#they’re terrifying and i’m in love your honor

[xxsabitoxx]

Ryomen Sukuna NSFW A-Z

Part of my 20k follower celebration (past due)

Warnings: if it isn’t abundantly clear, this is smut :)

A/N: in honor of hitting 20k followers a while back, I’m going to be posting 10 NSFW alphabets for JJK men — scheduled post 11 :) - I've developed an unhealthy obsession with true form Sukuna... he is all I think about now. Forgive me because this one is for sure a bit OOC since he like... loves you

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If you managed to break the hollow icy shell that is Sukuna’s heart and make yourself someone important to him… Sukuna is pretty damn good with aftercare. He’ll clean you up, even ordering someone to get numbing salves because he tore you the fuck up and he know’s you’ll be sore and aching within a few hours if you aren’t already. He’ll use two arms to cradle you gently while his other set works on cleaning you up and making sure you’re okay. He’ll wait until you’re sleeping to whisper praises to you, telling you that you did so well for him and that he adores you. He’ll never really say these things to you when you’re awake though. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Sukuna loves your legs and thighs, he loves your hips and your stomach too. He loves having things to hold and your body provides so much softness for him. He loves to kneel before you – that’s right the king of curses kneeling before you – to lick all the way from the top of your foot up to your inner thigh. He’ll cover your legs in bruises and bites, making sure everyone is well aware that you are his property and nobody else can have you. He adores your stomach, often resting his head against it and letting you pet his hair lovingly. Sukuna will only show this level of vulnerability to you, letting down some – not all – of his walls. 

Sukuna loves his entire body, four arms, two mouths, two dicks, and all. He considers it his masterpiece and it deserves to be worshiped. He has no shame in proclaiming this either. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

If he’s not dumping several loads into your cunt/ass then what’s the point? Sukuna treats his cum just as he treats the rest of his body… It's sacred and a privilege to have it. He toys with the idea of painting your face or chest in it but ultimately doesn’t see the point in letting something so valuable go to waste. So creampies are the only way in Sukuna’s eyes. And trust me when I say this man cums a fucking boat-load. I don’t care if it’s realistic or not, he’s making you look bloated by the time he’s done with you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Sukuna would let you do anything you wanted to him… he just hasn’t found the strength to give you that knowledge yet. He hates the idea of someone holding power over him, which is why he’s ever so mildly terrified of you. You may not realize it, but you have Sukuna wrapped around your finger… that man would kill the entire planet for you if it meant seeing you smile. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Sukuna is very experienced, having tens if not hundreds of harlots laying around for his use. But that was before you. You changed his view on that sort of thing and he got rid of every single one of them… you are all he needs to remain satisfied and that is a feeling Sukuna never thought he'd experience in his existence. Sukuna knows what he’s doing and he knows what he’s doing well.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Sukuna’s favorite position is holding you up so your back is pressed to his chest. He has a hand hooked under each of your knees and he’s holding you up that way, spreading you apart further than your legs really allow. Sukuna is either sitting or standing and honestly he prefers when a mirror is present so he can watch your face contort in a mix of pain and pleasure. He has you impaled on his cock, easily able to trust in and out of you as you fall apart. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not even a hint of goofiness in this man when he fucks you. He is all about business… I mean for real it was actually kind of terrifying at first but now you’re used to it. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Sukuna doesn’t really give a shit about his hair down there… and yes it’s pink like the rest of his hair. It may sound fucking bizarre but if you want to trim and clean him up down there? He’ll let you do it. You bathe him often so it’s not necessarily out of your comfort zone to sit there and groom his nether region. He doesn’t really care what you do down there either. You can simply trim him to your liking or shave him bald. Whatever you’re into, he truly doesn’t care. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sukuna is… romantic in his own way. He’s not detached from the situation at hand and he’s not focused entirely on himself. Sukuna shows his “romantic” side by letting you cum, maybe sparing you a few kisses, rubbing his thumb across the nail marks he left on your legs… he’s not one to say “I love you” or really express how much you mean to him. But it’s the small, subtle little things that hint towards his affection for you. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’s got four hands, you’d think he’d use one of them to get himself off but he simply doesn’t see a need for that when he can have a random whore come do it for him. When it comes to you though? You never leave him, like Uraume, you’ve earned your spot by his side. He has you to assist him with those kinds of needs when they arise (heh). Though, he’s amused you once or twice by jerking himself off for your own enjoyment. Making a show of using two hands to jerk off his two cocks but stopping just before he comes because – as i’ve said – he doesn’t like to waste any of it, not a single drop can be spared. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Slave/Master kink for one… he just likes the feeling of being superior even though he doesn't need to “roleplay” to get that feeling. BDSM… or whatever equivalent there is for the Heian period. He likes it rough, messy, even a little bloody. Sukuna has a massive breeding kink but doesn’t want kids, he just likes the idea of filling you over and over again (regardless if you have the ability to get pregnant or not). Dacryphilia for sure, your tears turn him on. Orgasm control (both denying and overstimulation) are just another aspect that plays into his love of power. Sukuna loves restraints in any form, not him, though. He will for sure try and fist you. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere. Sukuna will fuck you where ever the fuck he wants too with no shame. He’ll fuck you on his bed, ruin the luxurious sheets and break the bedframe over and over. It’s gotten to the point where he actually got rid of it all together because he was sick of the wood splintering and nearly hurting you. Sukuna can and will fuck you on a raised platform in front of his petrified subjects. He wants everyone to know who you belong too – even if you don’t need to be fucked stupid in front of hundreds of people for them to know. It’s quite obvious. To be totally honest, Sukuna loves the mess and mayhem of fucking you in the tub. Watching the water slosh everywhere then ordering a maid to come clean up the damage, it makes him laugh. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

There is an innocence to you that really gets Sukuna going. You’ve done the most downright filthy things with him, you’ve stood beside him as he makes a bloody mess of someone… but somehow you still retain this sort of innocence to you that he loves to try and taint. It’s not to say you���re oblivious… you’re very smart in Sukuna’s eyes and he knows you have a mean streak. But when you’re with him… there is something about you that he wants to break so badly and he has such fun trying to do so… you’re resilient which would usually piss him off to no end… but with you it’s endearing and he can’t figure out why he can’t get enough (you’re in love dumb ass) 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Shit. Yeah no that’s the one thing he can not and will not deal with. He’s had his fair share of bodily fluids – to say the least without going into detail. But he draws the line at anything to do with vomit or scat. It disturbs him… which is saying a lot. He’s had women offered to him as sacrifice that have done several things in fear and he can say he truthfully cannot handle it. Also, no threesomes ever. He’s not sharing you. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s a healthy combination of both (shocking). Sukuna loves watching you struggle to even take one of his cocks in your mouth nevermind both. But your mouth feels so damn good even though you struggle to get more than the tip past your lips. Sukuna loves to go down on you though, keeping your thighs spread apart so he can eat you as he pleases. Your arousal just tastes so good to him, he can’t get enough and he will not stop until he’s satisfied. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rough and cruel for the most part. But he can be even meaner when he goes unbearably slow, splitting you open agonizingly with two cocks opposed to one just to see those pretty tears slip down your cheeks as you beg and plead for mercy (mercy he never gives). Sukuna will fuck you stupid with one cock most of the time, that’s his little bit of kindness towards you, but you’ll get fucked twice at least… ya know… gotta get the second cock off too. He’ll give you a choice, get fucked twice with one cock each time or get fucked once with two… mind you it’s never just once even if it’s two cocks at the same time or one each. You’re smart enough to take one cock multiple times unless you want to be bedridden because you can’t walk. Both options have happened to you many times though… so you really can’t tell why he offers you a choice. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sex can take up a whole day when it comes to Sukuna. So, no, he despises quickies. He doesn’t like to be rushed, he doesn’t care if he gets caught, he’ll make people watch. What is there that would really appeal to him??? It seems more annoying than anything really. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He will experiment but only on his own accord. He won’t say it outright but Sukuna is at least a bit mindful of the experiments he does… he doesn’t want to really hurt you or scare you away. So he picks and chooses what he wants to try on you. If there is something very intriguing to him that he worries will make you uncomfortable? He’ll force two other people to play it out while he watches and decides from there… he’s oddly considerate of you in that sense. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

As you saw above… sex can be an all-day process for Sukuna. He can last as long as he wants to… and I mean that seriously. His stamina is infinite, nothing will stop him but himself. He can go multiple rounds until you’re so fucked out you’ve lost count. He can last anywhere from 15-25 minutes per round, he could last much longer but his goal is inevitably to cum so why bother… praying for you honestly. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys like we know today don’t exist within his era (the Heian period) and honestly?? Sukuna is a fucking jungle gym in his own right so you really don’t need toys… and even if they did exist and were at his disposal? Sukuna isn’t using them. Why the hell would he rely on a stupid little toy to get you off when he’s more than capable?? He’s not intimidated by them, he just would think they’re absolutely useless… modern day though… if you begged him for a vibrator he would probably cave and get you one. He may even find amusement in it. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Sukuna and fair do not belong in the same sentence so it should shock nobody that this man will tease you until you are nearly dry heaving with how hard you’re crying. He will tease you for hours, to the point it feels like genuine torture, before he feels like getting you off. Then, the unfair attitude continues because he will not stop even when you start begging him to. He likes how quickly he can make you regret your words, seeing those pretty fat globs of tears leaking down your cheeks only makes the experience better for him. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Sukuna will curse and groan but that’s about it. He won’t try and hide his noises, either, but he will try and make sure he’s not too loud. It’s rare to get a moan, whine, or whimper out of him. Especially since he has such good control over himself. But he will not hesitate to groan about how good his cock is feeling because of you… he has to give you a little something to get you to stick around, ya know? Not that you have a choice… and not that you’d really want to leave him anyways… giving up your luxurious lifestyle and being on the king of curses’ good side isn’t something just anyone can obtain, you know. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Sukuna hates your family, ever since you were dropped off to him to be a sacrifice. He doesn’t care about his donors and their sacrifices since all of them are mediocre pieces of shit at best. Though he knows a scumbag like him is not one to talk. But you? You arrived to him nearly beaten to death, half naked, with little to no emotion left in you. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Where was the fun in playing with something that was already half dead. Though, as he was about to kill you, something in your expression moved his icy heart. That truly petrified him but he’d never let anyone know it. He kept you instead of killing you, ordering for the immediate execution of your rotten family instead. He likes to joke that he had the perfect specimen nursed back to health, in his eyes you really were perfect. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Sukuna is a tall man… while we don’t know his exact height in true form… he’s been guesstimated to be anywhere from 7.5 feet to 9.8 feet. A tall man is going to have a monstrous cock… or cocks in his case. When he’s soft he’s about 8.5 inches in length, and when he’s hard he’s just over 11 inches. He’s monstrous, girthy and sticks straight out… both of them do. He will hurt… he will make you feel like you’re getting ripped in half and he will often try and fist you to prepare you for him. He cannot fit all the way inside of you, as much as he’d love to, he's not trying to kill you by rupturing your organs. He’s a tan color, one dick is circumcised, the other is not… he was feeling quirky,  and has a deep rosy pink tip… or tips… you know what I mean. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Sukuna has to fuck you at least twice a day, if he doesn’t, he’s extremely irritable. He has at least 5 hours of his day set aside just for you. But really he makes his own schedule so he can do whatever the fuck he wants when he wants to. His sex drive is pretty damn high and he does absolutely nothing to deal with it or hold off. He will get off the moment he wants too. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sukuna prefers falling asleep after you do, which can be pretty instant considering how long he may have been fucking you. So the answer is anywhere between 30 seconds and 10 minutes. 

