collapses for good.

The Meteor Crew

To be honest, I don't think the trolls will have much of a role to play in the endgame. All the action is happening in the kids' session, and now that the Scratch has started, they can't even contact that session.

In any case, these kids are planning to follow the Green Sun's explosion to a predetermined rendezvous point. I'm not sure how they're going to get there - but Kanaya is a wielder of the Space Aspect, so maybe it's her time to shine.

...I mean, shine even more brightly than she already does.

Jack

After he absolutely kills CD, Jack is destined to travel to the troll session, but I still have no idea how. Perhaps the dimensional instability created by the Scratch will start to rip holes into other sessions, and he’ll be lured into one? Who knows.

I'm as stumped as I ever was. Only one way to find out, I guess!

John

Once he's triggered the Scratch, this kid's going to need an out. He'll need to make himself scarce in order to avoid being erased...

...or, perhaps he won’t. Perhaps, as the Heir of Breath, he’ll be able to use the Breeze to conceal himself from whatever force is destroying the session, the same way he hid his scent from Jack.

Either way, he'll probably be fine, while the same cannot be said for...

Jade

The greatest of Fs for our girl. Jade's been killed in an extremely tense situation, without leaving much hope for her resurrection before the Scratch.

The Sprites are still around, but I don’t know how they’d revive her- like, sure, Nanna has a healing beam, but I don’t think she can heal death. Plus, Jade made a Choice with Echidna to locate her Final Frog - and it seems that accepting a Choice will inevitably lead you to sacrifice your life. If Jade's death was immediately undone, would it really count as a sacrifice?

I don't want to call it too early, but... it isn't out of the question that Jade is gone for good. Especially when she's already got a replacement, waiting in the wings.

Jadesprite

I think it's genuinely possible that Jadesprite could take over Jade's role as one of the 'main' four kids.

She's about to lose her First Guardian powers, but she should still have time to fulfil Echidna's request in her realself's stead, simply by shrinking the entire session, and teleporting it to the Furthest Ring, where her allies can captchalogue it. Hell, this would be easy for her.

I really, really don't want Jade to be dead. But, well... she made a Choice.

The Endgame

Finally, we see the consequences of the Green Sun’s destruction, which I’m sure are as cataclysmic as they are unexpected. Rose realizes how badly she was played, as Scratch's full hand is finally revealed. All of Paradox Space shakes from the impact. Scratch and Snowman die, and English consumes the troll universe.

Everyone meets up on the exiled Lands, and they resolve to travel to the reset session, once it’s spawned.

Act 6?

After we're done, I’m hoping for the Guardians-as-Players to get the Hivebent treatment – by which I mean, I’m hoping Act 6 gives us the full story of the Scratched session, right from kid Nanna standing in her bedroom. It’s also possible, though, that we’ll join their session in medias res, as our protagonists' teenage parents face hitherto unknown challenges in a new Medium. I'll talk more about my specific predictions for the Guardian session in their own post, once Act 5 has fully concluded.

The adventure continues, as the kids slowly realize that English, and the Paradox Space twisted to suit his ends, is the true enemy, and they begin to make plans to confront him directly.

[erinfern0]

cutting the cord

spencer reid x explosives specialist!gn!reader

— gender-neutral nicknames, gender-neutral anatomy, only pronouns used are you, they, etc.

summary: the team struggles with a group who planned to plant a bomb in a town hall to spread awareness of their cause. as the only technicians available in the area are busy with another emergency, Spencer finds himself calling you, the closest off-duty technician he knew, despite how much he hates the idea.

warnings: emotional, angst(?), some swearing, love confession, and obviously stress, anxiety and fear for your life, etc. cliffhanger

a/n: this was highly inspired by episode 'hero worship' from season 10 of Criminal Minds. I haven't written anything besides smut for such a long time I wanted to give something like this a try. Itt's also over like 2,5k words long--- (I'm so sorry i don't even know how i wrote it)

Doomsday Prophets - The group they were tracking started off small, with a bunch of troubled, unsupervised teenagers led by their online guru, who believed the system was too flawed to even try to repair it. They spent their first months spreading their agenda with countless flayers and graffiti murals all over the most popular places in the city. No one knew his real name, just the internet alias of doomsking130. Even the great Garcia couldn't track him in time before one of his sidekicks got brutally beaten for trying to leave.

Countless informants, and hours spent in interrogation rooms with lower-ranked members and the injured boy, lead them to the leader struggling with psychosis and an overwhelming god complex. He believed the only way to get people's attention was to set a bomb in a nearby town hall in the early morning hours, showing even the government can't protect people from the truth, at least that's what the team thought.

He never even thought there might be security guards waiting for him, informed about his plans by the FBI. As soon as they saw him entering the building via security cameras, they called no other than SSA Hotchner, who had warned them earlier that something like this might happen soon. His team quickly moved into action, hoping they could stop him before he set up the bomb, just to avoid getting help from Bomb Techs.

“Dave, you and I go from the staff-only entry on the left, Morgan and Jareau take the right window, the security guard who called left it open,” said Agent Hotchner, pointing the right directions to his team, watching them split. “Reid and Callahan, you enter the front and look for any worker left in the building.”

Everyone nodded in understanding, splitting and running to their destinations with their guns in their hands. Dr. Reid could feel a tiny drop of sweat running down his brow as he pointed another person toward the front door. People ran away in fear but kept their mouths closed not to alarm the criminals' leader.

Some time passed, leading the team to the building's basement, where the leader set up his life's biggest achievement. A small-looking detonator, connected to two canisters of gasoline, was set next to the power outlet. The arrest was quick, he didn't try any games or to run away, he simply allowed Agent Rossi to cuff him, because the damage was done.

Or was about to be done.

The bomb was already set, giving the team one and a half hours to deal with it as the unsub refused to help. He screamed about how the government tries to control the youngest of all to be their mindless little soldiers. How the system was set to manipulate the youth into dying for the country that didn't care about them. He laughed as Agent Morgan inspected the bomb from a distance.

“Y'all are a part of their games, agents,” he spat as agent Rossi guided him to the door. “All I spread is the truth, you're just too blind to see them using you. My kids won't stop opening people's eyes, even when you take me away! The Doomsday will come as they realize they'd been lied to...”

“Aren't you even worse?” Asked Morgan, crossing his arms with a displeased look on his face.

"How so?" Asked the man, suspiciously calm and smug as he raised his head proudly.

"Well, technically speaking even if what you're saying is true, the government uses us to help other people who can't protect themselves from people like you," said Reid, staring at the man as if he were trying to look at his soul. "You on the other hand pressure troubled teens into doing your dirty work to feed your ever-growing god complex, which almost led one of them to death."

The unsub seemed to be confused, that little frown on his brows, mindlessly staring into the wall behind Dr. Reid as he parted his lips as if he was about to speak.

"Seems like you used up your limit," taunted Callahan, smirking at him as he opened his mouth again.

He started trashing his arms around in Rossi's grip, spitting something out in some Slavic language they couldn't understand.

“That's enough,” murmured Rossi, tightening his grip and taking the criminal outside, leading him to the car parked in front of the building alongside Callahan.

“I'll call the Techs,” said Hotchner, heading outside to get his phone.

Some minutes later he came back with his arms crossed and that strange, disappointed look.

"And?" Asked Morgan, looking around the room, kneeling beside the bomb, and inspecting it closer.

"They might or may not be here in an hour, there was another emergency, supposedly done by the Dooms Prophets," said Agent Hotchner, looking at all of his people who stayed inside.

"He planned this better than we thought," whispered Jennifer, looking at him with concern. "The kids must have lied..."

"Or he didn't trust all of them, the ones we got to speak with were younger, less devoted. He wouldn't trust them with that information," added Reid, standing beside Morgan.

"Yeah, but if he really treated them like prophets for the close-minded folks, he wouldn't change his mind from a long-lasting plan to something so quick," murmured Derek, looking up at his teammates.

"This was his plan all along, he knew he'd be caught. He just hoped his Prophets would continue his work without him," Reid chimed in, looking around to only see his teammates confused faces. "His nickname was 'doomsking130'… The bomb was set to an hour and a half," he added, looking at his watch, then the device. "I think the attack and the emergency wasn't his idea, it's his followers who tried to continue his work on their own."

They all stared at one another, nodding in agreement while processing his words, following up on the idea of their Boy Genius.

Morgan turned his head slightly to look at the messy-haired doctor. "This shit is too complicated, nothin' I've seen yet, this guy is a smart one," he whispered, shaking his head softly. "I can't deal with this... I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Derek. We'll wait for the Techs," assured Hotchner, patting his agent's back as he stood up away from the bomb.