[bruciemilf]

I know this is a DC blog but I NEED dad Logan. Get that murder teddy bear some kids ASAP.

Fancast + non canon Headcanons ahead.

BOBBY MY BELOVED / 16

“Sure everything in my life is terrible. But at LEAST I’m gay”

Makes pop culture references Logan doesn’t understand. “Logan threw the first brick at stonewall” “what are you SAYING” “he’s an ally”

Can, will, and has gaslight Logan into thinking he’s homophobic just for not letting Bobby do what he wants

Stole a beer from Logan once and they found him drunk crying at 3 am. He calls Logan to apologize about it. “I’m sO sorryyy. You know I love you??” “Go to bed” “noOoo” Logan is next to him.

Has a secret YouTube channel and everyone watches for Logan interactions specifically

Mabel Pines coded

KITTY… that’s his half pint your honor. / 17

Logan is terrified. Why are you such an easy kid. Why aren’t you rebelling? Why isn’t defiance bleeding on your fists?

Why aren’t you clawing and biting and snarling for your freedom? Why aren’t you being a kid? Who do I have to skin-

Daughters are not supposed to exist quietly.

I hc that Kitty’s family is extremely unsupportive of her being a mutant, — but they’re just traditional in general. Specifically she’s petrified of being around/existing along men.

Certified babysitter when Logan’s not around. She’s so big sister.

“guys!1!11!!!! mr. Logan said not to do that!1!1!1”

Logan BEGS her to be a shitty teenager for like 10 minutes. Be bratty!!! Tell him to fuck off! Throw a tantrum!!!! “But I’m not a kid.” “You’re MY kid.”

JUBILEEE daddy’s girl / 15

Problem Child TM

Plays Rock n Roll by Avril Lavigne at 4 am to piss Logan and her siblings off when they annoy her

Grounded all the time but if she fake cries Logan will shamefully relent.

Always puts Logan’s patience to the test because she anticipates him leaving/giving up on her

Foster child with issues. She spent half her life looking for people and the other half being abandoned by them. This won’t be any different.

Except Logan is very good at fighting destiny.

Your honor I don’t CARE Logan is made to be a girl dad!!!!

“On the spectrum. Not saying which one”

STRONG she/they energy

Most affectionate with Logan out of all the kiddos. Her love language is terrible pancake making (Logan eats them anyway) and cat cuddling.

ADHD icon

LAURA (murder baby) / 7

Brings dead birds/mice to her family members (affectionate)

Charles has the bright idea to enroll her in school with the kids. “It’s important for children to socialize with peers their own ages.” “Can’t socialize if they’re all DEAD.”

That meme of the little boy and his father with an arrow in his shoulder

Youngest child privilege

Steals Bobby’s phone and shoot’s hilariously off angle family vlogs. One of them includes her stealing Logan’s motorcycle while he runs after her

[aajjks]

The conqueror (XXIII.)

Synopsis: He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.

Pairings: Yandere!King Jungkook x Commoner!servant Reader

warnings: yándèrè, DÁRK TRÍGGÈRÍNG THÈMÈS, dárk óbsèssíòn, cràzy júngkòòk, dèprèssíón, 18+ thèmès, íntènsè thèm��s, kórèàn tràdítíòns, àttèmpt át súícídè, NÓNCÔN KÍSSÍNG, TÓUCHÏNG, lüst, sèxúàl thèmès,

note. YALLLL This chapter is my best one yet I am so proud. Also, just a warning I have copy pasted some of the Korean traditional stuff from Google so I’m just telling you guys in advance and if you have any questions ask or anything to tell me just come into my inbox because this chapter is a terrifying. And sooooo sexy 🥵🥵🥵 undeniably, sexy… I have no words, but please please please share your feedback. OK I love you guys. Enjoy.

series masterlist

taglist: @mageprincess7 @starsggukk @sprinkleoftee @koremis @minshookie29 @sana-b @bangtannoonalvg @oonaaurora @jeonsweetpea @sugaslittlekookies @outro-kook @kthyg @lunaashes @debicaptain-saturn @laurynne5 @captainsjoongs @myblackconfessions @lanalanexpjm @namjooncrabs @shadowmoon21 @kookunot @natalie-rdr @angelicasdre @iwasfuckinginnocentonce @mermaidtea @foulnightharmony @ungodlyjoon @quechulitaaa @telepathytae @silversparkles11 @j3alous-ang3l @bunzom @1-in-abillion @breadgeniedope @jiminie-08 @artgukk @lovesthetword @bunijmin @pinkcherrybombs @afangirllikeme-blog @twilight-love-nochu-main @wedarkacademia @hollxe1 @bighitfics @darkuni63 @golden-thv @investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @koocreampie (I can’t tag anymore people, it’s full 😭😭)

The air feels heavy, oppressive, as if the entire palace is holding its breath in anticipation of this day. Your wedding day. The day your life is to be bound forever to the man you hate most in this world. You sit in your chambers, unable to bring yourself to look in the mirror. The room is alive with movement, court ladies bustling around you, adjusting every detail of your appearance as though they’re preparing a lamb for slaughter.

The silk of your hanbok feels suffocating, its intricate embroidery weighing you down. The deep crimson and golden hues, symbols of purity and virtue, mock you with every thread. This is not a union of love. This is a chain, cold and unyielding, tying you to a man who thrives on blood and power.

“Perfect, my lady,” the seamstress finally declares, stepping back to admire her work. Her smile is full of pride, but it feels hollow.

Nothing about today is perfect.

“How fortunate you are to marry the king,” Na-yeon whispers close to your ear, her tone laced with a smugness that makes your stomach turn. “Most women would kill to be in your place.”

You don’t respond. Your throat feels tight, your heart heavy. Most women don’t know the truth about him. Most women haven’t seen the darkness that festers behind his piercing gaze. If they did, they’d run far, far away.

“Leave me alone,” you whisper weakly, your voice cracking. The court ladies exchange glances but obey, bowing before quietly filing out of the room. All except Na-yeon. She lingers, always watching, always ready to report back to him.

“You should feel honored,” she says, her voice soft but sharp, like the blade of a knife. “This is the greatest moment of your life.”

You swallow hard, fists clenched in your lap. “The greatest moment of my life?” you repeat bitterly. “This is the worst moment of my life. I’d rather die.”

For a fleeting second, her expression falters, but it’s gone just as quickly. She straightens, smoothing the front of her hanbok. “You mustn’t say such things, my lady. The king wouldn’t like to hear that.”

You glare at her. “Let him hear it. I don’t care anymore.”

But even as the words leave your mouth, you feel the weight of them settle in your chest. You’ve felt the consequences of his anger before. You know better than to provoke him. And yet, part of you doesn’t care.

You’re desperate, grasping at any semblance of control, even if it means testing his patience. You wish that you had died last night when he had attempted to take your own life, but then….

Na-Yeon had caught you. She has been like a shadow and now you’re here.

The palace courtyard is alive with activity, the sound of drums echoing through the cold morning air. The ceremonial guards stand in perfect formation, their armor gleaming under the pale sunlight.

Nobles and officials gather in clusters, their voices hushed as they exchange whispers about the grand occasion.

You’re led through the courtyard by a procession of attendants, their hands firm on your arms as they guide you toward the altar. You want to run, to scream, but your body betrays you. Your legs move mechanically, your feet dragging across the stone path as though weighed down by chains.

The altar looms ahead, a grand structure draped in silk banners and adorned with offerings of fruit, rice, and incense. At its center stands Jungkook, his figure imposing, cloaked in the rich robes of a king. His dark eyes find yours immediately, piercing through the crowd, and your breath catches.

There’s something about the way he looks at you—intense, unyielding, predatory. It sends a shiver down your spine. He’s been waiting for this moment, and the satisfaction in his expression is unmistakable.

As you approach, the murmurs of the crowd fall silent. All eyes are on you now.

“Bow,” one of the court ladies hisses under her breath.

You hesitate for only a moment before lowering yourself to the ground, your knees pressing against the cold stone. Your head dips forward in a deep bow, a gesture of submission that makes your stomach churn.

Jungkook steps forward, his movements slow, deliberate. You feel his presence before you see him, the weight of it suffocating.

“Rise,” he commands, his voice deep and resonant.

“AND… you, the court lady… never ever talk to my wife like that, or I will have your tongue for breakfast.” Jungkook growls and the lady immediately cowers in fear, he glares daggers into her head.

You watch and you hear everything.

He’s so scary.

You obey, standing on shaky legs as he towers over you. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes tell you everything. You belong to him now.

The ceremony begins with the gabae, the presentation of gifts. Silk, gold, jewels—each item is placed before you with great ceremony, a display of wealth and power that feels more like a taunt than a gesture of goodwill.

Jungkook watches you intently, his gaze never wavering. You can feel the heat of it, burning into your skin, as though he’s daring you to object. But you don’t. You can’t.

Next comes the pyebaek, the bowing ritual. You kneel once again, this time before Jungkook and the royal elders. Your movements are stiff, your body trembling with each bow. The elders nod in approval, their expressions impassive, while Jungkook watches with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs under his breath, so low only you can hear. The word feels like a brand, searing into your skin.

The final ritual is the joongin, the sharing of food. A tray of offerings is placed before you—steamed rice, dried fish, and fruits carefully arranged in intricate patterns. Jungkook picks up a piece of fruit, holding it out to you.

“Eat,” he commands.

You hesitate, your eyes darting to the food. Your hands tremble as you take the fruit from him, the act feeling more symbolic than it should. As you take a bite, the crowd erupts into applause, their cheers echoing across the courtyard.

It’s done. You are now his queen.

The celebrations continue long into the evening, but you barely notice. Your mind is numb, your body moving on autopilot as you’re led through the motions of the day. Smiling when prompted, nodding when addressed—it’s all a blur.

As the sun sets, the palace is bathed in the warm glow of lanterns. The air is thick with the scent of incense and wine, the sounds of laughter and music filling the halls. But you don’t feel joy. You feel hollow.

Later that night, Jungkook finds you in your chambers. He’s shed his ceremonial robes for a simpler, darker outfit, but his presence is just as commanding.

“Come,” he says, extending a hand toward you.

You don’t move. Your feet feel rooted to the ground, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he warns, his voice low, dangerous.

Reluctantly, you take his hand. His grip is firm, almost possessive, as he leads you toward the royal chambers.

The night stretches ahead of you, long and uncertain. You don’t know what awaits you behind those doors, but one thing is certain: your life, as you knew it, is over.

•••

Hours later… you are even more terrified.

The air in the bridal chamber is thick with tension. The flickering candlelight casts long, trembling shadows across the walls, the golden dragons embroidered on the silk bedding almost seeming to writhe. You stand frozen in the center of the room, your hands fidgeting with the delicate fabric of your wedding hanbok. Your heart pounds in your chest like a caged animal, the cold sweat on your back soaking through the layers of expensive silk.

The heavy door creaks open behind you, and you flinch. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, each one a deliberate announcement of his presence. King Jungkook—no, your husband now—steps into the room, his dark robes flowing behind him, the faint scent of musk and sandalwood following him.

He stands tall, broad shoulders and a powerful frame outlined by the flickering light. His strong jaw clenches slightly, and his dark, piercing eyes drink you in. His presence is suffocating, his physique commanding. The ceremonial attire does little to hide the strength beneath the fine fabric, his toned chest visible through the parting of his robe. His raven-black hair falls slightly into his eyes, framing his perfect like features. He is devastatingly beautiful, and that terrifies you.

“You look breathtaking,” he says, his voice low and husky, carrying an edge that sends a shiver down your spine.

You take a small step back, the edge of the bed pressing against the back of your legs.

His eyes narrow at the movement, but he doesn’t comment. He shuts the door behind him with a soft click, the sound filling the silence like a judge sealing your fate.

Jungkook moves toward you slowly, his gaze fixed on you like a predator stalking its prey. Your mouth feels dry, your throat tight as you take another step back, only to have your knees buckle slightly when you bump into the bed.

“There’s no need to be afraid, my queen,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively soft. “Tonight is ours. No one will disturb us.”

You open your mouth to respond, to beg or plead, but the words die on your lips when he reaches out. His hand is warm as it brushes against your cheek, his thumb tracing your trembling lower lip. The touch is almost tender, but the hunger in his eyes betrays him.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment?” he whispers, his tone dark with an undercurrent of desperation. His thumb presses slightly against your lip, as if testing your resolve. “How many nights I’ve dreamed of you, Y/N?”

“Y-Your Majesty—”

“Jungkook,” he interrupts, his tone firm, almost commanding. “You are mine now, my queen. No more formalities.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans closer, his face mere inches from yours. The warmth of his body radiates against your trembling form, his scent intoxicatingly rich and masculine. You can feel the raw strength in his presence, the way his chest rises and falls, the way his arms flex as he reaches for you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his lips hovering just above yours. “Do you know what it does to me? Seeing you like this? Knowing you’re finally mine?”

Before you can respond, his lips capture yours in a kiss that steals the air from your lungs. It is not gentle. It’s forceful, claiming, a declaration of his dominance. His hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his other hand gripping your waist and pulling you against his chest.

Your hands press against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but it’s futile. His chest is solid, the muscles beneath the silk unyielding. You feel the raw power in his body, a strength that both intimidates and overwhelms you.

“Stop,” you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, your resistance only seems to fuel his desire.

“Stop?” he repeats, his voice low and laced with frustration as he finally pulls back. His dark eyes bore into yours, the hunger in them burning brighter than ever. “Why do you keep running from me, Y/N? I am your husband now. Your king. You belong to me.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you force them back, refusing to let him see you cry. “Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I—I can’t—”

“FUCK, YN.”

He screams and you flinch, for a moment as he hears his voice through the walls of this chamber, he almost feels bad as he stares at you

You’re so terrified, a crying mess, but God knows, it’s only turning him on more.

Why are you so fucking frustrating?

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening as he stares down at you. His gaze flickers to your trembling hands, your heaving chest, and then back to your tear-filled eyes. For a moment, something unreadable flashes across his face—hurt, perhaps, or maybe just irritation.

“I’ve given you everything,” he says, his voice cold now, but still laced with that obsessive edge. “I’ve built a kingdom for you. Killed for you. And yet you still flinch when I touch you.”

You don’t respond, unable to find the words.

His hand moves to your waist again, sliding around to the small of your back as he pulls you against him. His other hand trails up your arm, his touch light but possessive. The contrast between his strength and his touch sends a chill down your spine.

“You’re so delicate,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “So fragile. But you’re mine. Do you understand that, Y/N?”

You shake your head slightly, tears spilling down your cheeks. “No,” you whisper. “I don’t want this. I never wanted this.”

His grip tightens for a moment, his jaw clenching as he exhales sharply. The air between you grows colder, the tension suffocating.

“You’ll learn,” he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ll learn to love me. To need me. Because no one else will ever have you.”

He leans in again, his lips brushing against your neck this time. You feel the heat of his breath, the light scrape of his teeth against your skin, and you shudder.

But then, he stops.

For a long moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing. He pulls back, his eyes scanning your tear-streaked face. His expression hardens, and he lets out a low growl of frustration.

“You’re not ready,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Not yet.”

His hands fall away from you, and he steps back, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with barely-contained frustration. “I could take you right now,” he says, his voice cold. “But that wouldn’t satisfy me. Not like this.”

You stare at him, unsure whether to feel relief or dread.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he glares at you. “You insult me with your fear, Y/N,” he says, his voice low and venomous. “But you’ll come to me willingly one day. You’ll beg for my touch.”

He turns abruptly, his dark robes swirling around him as he moves toward the door. Before leaving, he pauses, his hand on the handle.

“Remember this, Y/N,” he says without looking back. “You’re mine. In this life and the next.”

The door shuts behind him with a finality that makes your knees buckle. You collapse onto the bed, trembling, your mind spinning with fear and confusion.

The silence of the room is deafening, but it doesn’t give you no comfort. You know this isn’t the end—merely the beginning of a life trapped in the clutches of a man whose obsession burns hotter than any love ever could.

[sapphicmsmarvel]

Azriel: Nightmares

Azriel was no stranger to a nightmare. 

He was used to them interrupting his dreams, one of the reasons he never slept more than a few hours a night. 

But then you came along. 

You loved to nap and be sleepy with your partner. So he pretended in the beginning that he’d sleep, just to see you at peace. Just to be able to hold you and love you with everything he had. 

But then he eventually felt safe with you. Enough to fall asleep. 

His nightmares slowed, they weren’t as common if you were next to him. He actually was able to deeply sleep a few times, which made him happy but also worried him because what if something happened to you and he didn’t wake up? 

You had assured him his shadows would not let him sleep through that. 

A common occurrence was when he’d have the nightmare and wake up, he would just watch you sleep. Sometimes, he’d lay his head on your chest just to listen to your heart beat, and feel your breaths. It was soothing. 

He always tried not to wake you up. But sometimes, it couldn’t be helped. 

“Azriel!”

This time, he jumped out of the worst kind of nightmare. 

The one where you’re in danger and no matter what he can’t get to you. It’s reoccurring. You’re on the battlefield and dying in his arms and there is nothing he can do to stop it and it terrifies him. 

Then some nights, it’s your make-believe children. He can’t recall their names inside the dream, but he knows they are his. They are yours. 

Those are his two worst ones. 

Tonight, it was your faceless, make-believe daughter dying. 

Your babygirl. 

She doesn’t exist yet, but he already loved her with all of his heart. She doesn’t exist yet, and he wants to hold her to reassure himself she’s okay. 

But she doesn’t exist. 

He feels like his heart is breaking all over again.

He looked over at you, your eyes full of love, concern and empathy. Your voice, his siren song, pulling him out of the nightmare. 

He shattered. 

You pulled him into you, cradling his head to your chest. “What happened, baby?”

He sniffed. “The nightmare involved our child. She didn’t have a name but I knew she was ours. She didn’t have a face and I knew she had your eyes and smile. I tried to save her and I-“ His voice cut off with a sob and you rocked him gently. “I couldn’t get to her. It scares me. What if I’m a shit dad? What kind of dad can’t save his child?” 

You kissed his head, he felt wetness land on his scalp and knew you were crying. “I’m sorry i’m weak. I shouldn’t be crying like this.” He was going to continue but your voice cut him off. 

“You are not weak Azriel.” Your voice was hard as stone. Firm. 

He sobbed a bit harder into your chest. You held him even tighter. “I have the nightmares too.” You whispered, “it’s our child and I can’t do anything to save them. You’re injured and I can’t save you. Our children don't even exist yet, but I love them with all my heart already.” You stroked his head. “You are not going to be a bad father, you are the best husband, the best mate I could ever ask for. When our children are here, they will be loved and cherished. Their daddy will make sure they’re okay.” You kissed his head. 

His sobs had slowed down during your speech, just gripping you tightly. 

“You are allowed to feel scared, sad, anguish. These are human emotions that you are allowed to feel. If you do not feel them, it will build up. I am honored that you love me so much, I’m so glad you love our children that don’t exist yet. It just shows me how good of a dad you are going to be. I do not think you are weak. You are loved, protected and cherished.” 

He felt himself breathe deeper with more freedom. “You are safe.” You breathed as you felt all his tension leave him. 

For the first time in his life, he truly believed that. 

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #52 – The Mercy of Gods by James S. A. Corey

Introduction

I have never technically read any of Corey’s work before, but I really loved all the seasons of the Expanse I’ve seen. So, as it would be months and months before I could actually get a copy from the library, this is the rare book I actually bought off the strength of the blurb. Even rarer, this actually worked out! This is genuinely quite good, meaty, even fairly original space opera!

On the world of Anjiin, a human civilization has developed from the ruins of some prehistoric colonization mission that ended in atomic fire, their origins a matter of theology and myth. Through blatant nepotism (his aunt is a very important administrator whose made his career her way of honoring her dead sister), Dafyd Alkhor is a research assistant on the most prestigious and celebrated lab/project on the planet – a successful attempt to bridge the gap between the native plant life of the planet and the earth-descended life humanity brought with it. But even as everyone’s enjoying their moment in the limelight, the project is in danger of being split up, the credit and prestige a juicy enough prize for the academic politics to get vicious. And then there’s Dafyd’s rather poorly hidden crush on Else, a much more senior scientist and also the Team Lead’s girlfriend. Everything begins to come to a head, and then-

Well, and then aliens invade. The Carryx and their servitor-species more-or-less effortlessly destroy every human attempt to resist, and then execute one eighth of the population where they stand. Like some massive, chitinous, latter-day Assyrian Empire, they then sort through and abduct a few hundreds or thousands of humanity’s administrative and intellectual elites. Hostages to bring to one of their world-palaces to live at their pleasure and prove their worth as subjects until a place in imperial society can be decided for them – with ‘mass grave’ being an entirely plausibly option if they fail to please. Dafyd, honestly a pretty shit scientist but a natural courtier and schemer, then finds himself desperately trying to understand the Carryx actually want from humanity, and why they refuse to communicate any of it.

Complicity and Collaboration

So this is overwhelmingly a novel about how to react to subjugation – of different emotional and trauma responses to seeing your loved ones killed to make a point, to seeing everything you know destroyed in the space of an afternoon, to being forced into an overcrowded ship and sent to a terrifying new world where your life is valued exactly in proportion to your captors' whims. As the novel reaches its climax, it becomes increasingly about the morality of fawning, servile collaboration and nobly suicidal resistance – of whether it’s better to live kneeling or die standing, essentially.

This is one of very few books I can ever remember reading that make a big dramatic point of that question, and then come down on the side of ‘live kneeling, bide your time until you’ve earned their trust and know enough to stab the knife somewhere vital’. Partially just because every other genre story in the world does stack the deck towards resistance (making victory an almost foregone conclusion if people just have the courage to fight) and this does in the opposite direction (‘resistance’ would be at best a few spectacular terrorist attacks before they’re all hunted down and executed, the first thing the rest of humanity would know of their noble fight is when the retaliatory genocide starts), but still.

I found the start of chapter epigraphs a greater flaw, honestly – they’re quotations from an imprisoned Carryx after some future fall of the empire, who lays the blame squarely on humanity. I’m sure this is building up to some lovely dramatic irony in future books (and is a fun window to Carryx state ideology), but the constant reassurance that the plan works and isn’t just a rationalization for surrender really does drain some of the moral stakes out of the question, you know? From a dilemma with genuinely unclear outcome to just a particularly cruel and slimy trolley problem. Which I mean, still juicy character drama! I did enjoy it.