"There is no time," said Jareau, turning her head to her team. "You said they 'may or may not' be here in an hour, and we already lost a few minutes, they might be too late."

The atmosphere in the room felt heavier as Agent Rossi came back to the room, saying he got the local police to drag the leader to the station, while Kate called her family to inform them she'd be late. He felt as disappointed and worried as everyone, making sure to keep the pregnant agent safe, away from the building as the rest searched for a solution for a few more minutes.

"Reid," started Morgan, turning to face his friend. "Doesn't your lovebird know how to deal with those?"

"Um, yeah, they worked in the bomb disposal department, but decided to take a break from this a while back," he answered, already frowning his brows at the dreadful idea.

"Would they be able to disarm it?" joined Hotchner, crossing his arms as he listened.

"I think so..." he said unsurely, his hands shaking slightly at scenarios running through his head. "It wouldn't be exactly legal to bring them here, just for your information."

"Would be quicker than the actual technicians," noticed Jareau, looking at Spencer with a soft, understanding look on her face. She knew exactly how much it had to scare him, but like everyone else — she couldn't see another way.

"If they don't feel like doing it, we'll just have to wait for the Bomb Techs, as a civilian now, they shouldn't feel pressured into risking so much," reminded Hotchner, looking at Dr. Reid with a glimpse of sympathy.

"But saving some time would be nice," said Morgan unapologetically, moving closer to Reid. "They live only a few blocks away, local police could escort them and secure the area."

Jennifer came up to Spencer, slowly wrapping an arm around him, soothing his tense muscles. She saw the distress in his eyes, but just like the doctor, she didn't like the idea.

"I'll call," decided Spencer, closing his eyes to calm down. "They live around eight minutes away from here, but-"

"It's up to them," assured Hotchner, nodding his head in understanding. "I'll make some calls, to make sure they won't get into any trouble if they decide to come."

Getting a call from Spencer so early in the morning was usual, so you left your book on the side of the couch, paying your full attention to his words. He spoke quickly, almost too quickly as he tried to summarize everything in the shortest amount of time possible, making it hard for you to interrupt him. Just the tiredness and distress in his voice made you melt, gathering your kit before he could even finish his ramble.

You didn't hesitate, jumping into the police car he talked about that escorted you right to the town hall, passing the barrier blocks and reporters who tried to talk to you. You covered your face with your hood, knowing too well not to talk to them, especially that you weren't there exactly legally. Passing agents Rossi and Callahan, you waved at them, getting polite nods as they watched you disappear into the building.

You walked as quickly as possible, guided by the deputy that drove you there. Something felt different, deep inside of you as you ran downstairs to the basement. It wasn't the first time you got an urgent call to help disarm a bomb, that was your entire life for the past few years, but just reminding yourself of Spencer's voice made your heart beat a little faster.

"SSA Aaron Hotchner," said the tall man who stood in the middle of the room, nodding his head as he shook your hand. He was the only member of the team you didn't have the chance to meet. You introduced yourself. Just hearing your own specialist title fall from your lips felt so distant as you were on a break for the past few months.

You nodded to everyone, only locking eyes with Spencer, who got closer as if just his presence was meant to protect you. "Agent Hotchner," you started, looking away from your boyfriend to kneel beside the device, opening your kit of tools in a hurry. "Evacuate the building and the area, I'll do my best but with devices like this..."

"I understand," he assured, letting Morgan and Jareau leave the room. There was only one more person who didn't budge beside him. "Reid?"

You looked to your side, watching Spencer shake his head and roll his sleeves up. "I'd like to stay," he said as if it was nothing, not even looking at his superior.

"It's your call," said Hotchner, looking at him with worry, but he left the basement. You knew if you weren't so important to Spencer he'd never allow this kind of behavior, but you could feel your blood boil at just the idea of him staying.

"Leave," you said simply, knowing how dangerous it was for him. At that moment, you didn't even care for yourself, you've done this a million times, but risking his life...

"Not a chance," he replied, reaching for your flashlight to help you. You could see the way his hands started shaking then he lifted it and it started to break your heart.

"You can't do this, Spence," you whispered breathlessly, focusing your eyes on the device. Two detachable components connected only by a few wires, a wide panel to control the bomb was already turned off the moment the time was set and two big canisters of gasoline beside just to make the explosion more dangerous.

"I can and I will," he said firmly, watching your skilled fingers run over the bomb to carefully detach the two parts.

"For fucks sake, Spencer," you sighed, already feeling the way your lip quivered with every word. "I can't promise you anything, I can't do this to you..."

"I'm not leaving," he repeated through gritted teeth, looking up at you from under his messy hair, covering most of his face as he spoke. "And stop trying to convince me otherwise."

You wiped the tears that spilled from your eyes as they followed one wire after another, watching the way they split and connected to find the one to cut. There were way more than in a usual device and just from the look of it, you knew some of them were just decoys, not really connected to any part, not activating anything, just being there to fuck with the mind of the person who dared to try defusing it.

"I can't focus when all I can think of is this killing you," you whispered, your voice breaking with every passing second. "Leave me here, I need to do this alone... I can't risk your life like this. You mean too much not only to me but to your team, your mom, the people who will need the help of an actual genius, so please, just spare me the talking and get out when you still have the chance. It's so selfish to even think..."

His calm and soft voice stopped you in the middle of your monologue. Tears kept falling down your face as you recognized the words he spoke. The stubborn bastard couldn't even fathom the idea of leaving you to this by yourself. Despite how scared he was inside, he kept his cool, reciting one of your favorite books from memory.

You inhaled deeply, feeling yourself growing more steady and calm, your muscles relaxing with every paragraph. Despite biting into your lip harshly, you didn't feel the pain, the tears were gone and the annoyingly fast heartbeat eased.

Spencer kept his eyes glued to your fingers as he took breaths in between each sentence, only glimpsing up a you for a second every time you cut another decoy wire to clear your way to the actual ones.

The time seemed to stop despite the timer showing you almost an hour passed already, leaving you with only a few minutes to neutralize the threat. You wiped your face in your hoodie, getting rid of sweat and tears as you cut through the last decoy, leading you to analyze the actual device.

You caught the cord you thought was the right one with your scissors, swallowing harshly at just the idea of you being wrong. You reached your free hand to the side, mindlessly searching for his. Doing this was not only risking the lives of you and Spencer but potentially unaware people who happened to be close by. Your heart sped up drastically as you made the decision.

Looking up, you saw Spencer who stopped mid-sentence. A look of worry passed through his face as he intertwined your fingers, his other hand resting on the back of your head, soothing you by slowly moving his fingers through your hair.

"Spencer," you whispered breathlessly, a stray tear running down your cheek, leaving him to quickly wipe it off with a soft smile."I love you..."

His smile only grew bigger as looked at you, that familiar sparkle in his eye shining brightly at you. His eyes were teary, but he didn't let any tears spill as he nodded. Those puppy eyes stared at you with the most love you've ever seen.

"I know," he whispered back, his voice cracking as he looked down at your hands.

You felt like the whole world crushed over you as he didn't say those words back, unlike he did a million times before. Your heart sank but you just looked down, brows frowned as you focused not to lose all composure you had left.

For a split second, the basement was filled with eerie silence as you pushed down on the scissors, cutting the cord in half.

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[pupwashing]

i ain't even gon hold anyone anymore i lowkey need swansea rape. like... he's not that type of guy AT ALL but i need some swansea pseudo-incest rape. he's my dilf crush so i need to assign him a sleazy pervy second side

-👧🏿nonnie who's so fucking gone

oh my god nonnie.