As Space Opera

There are many works of SFF which are, frankly, setting bibles with an excuse of a story stapled on out of obligation. This isn’t one of them, but it is a book written by people who clearly enjoyed the worldbuilding for its own sake and were always looking for little excuses to show off a bit of it. This is probably clearest with Anjiin – from a plotting perspective, they could have sketched out the basics of the world in a paragraph, assuming they didn’t just use some vague future Earth or Mars instead. But Anjiin actually feels like a fully realized world with its own politics and hypocrisies, its own culture and theology, and (especially) its own beautiful and profoundly alien landscapes and architectures. The last thing makes the book’s job much harder, really – the sense of shock and alienation (as well as a guilty sort of curious wonder) at the Carryx world-palace is vital to the book, making the home the cast is stolen away from so strange and unfamiliar as well can only make it harder to evoke in the reader.

The book spends something like the first fifty pages on Anjiin before the Carryx arrive – before (almost) anyone have the slightest idea they exist – introducing the main cast and their dynamics, sketching out their daily lives, and grounding Anjiin a real, vibrant place that it’s possible to get properly attached to. Vitally, it’s not a world without conflict – Dafyd et al spend the entire time embroiled in high stakes academic intrigues and interpersonal dramas, of a kind that could easily sustain a book on their own. This was a big part of why the book worked so well for me, I think – the loss of Anjiin felt like a loss, the cutting off of possibilities I wanted to see play out, the execution of characters I enjoyed seeing on the page. Given how often these sorts of stories can (unintentionally or no) read ‘and then they were whisked from boring mundanity with dramatic fireworks accompanying them’, I’m glad the book spent the wordcount on it.

The Carryx needed to really overawe and impress, which I think the book mostly manages. Their society seems both plausible and viscerally alien. The book does a neat job of obscuring the exact border between their (weird and fascinating) biology and their obsessively eugenic imperial ideology, in a way that seems very fitting given that both the characters we spend any time with at all are middle/lower-middle ranking strategists and overseers in the imperial project.

This is very much an empire which starts with the iron fist and only bothers mentioning the existence of carrots after a new subject population is brutalized and terrified into full submission. Their ideology is a half-step short of pure power worship, and makes no excuses butchering and exterminating to make the world more convenient for them – none of them ever refer to other species as anything but ‘animals’. This isn’t an empire that tries to convert and persuade – but then, it’s not one that needs to.

The world-palace and assembled ranks of other species gathered in it does an excellent job of being genuinely awe-inspiring even for the characters who hate every solitary thing about it. One great advantage of written science fiction over more visual media is that there’s no real need to make your aliens humanoid or relatable-looking, and Corey takes full advantage of it to fill the prison camp with dozens of memorable, different species – absolute none of which could be played by an actor in makeup.

Of course, those aliens are mostly just set dressing – with the exception of one species of primates that humanity is placed into competition with that ends up in a mutually escalating and quite bloody vendetta – the only alien species represented by actual characters with names and points of view are the Carryx and the infiltration-swarm sent by their great enemy to get scooped up along with humanity and gather information about their inner workings. It does this by consuming and possessing one of the main cast, and the book has great fun keeping coy about who for half the book while still using it as a secondary Point of View. Even more than the Carryx, it does a good job of coming across as both genuinely alien (probably because it is an alien-ness in conversation with the humanity of the two hosts it has assimilated) while still being an incredibly compelling character.

Characterization

Dafyd has a habit/nervous tic of looking for people’s ‘pathological behavior’ – the habits and tendencies they default onto in situations of high stress or while they feel in danger or powerless. This is, then, the lens the book invites as far as its characters go. Every one one of them spends the vast majority of the book cycling from one trauma response to another, and each is probably mostly characterized by the way they respond and the things they fixate on as their world is destroyed and they reckon with their own powerlessness. Fixate on the research the Carryx want and at to try and pretend life is still recognizable, or get angrier and angrier and jump at the first chance to justify beating some other inmates to death to feel a bit of agency and control. Plot out a nobly suicidal strike back against your oppressors, or try desperately to understand what they want so you can manipulate them and ensure the survival of you and yours. Or just constantly make off-color and mostly unfunny jokes.

None of it is exactly subtle, but it all rings pretty true, and does a good job making (almost) every cast member compelling and memorable. It helps, I suppose, that we end up spending at least a chapter or two in the head of half the main human cast, and get plenty of careful observation or intimate conversation with the rest. I’m aware some people really despise this sort of POV-hopping in a story (especially when it’s mostly just different perspectives on the same broad events/circumstances) but personally I rather adore it when it’s done well and they each seem both plausible and distinct, which this book easily manages.

In Conversation with the Wider Genre

I am at this point a bit of of a connoisseur of the hyper-specific subgenre of ‘space opera/spec fic more generally deeply concerned imperialism, colonialism, the experience of subjugation, and the internal logics of complicity and collaboration’ – a shelf which its always great to add new works to. I don’t particularly think Mercy was written in direct response to or is actively commenting on any similar works, but it is fascinating to do a bit of a compare/contrast. Well, it is for me, anyway.

Compared to your Memory Called Empire’s and your Imperial Radch’s the most salient really thing is how uncomplicatedly awful the Carryx are. Not that the empires in those books ostensibly aren’t, but they’re simultaneously also cultured, elegant, rich – in a word, alluring. We spend as much or more time on the intricacies of Radachi tea ceremonies and soap operas as we do on their atrocities, and even that makes the messy brutality of imperialism far more foregrounded relative to the seductive beauty of salon poetry and monumental architecture than it is in Memory. Mercy, in contrast, mostly shows the awe-inspiring beauty of the Carryx world palaces through the windows of a prison-camp. It’s there – we even meet the subject-species who were enslaved instead of exterminated because they can architect such wonders – but only really incidentally. The glory of the Carryx is their vastness and their overwhelming might, all the elegance and beauty they have is the fruit of conquest – and more often than not, different subject-species are introduced with hints or notes of how much more they were, before they were crushed and carved into something the empire could use. (This is almost certainly related to the fact that the only point of view we get whose at all a native or wiling agent of the empire is very minor, and clearly a villain without much in the day of redeeming or morally interesting features).

The better comparison is really Exordia. Or maybe I’m only saying that because it’s the one I read this year, and thus the one whose interesting little complications are at least somewhat clear in my head. Better put, Mercy is exactly the story Clayton from Exordia thought he was in. In both the empire is both alien and undisguised in its malice (two things that are probably related, really), in both the empire doesn’t feel any need to understand or integrate humanity, when overwhelming superiority in technology, scale, and availability of coercive force allow it to just threaten and brutalize until it gets what it wants. The humans in Exordia are just both more and less lucky. Less, because their alien invaders are even more monomaniacally (indeed, metaphysically) malevolent to the point that even being their willing accomplice only buys hours to days of life. More, because they have an ancient relic of a plot device buried in the mountains to give a bit of cause for actual hope in violent resistance (and so a final act of the story concerned with an entirely different suite of messy trolley problems).

It’s an interesting addition to the subgenre anyway – I really can’t recall any other books that have a protagonist collaborating with the empire while not at any point being seduced by it. Well no, that’s a lie – Machinaries of Empire does hit the same beat, just in extraordinarily different ways.

Should Your Read This Book?

The answer is at least partially conditional on how the rest of the series turns out – the narrative absolutely requires sequels, and oh how they could retroactively absolutely ruin it. But with just the one book and a bit of optimism? If the premise seems even slightly intriguing, then absolutely.

[momolady]

Placide the Paralangua

The festival of Ash is fast approaching. but before the excitement can build, there is lots of planning in order to prepare. Few humans are selected for the festival, but there is another handful that get to work closely with the Paralangua elders in order to plan and prepare the great event.

Female Reader x Male Monster (both cis)

===============================================

It had been a remarkably cold winter, marked by occasional snow flurries which were a rarity for your neck of the wood. You were used to a chill in the air, maybe some cold rain or ice, but this year felt different. It was as if a shift occurred somewhere in the fall and a wind of change had swept through the trees.

It did not stop your work though, and even through the holidays you worked on coordinating the Festival of Ash that would be happening in the spring. For the past few years now, you’d been hired as the main event coordinator for the yearly festival. All your life you had attended it, so it was an honor to be given this opportunity. This also allowed you a rare access to the paralangua elders in order to receive their input on the festivities.

You’re able to work from home and have set up an office in one of your spare rooms, but you’ll often have meetings with the paralangua that take place elsewhere. Usually you meet with a singular elder each time.

This year, your baby cousin, Lucie, had returned home and the two of you have been hanging out a lot. This year, she is one of the chosen for the Festival of Ash and she will be paired with one of the paralangua during the ritual.

“I’m so nervous,” she said. “I’ve heard so many different stories, I’m not quite sure which one to believe in.”

You had your back turned to her as she talked, fixing you both a cup of hot chai.

“You work with them, right?” She asked.

You smiled back at her. “I do. The elders vary, but they’ve all been very kind.” You took the steaming cups and set them on the coffee table. “It’s strange working with them after being told all our lives that they are a mysterious lot. But really, they're just like anyone else.

“But they’re giant albino lizards,” Lucie laughed.

“Gators,” you corrected. “And they’re quite beautiful to look at.”

Lucie picked up a cup. “You think so? I’m still not sure what to think. It makes me nervous picturing myself being…being with one of them.” Her cheeks blossomed into a bright pink and she kept her eyes casted away.

You chuckled. “Especially since it will be your first time. I can understand how that would make you nervous. But reportedly, they are excellent lovers.”

She fidgeted in her seat. “How big are they?”

“Well, considering most of them make me feel short, I’d say they’re very tall,” you laughed.

“No, I mean-” Lucie took a sip of her chai. “How big are they?”

You glanced at her with surprise. “Oh. Well, that’s one part of them I’m not familiar with. I usually don’t get that intimate while planning the festival.”

“I’ve looked online and I don’t know if I could possibly take anything bigger than a breadstick.” She held a shivering, terrified look in her eyes. “I sometimes wish I’d never been chosen.”

A spike of pain went through your chest.

“You get to have sex whenever you want, you can marry or date anyone you want. I’m twenty-one and still haven’t kissed a guy. All because I’m a stupid chosen.” She set her cup down forcefully.

“Careful.” You pulled her cup back. “And don’t say it’s stupid. You’ve been given a wonderful gift. And the paralangua who fights for you in the labyrinth is going to be yours for the rest of your life. They’re going to love you and adore you.”

“But it’s scary,” Lucie whispered.

You reached out and took hold of her hand. “You’re the lucky one here, Lucie. I understand you’re nervous, but trust me. Once you meet them, you’ll understand all the stories we heard as kids.”

Lucie pouted and sighed. “I hope so.”

“Besides, the dating pool these days is murky. I’m not that lucky,” you chuckled. “Have you seen the state of dating apps?”

Lucie’s smile returned. “Yeah, that’s true.”

The following afternoon you had a meeting with one of the elders. You drove to the castle on the hill and were greeted by him at the door. You were pleased to see it was Placide, your favorite elder to deal with.

Placide opened your car door for you. “Good morning. Another cold one, isn’t it?”

You gathered your things then took his offered hand to stand. “They’re calling for a snowstorm this weekend, can you believe it?”

He scoffed and rolled his dark, red eyes. “I will believe it when I see it. But the way the weather has been this winter, I would not be surprised.”