SWANSEA RAPE? SOUND THE ALARMS! A FIRE IDEA HAS HIT THE TOWER!!!!!!!!

umm I may have gotten carried away with this,,,, TW for noncon, unprotected sex, and a creampie :3

swansea really doesn't fucking like you, has never liked you, and always tries to keep you away from him, but you won't get off his back. you're more annoying than daisuke, and daisuke annoys the ever living hell out of him.

its clear you have some type of issue that just keeps you clinging to him, and there doesn't seem to be much he can do about it.

so when you can't beat 'em, you take advantage of your situation.

you're doe eyed and naive, the perfect target for any low level sleaze to have his way with you, which he plans on doing. you trust him enough to cling to him like a damned leech, so its not hard to get you alone in utility.

even easier for him to get his hand down your pants, and before you realize whats happening, his thick fingers are already scissoring your juicy cunt open.

jesus, you're already soaking wet. he tells himself its because of his old charm, not because of basic biology or whatever. you clearly want this, even if you're crying and struggling against him.

despite being up there in age, swansea's pretty strong. you don't stand a chance against him.

once his fingers are done opening you up, it's time for the main event: his dick.

it's been a while since he's been in this position. his wife doesn't care much for sex anymore, and neither did he, until you came along.

suddenly, his libido's back and better than ever.

one hand clamps down on your mouth in case you try to scream, while the other moves your dainty little panties to the side. your pussy is practically begging him to fuck it, and so he will.

you never thought you'd get raped by a man you considered as a fatherly figure, but life has a way of throwing wrenches into the happy ideals people love to have.

his dick isn't very big, but it is wide, so it feels like theres a battering ram stretching you wide open. it's girthy enough to make your insides feel like mush, to bring tears to your eyes, to make your legs feel like jelly.

every stroke breaks your little heart, piece by piece. you don't know why he decided to do this to you. maybe you should've stayed away when you had the chance.

you don't have time to dwell on your poor judgement, because your thoughts get jumbled with every snap of swansea's hips.

a con of being old is the loss of stamina, and swansea isn't exactly the stud he used to be. gone is the man who could last for hours keeping his partners satisfied, now a bitter old man who would rather work than use his dick.

it was over as quick as it started, ending with swansea painting your gummy walls white. his pull out game isn't like it used to be either.

you collapse as soon as its over. your legs can't handle your weight.

and of course, he simply zips his pants up and leaves. no one goes to utility, so no one would come to your aid.

as you lay on the cold ground, you think. about all the times swansea told you to get lost, or how he would always shoo you away.

but the cold hard truth is that swansea would've done it no matter what you chose to do. he was going to do this anyway. it was just a matter of time.

you were a ticking time bomb, and he was the detonator.

[leighsartworks216]

In Sickness And In Health

Zayne x gn!Reader

I have been lightheaded for two days now and I need a doctor-husband to take care of me soooo bad. But instead I'm focusing on my built up medication angst

Warnings: medical angst, hurt/comfort, medication (pills), bittersweet, pet names (love, my love), established relationship

Word Count: 798

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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You frown at the pill bottles lined up on your counter. Your pill-minder was empty and waiting to be filled up, but seeing all your medications lined up like this stirred something inside you.

You know they're all necessary, they all help you in some way or another. But…

"Love?" Zayne steps into the bathroom, resting a gentle hand on your arm and trying to meet your eyes. "What's wrong?"

You sigh. You hate it when you feel like this. You hate burdening Zayne with your health in his work life and his day-to-day life.

"There's so many..."

He looks down at the counter. Most of these were prescriptions he filled out himself, all of the names were immediately familiar as well as their purposes. "Does the amount bother you?" he asks. His mind is already working to figure out how to narrow down the amount of medications you take, to find medicines that act as a combination for what he's prescribed.

You shake your head and begin opening the days of your pill-minder. You pop each one open slowly, like moving any faster would accidentally detonate a bomb.

He begins opening the pill bottles and dropping the doses into each compartment.

"I'll never be healthy, will I?"

The question gives him pause. He stops his task, watching you instead. Your frown causes a crease to form between your brows; makes your eyes seem more tired than they are. It takes on the bone-deep exhaustion you've been carrying ever since you were first prescribed long-term medication.

He finishes dosing out the first bottle of pills, before closing it and setting it back in the lineup. Your frown only seems to deepen as you stare at it. "My love..." He cups your cheek tenderly, cool palm soothing the upset bubbling under your skin as he turns your face, urging you to look at him. "Needing medicine is not a failure, and it doesn't mean you're unhealthy."

Your eyes flicker from his own to go searching his face and back. The way he looks at you is so intensely caring, it makes it hard for you to meet head on for too long. "But I need them because my body isn't... right."

"No body is perfect," he rebuts. "I have never met a single patient who has not had at least one issue."

"Yeah, but all your patients see you because they have issues."

He chuckles. "Most of them, but you forget I am also a primary care physician to some. No matter what shape my patients are in, there is always something that impacts their life because their body can't or doesn't provide it."

You stare at his chin. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, encouraging you to look up at him again.

"You still don't believe me."

You meet his eyes again, caught red handed. He's known you for so long, of course he should be the one to know what you're feeling with just one glance. You look apologetic, though. "I'm sorry, I want to, I just..."

"Just...?"

"I wish I didn't have so many issues." You close your eyes and lean into him. He meets you halfway, resting his forehead against yours.

He wishes there was some way for him to magically cure all your issues. Some may go away with time, but with time also brought new problems. He pulls away briefly to kiss your forehead, a quiet promise of solidarity.

He sees a small grin begin to form on your lips. "Thank you for making a house call, Dr. Zayne."

He chuckles. "It's outside of my usual job requirements, but I'm happy to make an exception, just this once."

"Guess I shouldn't get too used to it, then, huh?"

"Hm. Fortunately, my marital oath as your husband dictates that I care for you in sickness and in health." He gently pulls away. You open your eyes and watch as he opens the second bottle and continues to refill your pill case. "And as your husband, I'm always happy to take care of you."

Your small grin slowly breaks into a smile. The weight is still there. You think it always will be. But Zayne has taken some of it off your shoulders for now, carrying the burden of your health just as you would for him if the circumstances were reversed.

You lean up to kiss his cheek. He smiles, not looking away from his work as he finishes up the second bottle. You take the third. The cap pops off and the pills jostle around inside. They fall into the sections with a repetitive sound, a percussion to a silent song as Zayne grabs the fourth bottle.

You can start to hear the melody when he leans down to kiss your cheek.

---

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@the-golden-jhope

[paper-mario-wiki]

how do i get good at pyro? relying on my bloodlust has yet to carry me to fragging success

Pyro is a movement class. Maps are jungle gyms. Detonator and the powerjack only increase the potency of these truths. Your goal, if not directly pushing or defending, should be flanking. Get to know maps, and get good at crouch jumping to make movement as fluid as possible as you navigate the world geometry.

Pyro is a utility class. The amount of ways you can influence the course of a battle are staggering when you learn what all of your weapons are capable of, and ESPECIALLY when you start understanding airblast more thoroughly. You can extinguish teammates, break sappers, use flames as area denial, rocket jump using reflected rockets, deny ubers using airblast, and much much more. There is absolutely a time and a place for some W+M1, but using a flamethrower without airblast is like an engi who never builds a dispenser or teleporter.

Setting people on fire makes them panic and back off. If you're defending, hold your point using the detonator from afar, or by poking around corners and igniting players that are caught out on their own. Since your win-condition for a fight is typically an enemy entering your danger zone (the range around you which the flames can reach), you have to rely on psychology to control enemy movement, and push them where you want them to be.

Hitscan classes think you're easy pickins, and to some you might be. To take advantage of the folly pf the ones who underestimate you, pretend to back off and run behind a corner or two, then ambush them when they try to pursue you. If you can catch em off guard, you can turn it around on them.

If you watch my footage, you might notice my crosshair is usually AROUND my enemy, not necessarily right over them. That's because flames work as individual projectiles with individual hitboxes, and you shoot out LOTS of them, and they linger in the air for a sec. You can effectively set up a temporary minefield directly around an opponent. If you're in a close range 1v1, you shouldn't just be spraying at the enemy, you should be spraying where they'll be walking, so that they walk into the flames themselves (which can REALLY stack on the damage when you're able to both put fire on them AND where they'll be walking at the same time)

Do not disengage from bad matchups. The Pyro is one of the most versatile classes in the game, you don't necessarily need to be afraid of ANYONE if you know your matchup and can use the surroundings to your advantage. Airblasting into the air and into corners are amazing stalling options, and also terrific for creating followup attack opportunities for you and teammates.

[reginamillls]

Charmed AU because why not

* * *

The ringing in his head had Buck pausing midway through shift. Normally, he could ignore this, he was a Whitelighter who chose to be in a job that meant saving Innocents, these ringings happened all the time.

What he couldn't ignore was how loud it was.

He also couldn't ignore how pained it was.

Buck catches Bobby's eyes from accross the station, and he taps the side of his head, a signal that they developed so Buck could go and take care of his other job.

When he Orbs, he find's that he's not far from the station, still in LA in a part of town that is under consrtuction. There's an old house that's planned to be tourn down soon, and when Buck follows the chime, he finds himself in it's deteriorating walls.

He's not alone.

There's a man, his large figure pressed up against the furthest corner of the room, his knees are drawn up to his chest and his head is bent down, stopping Buck from seeing their face, and his hands are pressed tightly against his ears.

The man is whispering something, his voice pleading - begging almost, for something to stop.

Slowly, Buck approaches and when his foot hits a floorboard that creeks, the man's head snaps up, and Buck is met with frightened blue eyes.