Placide made you feel petite in stature. He was so tall and broad it was intimidating. But he had a way about him that made you forget that. Unlike some of the other elders, he talked to you on your level, he got personal with you. It was easy to talk to him, which is why you enjoyed working with him. Not to mention his deep, buttery voice made your knees weak.

“I just hope the cold doesn’t linger in spring. I would hate for the labyrinth and the waters to remain cold, especially for our chosen this year.” Placide said as you walked inside and towards the dining hall.

“My cousin is one of the chosen this year, and she’s nervous enough about it as it is.” In the dining room you set your things upon the table, taking out your planner and laptop, both of which you felt were even less suited to the grand room than you.

Placide came up behind you and pulled out your chair. “Well, for her sake I hope the weather warms up.”

“Thank you.” You sit down and open your planner to the notes you had thought out last night. “She’s been asking me all sorts of questions about it. But I’m not quite sure how to answer her.” You ducked your head down and your smile remained sad. “I was never chosen as a child.”

Placide tilted his head up slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You shook your head. “Oh, it’s nothing now.” You opened your laptop a bit too forcefully. “What about you? Did you ever battle in the labyrinth?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I did. But it was a long time ago.” A distant look came into his eyes and he avoided gazing at you.

“Any advice you’d give to my cousin? She’s nervous about, you know, her first time and all-” You stop. “Oh god, that’s horribly inappropriate, isn’t it? Ignore me! That’s weird! I’m so sorry, Mr. Placide.”

He chuckled. “Just call me Placide, honey. And no worries. I was terrified the first time my victory and I were…you know.”

Your eyes pinched. “Victory?”

Placide’s smile became soft. “That’s what we call one another. Not exactly brides or grooms, are we? But we’re victories to one another. We fought hard to reach one another within the labyrinth; each coupling, each poly group that forms is a victory.”

“That’s really romantic. I didn’t know that part.”

Placide’s eyes cast aside again. “My victory, Carine was her name, she used to say that our first night together was equal parts awkward and sweet. As long as you can laugh together at things, you can conquer most obstacles in each others’ embrace.” He lifted his head up. “She used to love coming to the festival and talking to all the young ones going into the labyrinth. It was her favorite part every year.”

“Does she not do it anymore?” You asked cautiously.

Placide sighed. “I’m sure she does, in spirit at least.”

You felt completely awful. You brought this all up, and now you were having him talk about his deceased wife! You’re a monster, you thought to yourself.

“I’m so sorry,” you tried to smooth things over.

He shook his head. “I like talking about her. I didn’t have her as long, so the more I can talk about her the better that makes me feel.” He smiled. “But we do have business to attend to. So tell me, how goes it with the vendors?”

“Uhm-” You tap at your laptop to get it to turn back on. “So far, so good. A lot of locals are still willing to donate food to be served. And uhm-” You drop your planner onto the ground and reach down to get it. “There’s a lot of crafters this year who applied so-” Your head hit the bottom of the stone table with a loud thud that echoed through the door.

“Honey, are you okay?” Placide jumped up from his chair and came towards you.

You held the back of your head with one hand, while gripping tight onto your planner with the other. “I’ll be okay.”

Placide moved your hand aside to look. His hand felt so cold against the injured part of your head, it was nice.

“Do you feel tired at all?” Placide asked.

“I’m just embarrassed.”

Placide looked into your eyes, gazing really for what felt like the longest time. “I’m just making sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“I have a notoriously thick skull.” You tried to laugh but you were more nervous than you realized. Having Placide this close was doing some damage on the girly side of your heart. “Seriously, I was on a bike once as a kid and went right through the fence. Not a scratch on my head, and I went head first.”

Placide pulled his hand back and there was a touch of blood on his fingertips.

“That’s yours?” You asked.

Placide’s brow raised. “You’re hurt. Let me take you to Adele, she’ll be able to assess things better than I. Give me your hand, honey.”

He takes hold of your hand, then wraps his arm around your waist as you stand. For a moment, you thought this could be the cover of a romance novel.

“I’m fine, really!”

“I’m not risking it,” Placide said with a stern tone. “I’d hate myself if I sent you home and you drove your car into a wall or something.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” You stopped when you saw the sharp look in his eye. “I’m joking. I’m joking!”

Placide led you further into the castle than you had ever been before. You passed by some paralangua and humans, all of whom seemed curious by your being there.

Placide knocked on a door with a golden plaque upon it. The plaque swung aside and bright pink eyes started out. “Placide, what the hell do you want?”

“This is our event planner,” he said. “She hit her head upon the table and now she’s bleeding a bit.”

“From where?” Adele snipped.

“The back of her head.” Placide sounded confused.

Adele closed the plaque and opened the door. “Oh, good. If it was her eyes or nose or something, that’d be bad. Just wait out here, Placide. I’ll get her looked at.” She closed the door behind you.

Adele was another one of the elders you liked to work with. She wasn’t flowery like the others, she was direct and liked asking questions that helped you sort things out.

“So you hit your head?” Adele had you sit down then pushed up your hair to examine. “I hate that stone table. I feel like laying on it like that lion in those kids books. How are you feeling, girl?”

“Like I hit my head.”

“Oh, good. I would have been concerned had you said you felt like you hit your knee.” She pushed your hair over the top of your head and wrapped some gauze around it to keep it out of the way.

“Is everything okay?” You asked.

“I’m just going to clean up this cut back here and keep you talking. I don’t think anything is wrong, but Placide overreacts to these sorts of things.”

“I told him I had a thick skull,” you murmured.

Adele dabbed something onto the cut that burned and stung; it made you kick your legs.

“Hold still.” She blotted at the cut with a bandage. “Yup, ole Placide is going to worry over you now.”

“Why?”

Adele let out a heavy sigh. “He was never quite right after Carine died. They were both so young, and trauma does things to a person.”

Your stomach sunk with how sad that was. “Oh.”

“I think you’ll live though. But if you start feeling any sort of way, you go to a hospital.” She said, helping you to stand up. She took off the gauze holding your hair up. “And be careful of that cut back there. It’s not awful, but getting shampoo into it will be.” She opened the door and Placide stood alert then relaxed when he saw you.

“Is everything okay?” He asked.

“Should be, the girl has a pretty thick skull, so she’ll survive long enough to have regrets.” Adele shut the door behind her without another word.

Placide still looked at you with concern.

You offered him a bright smile, hoping to reassure him. “I’m fine really. Let's finish our meeting.”

“Are you sure?” He walked along beside you. “You don’t have to continue if you don’t feel like it. I would gladly reschedule.”

“I’m fine, I can get through this meeting.”

He nodded. “If you’re sure. I’m sorry if my worrying comes off as annoying.”

You shook your head. “Adele told me about Carine, I understand why you do worry.”

Placide’s gaze faded into something pitiful. “I don’t like seeing people I care about in pain,” he said simply. “But I suppose that’s anybody.”

Your heart fluttered as if it had wings. “Anybody worth their salt, anyways.” You placed your hand upon his thick arm. “Thank you.”

He smiled and nodded. “I’ve grown fond of our meetings. Being an elder, things tend to get stuffy. I enjoy your company because it makes me feel-” He hesitated. “Well, it’s a highlight of my week when I get to see you.”

He needs to stop or I am going to allow this crush to progress further than it needs, you think to yourself.

You leaned in closer to him. “Don’t tell any of the other elders, but you’re my favorite.” You gave him a wink and he laughed. “The others feel so serious all of the time.”

Placide pulled out your chair for you again. “They’re still part of the age where this is all ritual, pomp, and purpose. They don’t see the fun in it like the younger generation does.”

You smirk at him. “Do you not consider yourself part of that generation?”

His smile grew. “How young do you think I am?”

“Hard to tell,” you smiled shyly up at him. “But considering you're an elder I would say you’re older than me, but younger than the elders you work with.”

Placide chuckled. “Well, you’re partly right. Paralangua don’t age like humans, so would it surprise you if I told you I was fifty?”

You stared for a moment, slowly easing back in your chair. “You’re not.”

“I am,” he laughed. “Is that really so hard to believe?”

“What’s your skincare routine?”

Placide laughed loudly and graced you with a big grin. “Having thick scales.”

You clicked your tongue and shook your head. “Damn. And here I am bragging about my skull.”

“This is why I enjoy our meetings.” Placide’s smile softens. “You always make my day brighter like this.”

He needs to stop or you’ll catch feelings, you thought.

“You too.” You say this then immediately open up the planner in hopes of covering up the sentimentality floating all around. “Vendors!”

“Yes, vendors,” he chuckled. “Last year we had that lady who made the flower crowns. I was hoping we could get her to do some ornate ones for the chosen group this year.”

You nodded and smiled. “I had that idea too and already brought it up with her.”

“Another reason I like you so much. You already have all the good ideas.”

Your cheeks flushed and you returned to discussing business as usual. As the meeting ended, the back of your head was pretty sore, so you were planning on putting a bag of frozen peas on it when you got home.

“Let me walk you out.” Placide took your bag and carried it for you. “How are you feeling?”

You put your hand on the back of your head. “There’s a knot for sure. But I have a bag of peas in my freezer that’ll take care of me tonight.”

Placide opened the door for you. “I may be stepping out of bounds, but I could come by and bring you dinner tonight so you wouldn’t have to worry. I feel responsible.”

Your stomach flipped. “Oh, no, no,  it’s okay really! It’s not your fault I hit my head. You don’t have to.”

His smile was gentle as he looked at you. “What if I just wanted to bring you dinner?”

Your stomach flipped again. “I mean…I like food.” You hated yourself and tried to recoup. “You don’t have to really! I’ll be fine, you don’t need to go out of your way. But if you wanted to-” You trailed off, unsure where to go.

“I want to,” he said. He opened your car door for you. “What time would be best?”

“Five, I suppose.” You still were still a bit confused. “I’m the one that hit my head though. You don’t need to worry.”

“It’s not just that. I want to see you, outside of this castle and not have to talk about the festival. I want to see you and only you.”

Not fair, not fair, not fair, not fair, the words ran through your mind. “You can’t say things like that, Placide, and expect a girl to stay okay for the rest of the day.”

Placide chuckled and kissed your forehead. “To feel better.”

Not fair, not fair, not fair, not fair!

“Drive home slowly. Just in case.” Placide handed you your bag. “And I will see you at five.”

“Thank you.” You weren’t sure what to say, and that probably wasn’t the correct answer. You sat in your car for a second, watching as Placide went back towards the door. He turned and waved at you, making your heart spike into your throat.

“Okay then…it’s a date,” you murmured in disbelief.

==================================

The first Festival of Ash you could remember attending, was the one where you were taken to see if you’d be one of the chosen. At the time, your town was small and there weren’t very many kids your age. It had been very likely at the time you were going to be chosen. The ceremony progressed as normal, but you weren’t selected.

All your friends had been chosen, and they talked about it all the time. You smiled and nodded along, congratulating them on how lucky they were. But of course, you were lucky too. You could date anyone you wanted. Sure. You could. Time went by, and by your twenty-first birthday you had placed yourself on the other side of the world, away from home, and away from the Festival of Ash that year, the year your friends would no longer be chosen, and instead be with their paralangua in the labyrinth.

It didn’t bother you, you could date whoever you wanted. It really didn’t bother you.

What did bother you was that your hair looked greasy and awful, but Adele had warned you about washing your hair while you had that injury at the back of your head.