"Go away-" The man says, voice ragged and Buck can feel now, the magic that the man is emitting. Wild and uncontrolled.

He's a witch.

A witch with an active power.

Empath.

In the few years that Buck has been a Whitelighter, he has never come into contact with an Empath before. He's heard the stories, that many witche's struggle with this power, some even binding tehir magic all together to not have to feel everyone around them. The witches that do embrace their ability though, can become formidable.

"I'm here to help-" Buck says gently, and he steps forward. He keeps his mind as neutral as possible, and the man watches him warily.

He doesn't move though, so Buck keeps going.

"It won't stop." The man says, body trembling. "It started and it just-" He tugs at his hair hiding his face again. "I can feel everyone."

"They're tearing down this house soon," Buck tells the man. "I saw the crew outside. They're going to detonate the place, we need to leave-"

"I know." The man says and Buck stops, the realization of what the man was trying to do hitting him fully.

He won't let it happen.

"I'm sorry," Buck says and he waves his hand over the man, putting him into a dreamless sleep. His body slumps forward and Buck goes to kneel by him.

Buck Orbs them away.

[glassbirdfeather]

Mohg's Brain

(This is an essay on Mohg, Lord of Blood, from hit video game Elden Ring. It just takes a bit to get there.)

There is a story often repeated in Psychology classes, Physiology classes, pop psych media like YouTube, podcasts, and garbage daytime television on channels that used to be scientifically rigorous: about a man with an incredible brain injury. For those of you who haven't heard the story or are not yet sick of hearing it, I've included it from memory below, because I have heard it just that many times.

If you've heard this story already, you can skip to the subtitle: "Can We Even Learn Anything From Gage?"

If you already know the controversies about Phineas Gage or just want to jump to the part about the video game character, you can skip to the subtitle: "Let's FINALLY talk about Video Game"

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"The Curious Case of Phineas Gage"

Phineas Gage was a railroad worker who would help clear land with explosives. The dubious and definitely wouldn't-have-been-OSHA-approved method of laying these explosives was to chip a hole into the mountainside, place the explosives, and then tamp it down using some sort of implement like a railroad spike. What happened next was predictable and it's surprising this didn't happen much more often--when packing the explosives, they detonated in Gage's face. Specifically, this launched the spike underneath his left eye and out of the top of his head. Less predictably, Phineas stood up afterwards. When a doctor arrived, said doctor did not believe what had occurred until Gage vomited approximately a "teacupful of brain matter" onto the street.

Due to lack of effective sterilization and antibiotics at the time, poor Phineas Gage was bedridden for several months, where he continued to lose further brain matter to infection. Eventually, he did recover, although he would continue to experience migraines and seizures for the rest of his life. While he lost his job for the railroad service, he went on to work in a sideshow attraction, carrying around the very railroad spike that went through his head. Eventually, he got a job and worked as a taxi driver and lived for several more years before dying of a seizure.

Phineas Gage was never the same after this life-altering injury: he was belligerent, drunk, lied frequently, and lost his job for the railroad company because of his new personality. And I do say NEW personality--Phineas had become like a completely different person and was, in essence, "no longer Gage" (they love quoting that). The damage to regions of the prefrontal cortex made him unable to make moral judgements, and impaired his impulse control.

OR MAYBE THAT LAST PART ISN'T TRUE.

Phineas Gage was NOT much changed by this life-altering injury. Though he lost his job at the railway company, the cause of this job loss is unknown. He MAY have had severe alterations to his personality due to this injury, but whether these changes were due to physical damage or emotional trauma--or whether personality changes ACTUALLY occurred at all--are disputed.

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Can We Even Learn Anything From Gage?

Though I am uncertain if we have exact data on which parts of his brain he was left with when accounting for what was later lost to infection, the trajectory and angle of the injury suggests he initially lost much of his prefrontal cortex. Which of the previous versions of the story are told or over/under-emphasized is dependent on the point the teller is trying to make in the age-old debate of nature vs. nurture.

Some psychologists argue that Gage's personality change demonstrates the Global Workspace Model, where different parts of the brain are responsible for different parts of consciousness, and that by changing or removing parts of the brain, you change consciousness.

Other psychologists will argue that the LACK of change is evidence of the brain's incredible plasticity--its ability to adapt and compensate for missing parts by shifting the functions of those parts to be performed by different regions.

Most reasonably, he probably experienced some cognitive differences while still being effectively the same person and is an example of both points of view. But we don't have concrete enough evidence to say.

Any class in which a teacher or textbook needs evidence to support whatever point they're trying to make about how changes to the brain affects personality, addiction, emotional regulation, decision making, etc., they'll use Gage to make that point, no matter what stance they take. So really, Gage isn't a useful case study beyond what we could actually observe: he lost some of his brain and lived, while also experiencing migraines and seizures for the rest of his life.

With all of that said, if we assume that Gage experienced no changes to cognitive function or personality, I just typed out a story I am very sick of hearing for no reason. So let's assume that at least some of those observations were true.

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Let's FINALLY Talk About Video Game

Her are some potentially useful images to reference if you want. Left: general brain regions and their functions. Right: paranasal sinus cavities.

Unlike a nice, straight tamping iron, Mohg's horns curl in unpredictable directions. Some assumptions must be made about length, depth, and diameter to determine what region and volume of his skull is occupied by his horn. The minimum I expect is that the horn occupies the region of his frontal lobe in any scenario. Let's also set a maximum limit: I believe it is reasonable to assume it has not reached the primary motor cortex, where it would disrupt body control and physical movement... unless one wants to suggest he is puppetting himself in his boss fight like a bloodbender. Which, let's be real, IS a really badass concept, someone should write that fanfiction.

Though I argue that Gage is a bad example to use given our lack of reliable data on his personality and lived experiences, we DO know that disrupting the function of the prefrontal cortex can affect judgment, planning, concentration, and any type of higher processing you might call a uniquely 'human' mental ability (I acknowledge the mental abilities of birds and primates but they are beyond the scope of this essay). It may be safe to assume that, in Mohg's case, these mental processes are harmed regardless of any further extrapolation I make. One other brain region of note is the motor speech (Broca) area, located on the left side directly behind the prefrontal cortex and controls muscle movements for speech.

On the topic of pain, migraines, and seizures: He has a horn in his head, it probably hurts. Obstructions (like cysts) can cause buildup of cerebrospinal fluid, which can cause pain and is a common cause of seizures. It is difficult to say how many people have benign brain tumors, but there is speculation that benign tumors in the brain are unexpectedly common. People only typically get brain scans when they've already noticed a problem, but there have been cases of perfectly healthy people having (non-cancerous) brain tumors, so a mass being present in the brain does NOT guarantee seizures will occur. This being said, that horn is significantly larger than a typical benign brain tumor. Migraines and seizures are very reasonable to assume.

I don't know what to say about illness and disease. In theory, if the horn grew at any point after birth, I would say he should have died from any pathogens that were introduced during its corkscrewing into his skull. Phineas Gage was bedridden for months due to infection, was under the care of a doctor, and he wasn't living in a sewer. Do the Lands Between understand the germ theory of disease? It may at least know that poop in the brain is bad, but I listen to Sawbones, so I know that isn't something we can just assume. It's possible he's lost some impossible-to-estimate amount of brain matter to infection. Feel free to speculate about Omen resistance to pathogens, but I don't feel that is the point of this essay. I'll say it's safe to assume his body has healed closed around it, but anything else I won't try to extrapolate.

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Specificity from Horn Trajectory

Possibility 1:

If we estimate the continued trajectory from the visible part of the horn, it actually continues medially, towards the center of the body, and curls downward. This might even miss most of the brain and instead disrupt the frontal, ethmoidal, and maxillary sinus cavities of the skull.

It may possibly even pierce the roof of the mouth, if we roughly estimate the rate at which the horn tapers and where it likely ends. I argue that this is the most optimistic scenario in terms of his health, because although the horn almost certainly penetrates the prefrontal cortex, it may not be as deep as other possibilities.

In this horn trajectory case, he probably experiences constant sinus pressure similar to a permanent head cold, obstruction to his sense of smell, and by extension his sense of taste. Even if the horn does not completely block his nasal cavity, it may have damaged his olfactory nerve and thus disabled his sense of smell anyway. Should the horn obstruct his mouth he may experience physical difficulties eating and speaking.

Possibility 2:

A worse scenario may be to assume this horn instead extends directly backwards. This would likely pass through the motor speech area, and may have caused him to lose the ability to talk, forcing him to relearn how to speak by having another part of the brain learn to do this function (similar to how anyone learns a second language after very early childhood). It may also reach the LEFT temporal lobe, which processes hearing and smell for the RIGHT side of the body, and therefore he could be deaf in his right ear. Again, the olfactory nerve is potentially in the path of the horn, and loss of sense of smell is frequently considered a symptom of brain damage, so regardless of the angle of the horn this is a high possibility.