“Oh sure, I have to injure myself like this.” You fussed with your hair, trying to style it one way and then another. But absolutely nothing looked good to you.

You tapped your forehead where Placide had kissed you. “Don’t get your hopes up. That never works out.” You put on an old, favorite beanie to cover the greasy hair as well as put extra protection around the bump growing from the back of your head.

“Just act cool. You can do that at least.” You strolled out into your living room and sat down upon the sofa. “Nonchalant. Casual. Cool,” you repeated the words to yourself. You picked up the remote to turn the TV on. But then the panic set in of having to select something to watch, so if Placide came at that moment, you could have something interesting on. Whatever you had on would be a reflection of yourself, an intimate peek into your daily life, the way your mind worked.

True crime documentary? No. Too creepy.

Something based on Jane Austen? No. Too desperate.

Maybe a video game walk through? No! Too corny.

Music? No! Your music is weird!

There was a knock on the door and you placed your remote down gently. No harm, no foul. You got up and went to the door, peeking on your video doorbell who was there. It was Placide, dressed in a very dapper wool coat and carrying a bag in each hand.

“Crap, he looks nice. And I look like an off the hours goth girl.” You calmed yourself. It didn’t matter. This was going to be a nice visit.

You opened the door and smiled. “Welcome! Glad you found the place okay.”

Placide stepped in and you offered to take one of the bags. “You have a beautiful house. I was surprised.”

You furrowed your brow. “You were?”

“I mean-” Placide cleared his throat. “I was expecting something much smaller. You said you lived alone, right?”

“This is my family’s ancient stomping grounds. I inherited it from my grandmother. The kitchen is this way.” You led him down the hall. “During the wedding season I rent it out for extra money.”

“That’s not a bad idea. It’d be a perfect place.” Placide stepped into the kitchen and looked around. He shed his heavy coat and hung it aside. “It’s so cold out. I’m glad your house is warm.”

“Surprisingly good heating system for an old house, right? Do you need helping with anything?” You asked.

“I just need to heat a few things up.” He set some wrapped dishes down on the table. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

You touched your hat and shrugged. “Hurt and embarrassed still.”

“Don’t be. Embarrassed that is. But is the pain bad?”

You shook your head. “Only if I touch it. And here, this is the stove.” You stepped aside to let him near it.

It did feel a bit awkward, but you couldn’t tell if it was all just you, or if maybe Placide was feeling it too.

“It’s odd, I’ve never talked to you outside of being an elder,” you chuckled. “I’m not sure how to quite…go about it.”

Placide’s tail twitched upon the hardwood floor and slightly perked up. “Just treat me like any other man you’d have in your home.”

“Not had that much experience there either,” you muttered under your breath.

Placide put the dishes into the stove. “Although, I am a bit shy myself. After Carine, there weren’t many women who piqued my interest.”

“I piqued you?” You wanted to hit your head again.

Placide chuckled. “I enjoy talking to you. Our last event planner used the same things every single year. But the past few years you’ve worked with us the Festival of Ash has changed and grown, it feels like it did when I was a young man again.”

“I would argue you’re still young.” You cleared your throat and glance aside. “I just know the festival is important for us. Not just the paralangua or the chosen. But everyone here knows it’s special.”

Placide’s smile is soft, but it was the way his eyes graze over you. There's confidence there, as well as a nervous vulnerability. “It’ll take a minute for the food to warm up. Maybe we should sit down.”

“Oh sure, here is fine. Or the sofa might be comfier for you.” You stepped towards the doorway, leading him back to the living room. He took a seat, curling his tail around his waist so it curled over his thigh and draped down.

You sat on the ottoman, a bit too anxious to sit on the sofa with him.

“You said your cousin was chosen. How is she looking forward to it?” Placide asked.

You shrugged. “Somedays she’s excited, other days she’s nervous. When I was growing up, most of my friends had gotten chosen too. I used to be so jealous of them.”

Placide tilted his head to the side. “Did it ever bother you?”

You swallowed. “Sometimes. I mean, I was happy for them. It was such a great honor and all. I got to see them get excited and nervous too.” You bit down on your lip. You sighed and shook your head. “There weren’t a lot of families here back then. Our group was small. So I felt left out a bit sometimes.”

“I’m sorry that happened, honey.” Placide’s smile was gentle as he looked at you.

“It’s fine really,” you tried to laugh. “I figured there was another purpose for me so-” You shrugged and brought a knee up to your chest. “I’m not worried about it anymore. What about you though? How was the labyrinth for you?”

“It was so long ago,” he chuckled. “I just remember all the build up and the adrenaline. The fighting was worse back then too, like you said, there were lesser people here long ago. So at the time I really had to fight my way through all the others my age.” He pulled up a sleeve and showed a scar on his arm that hindered the pattern of his scales.

“Back then, the ceremony didn’t really start until everyone had their stitches complete.” He offered out his arm towards you.

You touched his arm and ran your fingers up the scar, feeling how cool and smooth his scales were. “It was that brutal back then, huh?”

“Extremely.” Placide held your eyes for a moment then he sat up and pulled his sleeve back down. “There weren't enough humans to go around, and all of us wanted our own victory so badly.”

You wanted to ask more, but you felt that was prying too deep.

“I think everyone wants to feel like they’re being fought for in one way or another. I think that's why being chosen is so sought after. You want to feel like someone, anyone, wants you.”

You catch yourself in a nod then clear your throat. “It is nice.”

“I know romance is hard these days. But I’ve always been a bit of a dreamer.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why don’t you come and sit beside me? I’m cold blooded and any extra warmth helps.”

Your cheeks warmed and you moved from the ottoman to the sofa, sitting near Placide and feeling more anxious than before. “It's a nice sofa. My grandmother bought it before she died, so it’s new-ish.”

“I see,” Placide chuckled. “It is nice.”

His hand was alone and vulnerable beside him. It was placed strangely though, almost like a piece of candy before a trap. You placed your hand upon the sofa, inching it towards his until your fingers brushed against his hand. His hand moved and then it was touching yours. You looked away as your hands touched then held one another.

“Do the paralangua allow this?” You asked out of nerves.

“It’s not exactly tradition. But it’s allowed.” He moved in close to you. “Although I do feel a bit strange. It’s been a long time and I like you.”

You leaned into his side. “I like you too.”

He chuckled. “Good. Or else this would be much more awkward than I feel.”

You laughed too and for a moment things were quiet. The two of you sat there, holding hands, and then a warmth seemed to grow between you.You shifted, facing one another again, and Placide’s mouth opened.

“Oh no, my spinach puffs!” Placide stood and held out his hand again. “The food should be ready now.”

Dinner was delicious, you ate more than you expected. But it was the conversation that came afterwards that you enjoyed most. You and Placide talked over coffee about little things. It grew from there as you talked about music, your love for punk and his surprising confession of playing guitar when he was young. From there, the night felt natural and time slipped away until you noticed the wall clock.

“I can’t believe it’s one already.”

Placide double checked it and laughed. “I had no idea! I thought it was still so early. Perhaps I should go.”

“Sorry I kept you so long. I’ll wash your dishes and bring them back later.” You rose to show him to the door, but he didn’t move. He remained sitting at the table with a stern look upon his face.

“Is everything okay?” You asked.

He sighed. “I want to kiss you, but I’m afraid of what will happen when I do.”

You licked your lips. “Nothing has to happen. It can just be a kiss.”

Placide stood and approached you. “I can promise you, it won’t be. So if we kiss, you’ll have to promise me you won’t let me get away with anything.”

It was just suggestive enough for you to enjoy it, and just a little cute. “You’re making me the responsible adult here?”

“If you can try to be.” Placide’s hand rested upon your waist. “One of us needs to think clearly.”

His hand brushed against your cheek, the smooth scales and dark claws made you shiver. “Should we pull straws for it?”

Placide bent down and there it was, the kiss. You were taken back for a second, almost watching down at yourself while it happened. But you returned to the present, pressing closer and closer to him as the kiss deepened. You held onto him as a moan rumbled in his chest.

Placide was the one to pull back and his hands both rested upon your waist, holding you tightly so you didn’t come closer or move farther away.

“See…” You cleared your throat. “You did well.”

“But I could sink deeper,” he growled against your ear. “I feel it. It’s an old desire but I know it.”

You smoothed your hand down his chest. “But-”

“Yes, but.” Placide released you. “We both mentioned it has been a long while. We shouldn’t let want override our own needs.”

“Right.We have lots of time anyways.” You handed him his coat.

“You would think so, but even from where I stand, time doesn’t matter. It only moves forward, and it can pull us under that current.” He slipped on his coat. “So that is why I’d like to know when I can see you again.”

You lost your breath for a beat. “I’m free tomorrow?”

Placide smiled. “Tomorrow then.”

For the next few weeks, you and Placide met regularly. Nothing more than kissing happened, but there were moments where it felt like something more would happen. But you stopped each time, agreeing to wait and make sure it was right.

One evening, you woke up on the sofa lying on Placide’s chest. The TV had gone back to the main menu, and it was the only light on. You laid your head back down, resting it upon his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Placide murmured.

His voice started you and made you jump. “What?”

“I felt you stir,” he whispered. “And I almost called you Carine.”

You sat up, seeing his eyes were still closed tight. “I was half awake,” he said.

“I understand. It's okay.”

Placide sat up and sniffled. “But I’m with you. I know that. I care for you deeply, more and more each day. And it was so long ago.”

“How long?” You asked. “I’ve wanted to know, but I’ve been too afraid to ask.”

Placide breathed in and let it out slowly. “I had her for ten years, and then she was gone. Then another ten years went by, and then another.” Tears filled his eyes. “Somedays it feels like yesterday.”

You held his hand tight. “I know.”

“She made me promise not to give up. That I was too good to not share.” He smiled sadly. “I feel like I’ve let her down.”

You cupped your hand around his face. “Do you really think that?”

His red eyes turned to yours. “I think it. But I know she wouldn’t.”

You kissed him then rested your head upon his shoulder. “Then stop it.”

His hands rubbed up and down your back. “I’ll try. I promise.” He lifted your head and kissed you again. Once again there was that unspoken desire between you. This kiss could go either way, all you had to do was decide.

“I want you,” Placide growled.

You panicked. “That’s nice.”

He laughed and held you tight in his arms. “If it wasn’t so cold out, I’d take you into the labyrinthe right now.”

“Why there?”

He sighed and cupped his hands around your face. “To make you feel like a victory. I know it bothers you, and I was hoping I could wait and make myself behave until spring. But the more time I spend with you, the more I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to be with you. I think like I’m young again, and I keep driving myself crazy.”

You bit your lip to contain your smile. “Have you touched yourself thinking about me?” You said with a teasing tone.

Placide grunted and averted his eyes.

“If you want to wait until spring, we can. I would like to see it for myself and have you win me over.” You kissed his neck and cheek. “If you can wait. I will too.”

Placide’s hands tightened around your hips and he fidgeted his lap. “I’m not sure I can. Right now I feel…frustrated.”

“Maybe I can just help with that.” You laid a palm in his lap.

“Wait-” His voice choked and he captured your wrist in his hand.

You kissed him, pressing up against his chest and easing him back down upon the sofa. You sat back up, tugging off your sweater and his eyes bulged. You kissed down his chest, the smooth, plate scales felt cool to your lips, but you were growing warmer and warmer with each second.

“Tell me about the labyrinthe.” You say as you straddle his lap again.

“Uhm-” He breathed in deep. “It’s beautiful. Lots of lush moss and vines. It goes deeper than most people think.”

You dip down, kissing his belly as he talks. Your fingers find a mound between his legs that’s begun to open and dribble out a viscous ooze.

“There’s places to swim, but it’s the underground lake that’s my favorite.” He whimpered and his hips bucked.

Your fingers were inside and bit by bit he revealed himself. The top was ruby red, and compared to the rest of his pale body it stood out. Even more so, the size of him was prodigious. The thick base of his cock was baby pink and when it was fully released it laid against his stomach.

“May I?” You asked, sliding yourself down to be between his legs.

“Please, keep going.” Placide gently cupped the back of your head, careful as there was still a tenderness there. You kissed along the shaft, dragging your tongue up to the tip. The slippery ooze that covered him was slightly sweet and barely unpleasant. You brought him to your lips, kissing down the side and feeling his pulse twitch.

Placide gulped and tried to breathe. “I would…I would take you to that lake in the labyrinthe and lay you there upon the moss. You would…you would know how badly I wanted you, how much of a prize you really are.”

Pausing, you tried to decide what to do. You sat up, removing the rest of your clothes and Placide placed his hands upon you. He kissed you and nipped your skin, burying his face against your soft form  until you sat upon his lap.

“Don’t move,” he growled into your ear. “I can feel you…so warm and wet.” His claws sunk into your back. “Don’t move or I’ll take you right here. Right now.”

His cock pressed against your mound. As you breathed, your body moved and rubbed against him.

“I want it,” Placide panted.

“Me too.” You looked into his eyes. “I can’t wait for spring when you’re right here. Show me the labyrinthe when it’s warm. But you’ve won me now.”

Tears were in his eyes. “I won’t waste this. I promise.” He adjusted himself, moving so that he could be inside you. You let out a long, strangled sound then buried your face upon his shoulder.

Placide turned so that his feet were off the sofa and you we leaned into him. He arched his hips, pressing deeper inside you. He held you up just a bit to pull out but he was deep within a second later.

“So warm,” he whimpered.

“So big,” you whined back.

Placide swallowed and pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m trying to control myself. You’re not helping things.”

“Don’t hold back. I want it.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Go ahead, do what you want with me.”

He shook his head. “I want to but-”

You kissed him, pressing your palms down upon his shoulders so he pressed into the sofa. You rode him, taking what you wanted if only to let him know you were ready for anything he could give.

“Oh god, honey-” he growled.

“Stop waiting and just-” You saw nothing but a blur before you and you were on the floor. Placide was on top of you and lifting your legs up before he pressed deep inside you again. It was another blur again mixed with snarls and grunts into your ear. He pressed himself into you, giving you everything he had.

A bright light woke you from your dreams. And while your bedroom was dark, the sharp, white light that reflected from your window was a thick blanket of sparkling snow. You rested back into your pillow with a deep sigh. You then felt arms around you, and kisses upon your neck.

“Good morning,” Placide whispered.

Your body remembered all at once his ferocity last night and you felt a shiver crawl down your spine. “G-good morning!”

Placide chuckled. “It was nice having this warm body last night. When it snows like this all I want to do is cuddle.”

“I almost thought I dreamed last night.”

“I went a little too hard, I’ll be gentle next time, promise.” He kissed your cheek and wrapped his body around you.

“Tell me again about the labyrinthe.” You say as you stroke your hands down his body. “What will you do to me there?”

Placide growled. “What I won’t do to earn my victory. Lay back, I’ll show you.”

[livyslabyrinth]

imagining yttd characters with a partner pokemon and the image in my head is too cutee.

shin with an espeon because he canonically likes cats. he probably wanted an umbreon to match the cat plush in sou’s room but eevee followed him to work on a day shift and evolved, but he loves his partner anyways :)

sara with umbreon because she wanted a black cat in the manga. the type matchups make sense to me with shin having the weaker matchup.

gin with a growlithe and q-taro with an arcanine would be so cuteee. they’re father and son to me idc 😭

joe with a rockruff omlll. his uniform would always be a little roughed up because he can never resist playing with his partner!!

a zorua would go so well with reko’s color scheme aaaaa. maybe having it use rain dance during live venues to preform with her!!

nao with an altaria because the artbook said she likes fluffy thingss. i could totally see her napping with an altaria. little bit angsty here, but maybe a mishima’s smergle she raises after his death

alice with a zebstrika or furret because he likes striped things. i like to imagine his pokemon would occasionally bicker with reko’s zorua, but get their ass beat every time 😭

kai would have a ghost time to freak the yabusames out like he did in ytts. maybe a sableye or a yamask, but i feel like he would look so cunty with a froslass!!

i have no reason for this one but keiji with a gible makes sense in my head. idk… i can just see him doing his best to calm down a rambunctious gible that’s chasing the other participants around.

anzu with a blacephalon because its clownlike and not as off-putting as mr mime. i don’t like mr. mime, and i also feel like it’d be an uncreative cop-out to give her.

kuramada with a primape or hitmonlee that he spars with from time to time. they have specially tailored boxing gloves :”)

mai with a fidough. no explanation needed. your honor, they have matching bread hats!! she lets her partner help in the kitchen and just prays the fda doesn’t swing by.

i imagine kanna with a sweets themed pokemon bc of her pudding bucket in ytts. maybe a milcery or alcremie. i imagine shin’s espeon has a timid nature and she has to let it slowly warm up to her and her partner pokemon.

i feel like hinako would have a giant terrifying ass pokemon, slightly due to the fact that she’s intimidating and mysterious herself. mostly due to the fact that i think it would be really funny for the shortest character to have a giant scary pokemon lurking behind them.

ranmaru is kinda gloomy, so i feel like he would empathize well with a mimikyu and they would bond in no time. his partner is terrified of sara’s umbreon and every time he tries to approach her, mimikyu panics and he gives up. poor guy :(

hayasaka with a really mischievous rotom that he cannot control is a really cute image in my head, so i’m giving him that

[razorblade180]

Aether:Hey Mualani? I need to speak with you, in private.

Mualani:*gets closer* Ooo, we’re keeping secrets now? How quickly things develop after a life or death encounter. *smiles* What’s up?

Aether:*pulls out a crown*

Mualani:Holy- I was joking. This is fast. Paimon told me you’re a stickler with these.

Aether:Don’t tell anyone. I typically a bit more frugal but like you said, life or death situations speed stuff up. We’re fast friends. Last time I gave someone a crown this quickly it was similar feeling. I got an earful then too.

Mualani:Sounds like you make fighting friends all over. I’d love to meet them sometime.

xxxxx

Navia:I choose to flirt with the merchant!

Clorinde:You already bought his stock!

Navia:And maybe next time they’ll feel a little more generous with the discount.

xxxxx

Aether:Honestly I think you two would hit it off. You’re both very joyful and pack a very scary punch.

Mualani:It’s how I roll, hehe. I will gladly accept this honor, thank you. It won’t go to waste. Our next battle together will go even smoother.

Aether:I believe you. Honestly this choice wasn’t difficult to make. It’s common for people to perform well alongside a well suited group. But if I’m being honest….it’s more likely you’re doing well despite the group circumstances.

Mualani:Hehe, I can see why you’d say that. Not that I’m complaining! I like hanging out your friends they’re fun. The synergy isn’t that bad at all.

Aether:You remind of another hydro girl that was surprisingly tough despite the circumstances. Eventually though, her group of teammates grew. Some might say it’s still growing. If your situation ends up any like hers then you’re going to be terrifying. Consider the crown a token of good luck for the future.

Mualani:Was this friend also a warrior?

Aether:Ummmm

xxxxx

Nilou:*dancing happily*

Emerites: *struggling on the floor*

Collei:I think you got them.

Candace:No, dance more.

Nilou:Okay~

xxxxx

Aether:In a sense.

[audiblehush]

Listen, Polin has been my Roman Empire for months now, but this fandom is WILDIN’.

Chunks of this fandom who claim to be Polin fans seem to hate either Colin or Penelope and I’m just like… why are you here, then, if you refuse to empathize or even TRY to understand either critical half of the pairing?

“Colin can’t see what’s in front of him and he insulted her in front of his peers!! GROVEL; I hope Pen moves onto Debling!!!”

First of all, you’re not a Polin fan if you hate Colin so much you want her to move on to someone else. Second of all: yeah, no. Yes,Colin put his foot in his mouth, arguably in a big way because of status, but plenty of people in real life have experienced saying something that came off poorly to a group of people. Everything we know about Colin’s character tells us he is going to feel horrible about it; he’ll apologize, MEAN IT, and she’ll forgive him. She has her own apologies to make.

Believe it or, it is NORMAL for people to grow into romantic feelings slowly. Stop punishing Colin for discovering who he is by experiencing his own character arc with his own mistakes. He’s allowed to have flaws; he’s allowed to work through his insecurities!

Tbh, most of the criticisms I see of Colin are pretty surface-level and petty, so I don’t give them much real estate in my brain because they’re just… bad, lol.

On the flip side -

“Penelope feels entitled to Colin’s feelings; she’s selfish and the fucking worst!!”

S3 Penelope: *overhears Colin say he would never court her; BELIEVES him - decides she’s going to stop wasting her time, move on, and look for a serious suitor and marriage prospect a) as is expected of her in this era and b) so that she has security, especially considering her family’s dire financial straits.*

“Oh my GOD, this is so anti-Polin, how could she POSSIBLY even THINK about accepting a proposal from anyone but Colin?! GTFO”

SIGH, 1) we have NO IDEA how this plot line is going to pan out: Lord Debling may or may not be serious about her, we don’t know what that even looks like, or for how long. The show synopsis historically likes to play with the fandom expectations a lot. He may possibly propose… and if he does, it would clearly exist as a sort of parallel to S1…. but 2) GOD FORBID Penelope entertain the idea, despite very real fears and evidence that would lead her thinking it would likely be her ONLY proposal… or that even if Colin proposed post heavy-petting session, how on EARTH could she think that he would be doing it out of honor-bound obligation and not love. 🙄 Her potentially considering a proposal isn’t anti-Polin; it’s a realistic response and consideration to two (and likely an additional half) seasons worth of external and internal stressors that are tying into her character development.

Penelope’s heart is fragile for a multitude of reasons due to her home life, her prior experiences with Colin and Eloise AND the rest of the ton - it’s incredibly frustrating for people to ignore why she would potentially not believe Colin even if he DID confess / give her a marriage proposal, just like it’s frustrating when people don’t try to understand why Colin might struggle with his own feelings.

Some of y’all really don’t understand people like Penelope who have been told their entire lives that they are not enough, are terrified of putting themselves out there by being emotionally vulnerable and potentially rejected for the fundamental aspects of who they are… even though some of y’all claim to identify with Colin when he has his OWN STRUGGLES WITH SOME OF THESE SAME FEARS. And it’s almost worse because Pen is painfully SHY: You don’t just magically become confident one day because you decided to be; it is a constant battle against negativity that eventually becomes heavily internalized… it takes years of work unlearn those thought patterns, especially when you’re surrounded by people insulting and rejecting your to your face (her family) or behind your back (the way the ton talks about her family… it’s likely Pen heard gossip about herself, whether individually or as an extension of her family PLENTY)… with an added dose of also being ignored when not actively insulted.