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What Time of Horn Growth Could Tell Us

Children are more likely to recover well from brain damage. The older he was when the horn entered his brain, the more likely he would be to experience cognitive impairment.

Should Mohg's horn have developed that way before birth, his brain may have formed around it without issue, or obstructed regions may have simply remained underdeveloped. His skull would also have developed to more 'comfortably' accommodate this horn, rather than having to break and re-heal around a later intrusion. If the horn is shallow enough and its growth occurred during fetal development or very early childhood before the fusing of the bones in the skull, it is possible that left eye blindness and mild discomfort are the only effects. The timing of the horn's growth being before birth or in early infancy is supported by the Regal Omen Bairn, which shows Morgott with seemingly all of his horns, suggesting that omens horns are largely present upon birth and that those horns grow in proportion with them.

However, given the themes associated with the Formless Mother, here is another--vastly more speculative--hypothesis: Mohg's horn was grown deliberately into his skull by the influence of the Formless Mother, perhaps with or without his consent. I find it hard to believe that a force claimed to be the "mother of truth" which "desires a wound" would be unaware of the possible effects of this type of wound.

I posit that the Formless Mother intended to compromise Mohg's consciousness and sense of reason to make him easier to manipulate. If we assume that they were not working together (debatable), the abduction of Miquella and potential interruption and sabotage of his ascension puts an empyrean under the Formless Mother's control, and works counter to the dynasty Mohg desires. Damage to his ability to plan, make rational decisions, and his sense of morality could explain how Mohg seems to want a place for outcast and hated people, likely seeing a kinship with Miquella, but has created something that is the antithesis to the Haligtree.

Furthermore, should we assume that Mohg and Miquella met previously and Miquella had the opportunity to do so, the power Miquella purportedly has to compel adoration in others may have interacted poorly with Mohg's potentially impaired emotional processing, and could have caused an obsessive outcome that the Formless Mother did not predict.

Of course, I don't believe every awful and cruel decision someone makes is the result of brain damage, but this may explain the incongruity between what Mohg seems to want and what he has made. Whether Mohg is "the reigning lord and hierarch of the coming dynasty of Mohgwyn" or "a raving lunatic" may not be an incompatible dichotomy. It may be sequential.

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Glassbirdfeather you're so wrong, why did you say ___?

I am not a doctor. I am a chemistry student with a biology lean (clinical laboratory science) and am drawing my conclusions from what I've learned in Anatomy, Physiology, and Psychology classes at an introductory level, and I glanced back at my anatomy and psychology textbooks as my sole academic sources. Please don't take this as a well-researched essay, none of the claims I make about mental or physical health are properly cited. This is just fandom theorizing; it's as academically rigorous as fanfiction. Any doctor/member of the medical profession who would like to correct me is invited to do so, I would love to hear more accurate and informed observations.

----

Bibliography

(literally just 2 references, man)

Grison, Sarah and Michael S. Gazzaniga. Psychology in Your Life. Third Edition, W. W. Norton & Company, 2019.

McKinley, Michael P. and Valerie Dean O'Loughlin. Human Anatomy. Fifth Edition, McGraw-Hill, 2017.

[jesswritesthat]

Rody Soul: Crush

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~1.4k, fluff

• You knew Rody well enough to know he doesn't just disappear, but until he returns someone's gotta look out for his siblings.

Warnings: World Heroes Mission spoilers

>>>>——————————>

There was a reason besides job hunting that Rody frequented Stanleyk's Bar so often, and that reason was a part time bartender who surely had to be in today.

However, once more he was disappointed with your absence and apparently he hadn't hidden it well this time regardless of Pino.

"Your little crush is off working."

"I— I didn't even ask. Besides, I thought (Y/n) worked here."

"Only part time kid. (L/n) takes on jobs just like you." Both he and Pino fell into awed silence, they heard you lived in one of the nicer residences in Shanty Town with little threat due to your renowned fighting ability, but to know you were contracted too? Wow, no doubt higher ranked than him considering you were away for longer periods.

"Bonjour! I'm back~" Gladly you entered, greeted by a soft pelt nuzzling into your neck, cooing affectionately despite Rodys' chiding outburst.

"Oh hello Pino, aren't you beautiful today."

"Congratulations, the contact was very pleased with your work and have requested your services at a later date." Stanleyk bluntly interjected, usually he received only positive feedback on any job associated with you.

"You get requested?!"

"Yeah, more elite clientele tend to stick with trusted confederates. It's just how they work, casual clients don't mind who they get as long as they suit the requirements." Came your experience-infused reply to Rody, reaching into your bag with renewed brightness. "Here, souvenirs for your siblings."

Rody had only introduced you to them once over the years and he hated that you were so thoughtful. It was hard not to develop a stupid crush on you even if he'd deny it to his last breath. Luckily you both had a withholding deal that prevented the disclosure of quirks. It annoyed him that yours was a secret but it was a worthwhile sacrifice when he realised he was attracted to you early on - and Pino had no shame in expressing that. You'd connect the dots way too fast for his liking.

That was your last interaction and you'd never gone so long without an encounter together before this - so knowing his address, and noting his delayed return, you knew something was awry.

When you'd brought up the matter to Stanleyk, he'd relayed a call he'd received and immediately you'd raced over to Rodys' home. Roro and Lala were cautious when you'd knocked but recognised you upon mention of their eldest brother and were glad for the company. 

Days passed and you'd opted for short-term jobs which allowed time to cook for them, play with them, and tell any bedtime stories you could conjure all whilst dozing on their corner seating area once the pair fell asleep. Although, with the impending bomb detonations and inevitable death that followed, your babysitting gig got harder.

Soon enough, you found out Rody was in the hospital after apparently putting an end to said calamity.

When you'd taken the worried Soul duo to visit him, you found Pino flapping about Rodys' siblings with vibrant joy whilst they hugged their bandaged brother. You assumed the other patients were the heroes he'd fought alongside, the green haired one being the most gracious toward your presence. It was then Pino awkwardly fluttered around you, unsure of what to do with herself and blushing fiercely meanwhile Rody offered a charismatic smile.

"Hey (Y/n), thanks for looking after my family whilst I was away, Stanleyk told me you took quicker jobs to check on them."

Before you could respond, Roro and Lala excitedly chimed your praises.

"Yeah (Y/n) cooks way nicer food than you!"

"And tells the coolest bedtime stories!"

"You— you did all that?"

"Eh you know, I have to balance certain aspects of my life with good deeds." Immediately the little pink bird was in your arms embracing what she could - to which Rody rapidly pulled her away with an embarrassed mumble.

Once visiting time was over, you all bid him farewell, leaving Rody with a knowing Midoriya.

"Does (Y/n) know about your quirk?"

"Nope, we have a deal."

"I see... which means they don't know how you feel—"

"Not another word! I don't have the confidence to tell them alright, you've just seen how beautiful and amazing they are..." It was a friendly exchange, and though chuckling Izuku gave his support.

"I think you should be honest about your feelings, after all you just saved many lives worldwide Rody. This shouldn't scare you."

Meanwhile outside the hospital room, you were experiencing the same revelation in a different form.

"That's why you came to check on us, because you're big brothers' partner?" Roro hummed in thought, Lala way too giddy with the information even if you were thoroughly confused.

"Where did you get that idea?"

"Rody is in love you." Roro cemented, shocked you were apparently unaware.

"I don't think—"

"Yeah just look at Pino. She's always nuzzling and admiring you." There must be some miscommunication here.

"What's that got to do with Rody? If anyone loves me then surely it's Pino." You happily laughed, assuming this was just a child's' fantasy and thought you were playing along with it.

Their puzzled expressions had you second guessing though, then came their matter-of-fact enlightenment.

"Pino is Rodys' quirk. You know that right?"

No you did not, you thought she was a pet.

"She expresses exactly what Rody is feeling, making it impossible for him to lie!"

It suddenly all connected, why he came to visit on your shift days and how affectionate Pino had grown to be with you - warmly greeting you every time she saw you, fretting over any injury, tackling you, and flustering whenever you touched Rody. That was how he truly wished to communicate with you?

"Hey, I just need a minute, wait here." Obviously the pair did so with gleeful grins upon their faces as you dashed back into the room. The heroes seemed perplexed, especially when you pulled the curtain around Rodys' bed stating you wanted to see his injuries without children around.

He was equally as confounded, and this time you didn't miss the flourishing Pino despite the contrasting coolness her owner exhibited. You sat on his bed, staring him dead in the eye before you broke his very soul with your whispered question.

"Rody, are you in love with me?"

There was a flush of colour on his cheeks, but without another second to think he smirked casually and leaned closer to you.

"If you've fallen for me (Y/n), it's okay to confess, I won't judge."

Pino however, crash-landed in embarrassment with a white feather of submission waving above her demonstrating the answer you'd desired.

"I see, thanks Pino."

"Wait— you know, crap who told you?" The charade was up and the pure horror finally set in.

"Yeah, Pino shows your true emotions right? So what happens if I do this?"

You matched his previous false confidence, leaning closer with only centimetres between you that allowed you to feel his warm breath brush your lips. He didn't retract though, and so you closed the gap, Rody more than willing to kiss back when gentle fingers reached up to your jaw and a melodic chirping emitted from Pino as she soared though the air right over the curtain and around the room as if she was set aglow.

You pulled away slightly, amused by the display even if your opposite was heavily embarrassed - still, you moved in to kiss him again leaving Pino to enjoy the moment.

"Would ya get that damn bird to shut up already?!" It was the voice of the explosive blonde which fractured the fantasy, excusing yourself once opening the curtain with plausible cover.

"I'll stock some bandages for the wounds ready for when you get back. See you!"

———

Life seemed to resume to normal with both of you giving up the shady lifestyle, whilst you quit your position at Stanleyk's Bar to pursue your true passions, Rody in turn ended up getting employed there.

You spent nights over with the Soul family, even if it meant sleeping on the corner couch, Rody always ensured to cook you breakfast. He listened to your bedtime stories with a dreamy look on his face, and when his siblings fell asleep came to join you prior to heading to bed himself.

You'd gifted him pilot books, and you became a feature drawing upon their wall, all the while both of you saved to improve life for the better.

"Hey, if you need a flight attendant oh future pilot captain, may I apply early?"

Just then, Pino held a wing over her heart and promptly fainted whilst Rody ran a hand through his hair.

"Actually, I'd rather you be my copilot so we could always fly together..."

“Is that your idea of a proposal Rody?”

“Wha— not yet! I haven’t saved enough to buy you a—“

“I meant a job proposal, what were you thinking?” Your witty tone left him slumping begrudgingly in his chair and briskly swiping Pino before you could see the classic engagement proposal position she’d admiringly taken.

“Ah, of buying you a pilot manual too if you want to fly with me. That’s all.”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[annwrites]

⸻ corsets & clockwork one-shot collection. ⸻

· pairing: assassin!jacaerys x fem!reader · type: one-shot (collection) · summary: having had enough of feeling like a burden, you threaten to leave, but jace refuses to let that happen. · word count: 962

“I want to come.”

Jace swears under his breath and shakes his head while fastening a blade to his side. He then glances up and stares at you from beneath dark, silken curls. “No.”

You take a step forward and cross your arms. “I’m tired of sitting around here and doing nothing. It’s all I’ve done since coming here! While the rest of you go out there and risk your lives and freedom just to bring back enough coin to keep us going, I leech off of it while doing…what? Cooking? Cleaning? I keep house while—”

“You stay here,” he interjects, acidically. “Because that is where you belong. You don’t possess the skills necessary to do what we do. You would only serve to get us jammed up. And I am not about to risk the safety of every person here just to appease your boredom.”

He comes closer to you and your eyes flit to Baela and Rhaena, who stand near the door, then back to him.

“There’s plenty to do around here to keep you occupied in our absence. So, yes, you can cook or clean, or watch the clock until we get back. It’s up to you. But what isn’t, is you accompanying us. I make those decisions—particularly for heists like these—and my decision is final in you remaining here in the apartment.”

Tears sting your eyes from anger and your chin wobbles from humiliation.

“You don’t get to stand there and lecture me like a child just because I’m finally saying the silent part out loud. I’m not capable of helping because you refuse to teach me! I know people here resent me for it: doing nothing. Daily. I’m just another mouth to feed, another head to keep a roof over, another back to clothe while I do absolutely naught to earn it all. While I live off of their shares.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers.

“You’re not living off of their shares,” he spits before turning back to the door.

“Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean,” you reply.

He grabs his coat from a hook near the door and shrugs it on. Just as he settles his palm upon the brass handle, you speak again.

“Maybe I won’t be here when you get back, then.”

Luke stares at his older brother, watching as he grips the handle more tightly, and his shoulders tense. And then his jaw flexes. Hard. Always a simple tell for his building anger.

“Excuse me?” Jace sneers before slowly turning back to you with a raised brow which twitches from irritation.

“You heard me,” you reply, entirely serious.

Baela opens the door then.

“We’ll just wait outside,” she says quietly, and the rest of the group follows along behind her, eager to get away from a detonation just waiting to happen.

Aging wooden floorboards creak beneath Jace’s leather boots as he stalks slowly toward you.

“Would you like to repeat that?” He hisses.

“You heard me the first time.”

He doesn’t stop until your chests are a breadth’s-width apart.

You lean your head back to meet his gaze, but school your features, despite your heart pounding away between your breasts from nerves.

“You should want that, shouldn’t you?” You throw at him.

His brows furrow and his brown eyes flit between your own. “What the Seven Hells are you trying to get at?”

You snort quietly. “You’ve done nothing but treat me poorly for months on-end. You act as if you can hardly stand my presence. By extension, you should be eager to be rid of it—of me. I’m finally giving you what you desire most. I’ll be out of the city come the morn, before the first bell tolls, and you’ll never have to worry about setting eyes upon me again.”

You study his features—flared nostrils, furrowed brows, and his jaw which clenches and moves from one side to the other, even his fisted hands at his sides—but aren’t intimated by a single feature or facet of his vexation. You’ve become well-acquainted with it.

He’ll finally have a chance to relax when you’re gone, if nothing else.

“As I said, I can’t take it anymore: living as a constant burden, weighing everyone else here down. Their earnings will no longer go toward my upkeep. I won’t allow it. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me from taking my leave.”

You take a step away, and begin to turn in the other direction, until his hand quickly wraps around your wrist.

You try to yank away, to no avail.

And then, most unexpectedly, he cups your cheek roughly in his other hand.

“Let go of m—”

“No one’s funds go to you except mine.”

You still. “W-what?”

He parrots your own words back to you. “You heard me.”

He releases you. “Now, you’re going to ensure me that you’ll remain here, and will be here when we get back. I don’t need my mind focused on anything else except the job. If it is, then I risk everyone’s safety. Something will go wrong, and one of us won’t make it back, if not worse.”

You reach up and ghost your fingertips along your cheek, suddenly feeling distant from yourself.

He’s never touched you like that before…

In truth, he seems to despise any form of tenderness or physicality, so it takes you by surprise that he placed a hand upon you.

“I…” You sigh.

“Fine,” you say, if not a bit reluctantly. Once again, he’s gotten his way.

“Promise me,” he demands while crossing his arms.

You look at him—into his eyes—wishing you could break through his enigma of an exterior.

Maybe he’s simply one puzzle that you’ll never have a chance to solve.

“I promise.”

· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @tvangelism @aemondwhoresworld @cecestea

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello Mint!

I discovered roleplaying through Lancer, and it made me love tactics with a little emergent behavior (with the occasional surprise super silly combo), the sort we also have in some tactical puzzle games like into the breach or tactical breach wizards. Do you know some tactical RPGs with combat that can almost feel like puzzles at times

THEME: Combat with Puzzles.

Hello friend! I think I have some solid recommendations here, but don't sleep on what I've already written about! You can check out some other recommendation posts at the bottom of this.

Celestial Bodies, by Charlotte Laskowski @binarystargames.

Adrift Among the Bodies of the Dead

For a generation after the calamity, the infinite dark between the stars felt cramped, crowded by refugees on ships meant for fewer people and shorter trips.  In the second generation, those who survived in their home-ships now cannibalized the metal skeletons of the less fortunate ships.  The third generation did not just expand their ships; they expanded their mecha and their operations. They fled to farther stars — populations in space stations and on surfaces booming as quickly as lives were lost in petty disputes.  The fourth generation discovered the Titans. No probe had yet reached these dead gods whose frozen bodies spanned hundreds of miles across. You are the fifth generation.

Celestial Bodies uses an inventory system that feels similar to Mausritter; you have to fit your weapons and other gear inside a grid in order to carry everything. Your “puzzle’ involves constructing your mech to work effectively in battle according to the strategy you prefer. You’re also tracking resources gained and resources used; it seems like you have to keep fighting in order to get access to the things that keep you going.

Ultraviolence Radiation, by KintaroTPC.

Ultraviolence Radiation (UVR) is an experiment in action.

Deflect bullets with a knife! Grab a guy and use him as a weapon against another guy! Take a smoke break in the middle of a hail of gunfire! Get your revenge and look cool doing it.

Featuring 100 enemies with unique Intros, Attacks and special things they do when they die! 28 Abilities to make the action hero you want to play! A rule set which takes inspiration from Beat-Em-Up arcade games and applied them to the Tabletop genre.

In Ultraviolence Radiation, one person is a player, while everyone else at the table plays the baddies. The fighter can’t use moves that draw from the same stat back-to-back; a limitation that points towards having to think carefully about what you’re going to do. There are also moves that have cooldown limitations; you can’t spam the same move, but rather have to time everything to make sure you still have access to good options. Additionally, the fighter has access to passive moves, which have no cooldown, and in some cases, might be consistently in effect. They also have interrupt moves, which can be used outside of your turn. This gives you a fairly complex list of options to choose from, which I think is an integral piece to a good combat game.

Mutation, by OneFootWall Games.

The World as we know it has changed. Two centuries from now a comet strikes Earth. This hunk of interstellar rock was an attack by some Klendathu wannabes. “Goddamn bugs whacked us, Johnny.”

It wasn’t really a comet or meteor, or even an asteroid. It was a seed bomb for terraforming sent by some alien species. This thing detonated a mile up over the Florida Keys and scattered radiation, some kind of bio-gel, and spores around the globe. It wiped out 80% of life on the surface. And we never even got to see the damn aliens…

The world was a little weird and quiet after that. But like Dr Ian Malcom in Jurassic Park says, “Life, uh, finds a way.”

A 3d6 system with a reasonable amount of crunch, distance matters in Mutation, and turns have an action economy. This plus the attacks, talents, psychic powers, skills, and gear which all constitute your character mean that you have a number of different distinct tools that can be used to overcome obstacles, especially in combat. Your character also has the opportunity to inflict and also take different conditions; having different ways to affect and damage your opponent feels like another layer of tactical precision to me.

There is a free quickstart if you want to take a peek behind the curtain before you buy.

Thrones and Threads, by OpalBreeze Games.

Throughout the land, warlords hire mercenary champions to try and dethrone one another. Once hired, these champions don cloth adornments embroidered with threads of vibrant colours that signify their allegiance. Endowed with formidable power, champions are tasked with cutting through enemy lines and destroying fortified strongholds until no obstacles remain between their forces and the enemy throne.

Thrones and Threads is a role-playing battle arena based on Songs and Sagas, product of Fari RPGs, developed and authored by René-Pier Deshaies-Gélinas.

This game comes with 5 pregenerated characters and feels very much like an arena battle; combat is front and centre. Each character has a special move that makes them unique, and many of their traits are determined by different sizes of dice. Because each character has flavoured ways of using their stats, if you are inventive in how you describe your characters’ actions, you’ll likely be able to play to your strengths.

Strike Force Omega, by potatocubed.

It is the far future. Humanity spreads across the galaxy. Led by a council of corporate interests, the Imperial Core reaps the benefits of plunder and exploitation on an unimaginable scale, teeming trillions of human beings kept docile by mass media and the never-ending war against every other sentient species humanity has encountered.

You were a soldier in that war. Not one of the grunts, given basic training and a gun and shoved towards the enemy, although you might have started there. No, you were part of Strike Force Omega. Omega, because you ended things. Given the best training and equipment, remade by your corporate masters into a terrifying god of war, and expected to achieve the impossible on a regular basis. Which you did.

Until you got out.

But war has found you, even here. Not all the threats in the corp newsrooms are overstated.

The people of these worlds are frightened, but they will defend their homes against the oncoming tides – and they will fail and they will die. Even in their millions they cannot win.

Unless…

War is what you were made for, after all. You’ve killed and destroyed for far worse causes than this, so why not take up arms one more time and maybe try to claw back a little part of your soul?

LUMEN is generally a great system for strategic combat, all about creating combos that make you feel powerful and effective. Strike Force Omega is a setting that allows you to play with both magic and technology, and it includes 6 sample campaigns, one for each enemy faction written for the setting. Since the lore and world-building is built in, your characters already have a strong reason for fighting, something that sometimes I struggle to put together in Lancer.

demon blade ultimate, by Peach Garden Games.

Take up your Demon Blade and do battle against the oppression of the imperial army, put an end to the shaded cities, and bring the people of the undercity back to the sunlight.

Demon Blade Ultimate uses the Arts Grid, a character creation and power system pioneered in the legendary Horse Girl Infinity by Jordan Cuddlefish. Choose powers from the grid, unleash powerful summoning magic, and know that nothing is truly beyond your reach.

The grid system in Demon Blade involves choosing three powers on a grid. The spaces between the thing you want to do and the thing you are good at determines the difficulty of an action. Advancement allows you to increase your strengths, making you more powerful as you play.

This game takes a lot from shounen battle anime, so expect narratives about striving to improve yourself until you can vanquish the evil that threatens your people.

Other Recommendations:

Loot, by Gila RPGs.

My Dragoon Recommendation Post.

Fantasy With Tools Recommendation Post

Weapons & Weapon Customization Recommendation Post

Spatial Puzzle Recommendations

Combat Recommendations

If you like what I do and want to leave a tip, you can always stop by my Ko-Fi page.

[mcrdvcks]

Stardust

chapter summary: Din surprises you with a trip.

word count: 974

pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

prompt: stars

notes: this is my first time writing for din so i'm sorry if it's not accurate :) anyways, since i'm going to college for astrophysics, this seemed like an appropriate prompt for me to do (also because i'm a space nerd)

this is another prompt from @dindjarindiaries for dincember!

star wars masterlist

The Razor Crest hummed softly as it drifted in hyperspace. You sat at the small makeshift workstation, tinkering with a malfunctioning thermal detonator. The compact device refused to cooperate, its stubborn wiring fraying your patience. Grogu babbled from his floating pram, watching your every move with wide, curious eyes.

"Don't touch that," you warned, flicking a glance his way. His tiny claw hovered over the edge of the table, aiming for your hydrospanner. "I mean it, kid."

Grogu cooed in protest but retracted his hand. He pouted, but his expressive ears perked up when a shadow crossed the threshold of the cockpit. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Din. His presence was as familiar as the hum of the Crest.

“Is that thing gonna blow up in your face?” Din’s modulated voice carried a teasing lilt.

“Only if I’m lucky,” you replied dryly, not looking up from the detonator.

Din leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His beskar armor reflected the dim light, making him look even more imposing. “You’ve been at that for an hour.”

“I’ve had worse company than a stubborn explosive,” you quipped. “What’s up?”

He hesitated. That was never a good sign. Din could stare down blaster fire and an entire squad of stormtroopers without breaking a sweat, but this? This pause made you suspicious.

“Get your coat,” he finally said.

You blinked, turning to face him. “Why? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” His tone was even, unreadable, but there was a hint of something—anticipation, maybe? “We’re dropping out of hyperspace soon. Grab Grogu. You’ll want to see this.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided not to argue. If Din was being cryptic, it usually meant he was planning something. And while his surprises often included unexpected blaster fights or hostile negotiations, this didn’t have the same edge of danger.

“Fine.” You pushed back from the table, scooping up Grogu, who squealed in delight. “But if this ends with me patching up your injuries again, I’m taking your meiloorun.”

Din chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Not this time.”

---

The planet he brought you to was small, almost unremarkable at first glance. Its atmosphere shimmered faintly as the Razor Crest descended, the golden hues of its surface shifting like liquid. Din handled the landing with practiced ease, and soon, the three of you stepped out into a soft, sprawling expanse.

“Okay,” you said, surveying the area. “What’s the deal? Where’s the bounty?”

“No bounty.” Din’s helmet tilted skyward. “Just… look.”

You followed his gaze, and your breath hitched. The sky above was a tapestry of stars, brighter and closer than you’d ever seen. Nebulas swirled in vivid colors—violets, blues, and golds—while constellations stretched in intricate patterns. It was as if the galaxy had folded in on itself, presenting its wonders in one breathtaking view.

“Din,” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away. “What… how did you find this place?”

He shifted beside you, his voice quieter now. “Picked up some star charts during a job. Thought you’d like it.”

“‘Like it’?” You laughed softly, overwhelmed. “Din, this is… incredible.”

Grogu reached up, his tiny hand grasping at the stars as if he could pluck them from the sky. You held him close, feeling a wave of emotion you didn’t expect.

Din stood beside you, quiet but solid, the kind of steady presence you’d come to rely on. His helmet tilted ever so slightly as he watched the scene unfold, and you couldn’t resist teasing him.

“So,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence, “is this your way of trying to impress me?”

He turned his helmet toward you. “Is it working?”

You snorted. “I don’t know. You’re pretty hard to impress yourself, Mr. Star Charts.”

Din made a soft, amused sound. “Thought you might appreciate the view. Astrophysicist and all.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, did you crack open a textbook to prep for this? Next thing I know, you’ll be spouting quantum theory.”

“I’d rather stick to tracking fobs and blasters,” he shot back, but there was warmth in his voice.

Grogu squirmed in your arms, letting out a series of excited babbles. You adjusted your hold on him, and he immediately grabbed a piece of your jacket, pulling it toward his mouth.

“Okay, little guy, relax,” you said, gently pulling it away. “This is a ‘look but don’t eat’ situation.”

Din chuckled again, a low rumble that made your chest feel lighter. You turned toward him, watching the way the stars reflected off the curve of his helmet. Even without seeing his face, you could tell he was watching you—really watching you.

“Thanks for this,” you said quietly, letting the sincerity bleed into your words. “I needed it.”

He shifted a little, the faintest hint of hesitation in his stance. “I just… wanted to see you smile.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. For a guy who spent most of his time grunting or giving one-word answers, Din could hit you with the kind of sentiment that knocked the wind out of you.

“Well,” you said, swallowing past the lump in your throat, “mission accomplished, Mando.”

You took a step closer, lifting up on your toes to press a kiss to the cheek of his helmet. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the warmth of the moment, and you lingered for just a second longer than you probably should have.

When you pulled back, Din didn’t say anything right away. But his posture shifted, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“Come on,” he said, voice softer now. “Let’s stay out here for a while.”

“Only if you promise to stop being so cryptic next time,” you teased, but you followed him anyway, Grogu snuggled securely in your arms.

For now, the galaxy could wait.

[dutifullylazybread]

Headcannon jealous Rolan

Rolan and Tav have an established relationship

However, Rolan is jealous of Gale. I need to know how this man handles jealousy and Gale around Tav. NSFW or SFW.

So I ended up writing a bit of a scenario while also giving an idea of how Rolan acts while he is jealous. Some mentions of sex below, but nothing overtly NSFW. I'd argue this is more of a hurt/comfort headcanon list.

As a note, I focused on why Rolan might be jealous of the relationship between Tav/Gale to keep this as concise as I could. I think it is possible that Rolan might be jealous of Gale's magical education, but that might be a headcanon list for another time!

Some Reasons Why Rolan is Jealous of Gale and How He Acts:

Rolan knows that you and Gale are close—the two of you traveled together for months after all. You have pulled each other from the jaws of death on countless occasions. You convinced him not to detonate the orb that once sat in his chest.

Gale has a deeper understanding of what you went through at that time than Rolan thinks he ever will. After all, Rolan never had a tadpole lodged in his skull, nor has he ever shared a mental link with you. And while his path to Baldur’s Gate took him one way, your path took you the other—even with the points in which both routes merged.

And the bastard is just charming. He makes it look so easy to be that damn charming.

And when Rolan feels at ease, he is charming. But he feels like he has to put on a performance. He has to be this brilliant wizard at all times.

Rolan may feel like he knows you well—you and him are in an established relationship. The two of you have professed your love for each other. You sleep in the same bed, you have shared goals for the future, and he could see himself spending the rest of his life with you.

But does he know you as well as Gale does?

That eats at him.

And he does feel like he is at a disadvantage when Gale comes to visit, and the two of you reminisce about something that Rolan wasn’t present for. 

He watches how you light up and laugh, and he wonders if you ever light up like that around him. He tells himself that it might be different, that he might not notice those little details, because he sees you every single day.

You and Gale may discuss a book that Rolan has never read, or you might ramble on about your research and ask for the other’s opinion.

After traveling together and patching each other’s wounds, you and Gale might casually touch (arm squeezes or hugs, for example) with ease. And it might make Rolan uneasy.

Rolan’s response to the situation will vary.

If he feels left out, he might excuse himself and make himself scarce. You can tell something is wrong based on how his tail is snapping back and forth. He is seething and trying to hide it.

He is also being awfully short with you. He might make a few passive aggressive (or as passive aggressive as he can manage) comments.

“Don’t mind me. I wouldn’t want to take you away from such engaging company.” He says this with a distinct bite, of course.

If he isn't too deep into his jealousy, he will definitely take comfort in the two of you having sex. You make him feel loved and valued, and you take the time to remind him of that.

And while he is feeling this way, slow and tender sex is the way to go. The sex where it feels like the two of you have nothing but time and you plan on using all of that time with him is soothing.

If he has gotten to the point where he is being short and standoffish, however, sex isn't happening. He is closing himself off from everyone in nearly every conceivable way.

If Gale tries to talk to him, Rolan is cordial but chilly. 

He won’t outright ask for Gale to leave, but he doesn’t go out of his way to make him feel welcome either.

He is, after all, trying to appear every inch the archwizard who could rival Gale. And in several ways, he already is. He just doesn’t see it.

While Rolan doesn’t necessarily try to one-up Gale, he will have those small, ugly moments of feeling rather pleased with himself when he is more knowledgeable about something than Gale might be.

Rolan might make small jabs at Gale about knowing something that he perceives as easy but which Gale mentions having difficulty with (it just feels satisfying to know he can do something better than Gale).

When Gale is about, Rolan might make a conscious point to curl his tail around your ankle or to lay a hand on the small of your back—physical contact that he might not normally indulge in when company is around.

I don’t see him making a point of kissing you in front of Gale or doing something like pulling you onto his lap—the small moments of contact, though Gale might not be picking up on it, speak volumes already.

Should Rolan not be forthcoming with Gale about how he feels, Gale will likely say something to you along the lines of, “Have I done something to upset Rolan?”

Naturally, you don’t want to see your beloved and one of your dear friends at odds.

So, privately, you ask Rolan what the matter is.

This is another situation where he might claim nothing at all is wrong, or he might make a snide remark about Gale. He might loop you into that comment.

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt the two of you. You were getting rather chummy after all.”

The direction this discussion goes will largely depend on how insecure Rolan feels and how defensive he gets. 

It might be as easy as reminding him that you chose him. You have built a life with him. And you wouldn’t change what you have for anything.

If Rolan is too defensive to be receptive, he might put some space between you and him so that he can feel what he needs to feel and then gather his thoughts. He likely won’t be graceful about it (he will probably lock himself up in his office and stew for a bit).

However, when he does have the time to really consider everything, he does see that he has been unfair and downright unkind.

And while he doesn’t enjoy the idea of the conversation to come, he does want to make amends with you. And he wants to explain himself.

This isn’t to say that he won’t get defensive during this discussion either, but with his newfound clarity, he is going to try his damnedest to hear what you have to say and recognize how his actions have made you feel.

Gale and you are just friends. Even if the two of you were romantic in the past, things ended amicably, and neither of you have any interest in picking up where things left off.

Besides, you might ask Rolan, have you ever done anything to make him think that your affections were wandering?

Rolan will assure you that you haven’t. And then it may come out that he is jealous of the closeness that you and Gale have, and sometimes it does sting to know that he hasn’t shared in those adventures.

So you offer to tell him everything that he wants to know. What is he curious about? 

Does he want to know where you all traveled? Does he want to know about the moments where all of you laughed yourselves dizzy around the fire? About the disagreements that you had but then talked out and patched up? How about the most horrific meals you had to scrounge together? 

And this helps him a bit. He might not get to have those experiences with you, but it means the world to him that you are happy to share those times with him—that you feel comfortable enough to do so. 

Even if you don’t want to share everything—if a companion died on the road, if something went horribly wrong—even offering to tell him about some of your adventures means a great deal to him.

Rolan apologizes to you and promises to make amends with Gale.

And when you, him, and Gale are visiting once again, you encourage Rolan to ask questions—Gale is always more than happy to regale anyone with stories of your adventures, after all. 

And, though he does have to swallow his pride a little, Rolan does apologize to Gale.

He asks Gale to visit again—and Gale accepts (Waterdeep is lovely, but Baldur’s Gate is still the third best city on the Sword Coast, after all).

And later, you remind Rolan just how much he means to you, and how incredible you think he is.

I’m saying you body worship and overstim him, and then you hold him while he falls asleep in your arms, feeling loved and cherished and secure.

A week later, when you and Rolan are spending a lazy morning in bed together, you laugh at something he says. And he realizes that, around him, when you light up, you are practically incandescent

And he holds you close.