It would not shock me at ALL if Penelope genuinely considers a Debling proposal. All of Colin’s actions in S1 and S2 have ultimately taught her that he is never going to return her feelings; she is likely going to be pretty oblivious to his own romantic realizations this season because why would she look for or entertain those hopes again? Some of y’all complain that she is selfish about Colin’s romantic feelings (which lol, I disagree strongly, but sure hypothetically, I’ll allow it) … so then when she tries to move on by listening to him and his actions she’s suddenly… punishing him and undeserving of him?? When she would have every reason to be skeptical of these feelings coming from seemingly nowhere when he starts of the season trying to find her a husband? NAH fam, she’s doing what anyone with any sense of emotional self-preservation would do: move on and try to be content, even if she knows she’ll always love Colin in her heart.

AND even if Penelope develops potentially fond feelings for Debling… do you really think it’s unrealistic for a 19 year old young woman who has done nothing but pine over a man who is oblivious to it (or worse, finds a romantic relationship with you laughable… in her eyes), who has not had ANYONE be romantically interested her… to maybe get a little fluttery around someone who is reasonably nice looking and shows her genuine interest right off the bat? Spoiler Alert: that is probably exactly what would happen because it’s a heady feeling!!!

This entire plotline is either a parallel to the Marina situation, or a reference to the book line that basically has Colin going “Oh shit, what if I had never realized Pen is the love of my life?? What if someone else had seen how amazing she was and snatched her up??” - Maybe it’s even both! Deep breath: it’s a just plot device for Polin to realize they’re made for each other.

Colin and Pen are going to be on their own journeys this season that fly in the face of what the other is going through. Colin is grappling with newfound romantic feelings for Penelope (while likely struggling to trust them because he thought he loved Marina but lol no he didn’t, so how is he supposed to know???) while also battling against former (and potentially current) impulsive actions… and Penelope is fighting for her LIFE trying to bury her feelings and move on because she’s trying to protect her heart because Colin literally said out loud he’d never want her AND she’s likely thinking of her security. They are both grappling with internal conflicts that oppose the other and THAT is what is going to make the tension and development so good… and that’s without even addressing all the LW stuff that needs to get worked through!

I need y’all to flex that empathy muscle a little and realize that this isn’t about fucking fan-service, or you projecting your own experiences onto these characters (or even the weird self-insert “I am/want to be this character” or “I want to fuck this character”) - you can relate to these characters but ultimately it’s about the STORY - it’s about exploring these characters realistically in how they would react to their own traumas and lived experiences, and how what they think they want/need comes into conflicts with their counterparts.

This is a romantic DRAMA, and these characters are going to have their ups and downs… and it’s a Shondaland drama for better or worse, so you KNOW it’s going to get messy (good lord just look at S2 and how far that “love” triangle went… I’m hopeful for the new show runner because she’s a fan).

Polin will be canon because they unreservedly CHOOSE the other and it will be glorious, so everybody chill the fuck out and stop shitting on my imperfect, emotionally fragile yet beautifully relatable, evolving lovers. They are the BEST fucking ship, but most of this fandom doesn’t deserve them tbh. They’re both messes in their own ways, and honestly? If they were real, neither Colin nor Penelope would tolerate this slander y’all are throwing at the other.

LEAVE COLIN AND PENELOPE ALONE AND LET THEM MUDDLE THEIR WAY TO TRUE LOVE. 🤬

[falasteen7urrah]

this is the most terrifying fucking thing and one of the main reasons i’m glad i left gaza. a while ago i was explaining to a friend why there’s actually so many reasons i wish i was in gaza, obviously as i stated before in a post i’m so lucky and grateful to be out and safe but you couldn’t imagine the guilt that comes from every small right and luxury of being out.

When i was in Gaza i had wondered and talked about how are you not supposed to be wishing for death and how’re you NOT supposed to idealize dying when your friend dies and they’re a martyr, going to heaven etc etc…. how would one not want that? it just seems better? Especially like to think… what if every single soul that has been taken has actually been accepted by God as a martyr… that blessing… that honor…. I mean yeah….

I feel like so many people talk about not fearing death but it’s like there’s no fear it that??? Someone needs to teach us how to love life because death seems like the better option. i was talking to my friend in gaza the other day and she was explaining how hard their ramadan has been in getting food because everything is just so expensive and how her brothers have become so scared to stand in lines for hours or days because the last three times they went out three men were killed and then five the other day. this was no flour massacre this is just the reality of anytime gazans are in big groups.

i know i went off topic but rape and sexual assault has always been my biggest fear. i remember in october the night of the first gaza-wide blackout where all electricity, all internet, all towers were down. being near the border i just felt this was it, at any moment, idf soldiers would barge in, take the men, rape the women, shoot the kids. people can’t imagine the psychological warfare that is in play every single moment of gazans lives even before the war just knowing at anytime anywhere a bomb can fall on you. now anytime anywhere, sniped, executed, run over by a bulldozer (if you’re walking, in a house, in a tent) raped, so when these are the options a quick death, death is usually favored…

[paigegonerogue]

My Top 5 Shots In Every Episode of TLOU

Episode 2

Number #5

An incredibly intimidating, memorable shot. I love the horde below, and the over-the-shoulder shot with Ellie out of focus. It’s such a terrifying picture, and also really helps drill in how dangerous the infected can be.

Number #4

TIE! Two absolutely gorgeous shots that I thought could work well as a pair in this list since they’re both remakes of shots from the game. These are absolutely breathtaking, and showcase the ruined city so incredibly well. I love the way they use focal point to draw your eyes to specific places in the shot, and I adore the change from the game with the gorgeous golden lighting.

Number #3

I could go on about this shot forever. I adore the way Tess is framed in the arch, and her reflection on the floor. This shot really draws your eyes to the center using the walls, rays of light, and the contrast of the brighter floors and reflection. It’s just excellent.

Number #2

I’ve written about the symbolism of this shot in another post (that ended up being my most popular TLOU post ever), but it’s just absolutely fantastic. Ellie in the light and Joel in the dark, with Tess as a transition between the two. It’s just so incredible and symbolic, not to mention the beauty of the contrast and the sunbeams and the shadows. It’s just breathtaking on so many levels.

Before I reveal my #1, here are some honorable mentions…

Something I’ve mentioned before, and will absolutely mention again, is how much I love the shallow depth of field of a lot of TLOU. I’m an absolute sucker for shots in which danger is blurred out behind a character (that will come up in other posts), and this shot does it so well. I also love the beam of light, and the intensity of the shot. It’s just really cool and well executed all around.

Not only is this shot gorgeous from a set design and lighting standpoint, but we also get the best character in the entire world ever: PIANO FROG! WOOT WOOT!!

I just love the way the sinkhole take up a lot of the shot, and Ellie and Tess are in the foreground. I think it’s really unique, and is this really cool way of making the shot look pretty, but also show scale.

Number #1

Not only does is this shot absolutely gorgeous, but it also works so well from a symbolism standpoint. Ellie lingering where Tess died, not able to push past it like Joel pretends he is, with the burning statehouse in the background, and the stricken, shocked expression on her face. It’s gorgeous, heartbreaking, and an indicator of what’s to come… (Also the only place I could find this shot unobstructed was a ‘Ending of TLOU Ep 2 EXPLAINED’ video, so apologies for the channel logo on the bottom left)

Tune in for ep 3 tmrw!

[kunichiwakun]

First come first serve—watchu say about a dominant hanma sister that has every right in her own belief to obliterate any men that captured her desire? Choose whoever but you might as well *ekhem* g-give me katou and doyle

I just want you to know how awfully grateful I am jsjsjsbsbs<33!!! Also, I have read your hanma sister post too so I’m honored to be using your idea❤️ there’s no doubt hanma sis would have huge tits and thunder thighs so this is...👀

𝙂𝘼𝙄𝘼, 𝙆𝘼𝙏𝙊𝙐, 𝙃𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙊𝙍 𝘿𝙊𝙔𝙇𝙀 𝙭 𝘿𝙊𝙈!𝙃𝘼𝙉𝙈𝘼 𝙎𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍 tw; Femdom/Humiliation Kink

Gaia

I headcanon him to be dominant in general because if he’s already small and subby that won’t be any fun BUT part of me thinks he doesn’t interact with a lot of women so when a tall and presumably buff girl walks up to him he’ll feel instantly small and timid.

When we’re talking about yujiro’s daughter, he’s gonna feel a little less confident. His typical smile would be less bright since he’s sort of aware of her power and what her true desires are when she would corner him without saying anything (it’s in the hanma blood—what they wanted is how they wanted without speaking)

Gaia wouldn’t be okay with the idea of being her toy, but as soon as she starts to flirt and press her hips and well endowed chest against him on a wall—he will feel more tempted as she pours sweet praises into his ear and eventually he gives in.

Once he’s finally in her bedroom, he’d be completely at her mercy; his hands would beg her to ride him already when she’d sit on his lap and kiss his cheek while purring sweet praises into his senses and successfully making him give into her desire.

He’s gonna be completely worn out once the deed is done, when he sobers up he’ll feel a strange attachment to the legendary hanma sis

Katou

The easiest one to pursue. He’s already at her mercy once she presses her body against him. It’s not about the alcohol, he’s very much sober for strong women that have a dominant aura.

He’s fast to surrender when he understands that she’s way more powerful and dominating—especially with that body of hers.

His hands wouldn’t be able to control themselves as he shamefully runs them all over her meticulously-shaped form. Even when he knows she has way more power than him and she could easily crush him anytime if she wanted to, he would still feel terrified yet turned on that such a woman as her exists.

He would give in to the idea of being her toy, as long as she gets to fuck him. He doesn’t even care if he gets humiliated, he is at her mercy. Also grows an unhealthy attachment to her once they’re finished

Hector Doyle

He would be a little bit of a brat when she corners him. He’s gonna be like “I could make you cum, just show me where the bed is” but his words would completely backfire once she straddles him and he cums first.

His ego would be shattered, and he would realize what he just got himself into after making a deal with her.

He’s gonna be embarrassed and humiliated that he ended up bottoming especially when her dad was supposed to be his target to taste this “defeat” he gets his daughter’s gorilla grip pussy instead.

A very reluctant one to her dommy requests for him to do things like call her mommy or anything that could be embarrassing for him. He hates her actions but he loves the feeling of being under a strong woman like her. He just doesn’t want to admit it.

Doesn’t grow a romantic attachment but a yearning one that calls for her care, he’s just pessimistic about bottoming under narcissistic women.

[better-with-words]

spoilers for the Life is Strange Double Exposure thing everyone is upset about, and a rant😅

I know it really sucks but I can understand why they broke up. I think this route, as sucky as it is, is actually incredibly thoughtful and must’ve taken GREAT understanding of these characters to portray.

Chloe Price, I have no doubt, stayed with Max as long as she could. She fought for it, she tried to be grateful, she tried to bury all of her negative feelings, because this was her Max. Her Max saved her life over all these others, went through hell to save her over and over and over again. She would not have just given that up for nothing. She would have tried her absolute damnedest, especially because Chloe Price hated Arcadia Bay, but she loved Rachel. She loved her dad and mom. She loves Max. There’s no way she wouldn’t have held onto her with everything she had.

You can’t tell me that it wouldn’t have hurt Chloe deeply. Even though Chloe wanted to turn Arcadia Bay to ash.. she was forced to go and give it up before she was 100% ready. Not just that, but she NEVER has the option to come home. To see her mother. To go to the old junkyard. To honor Rachel, her father in the place where they rest. She doesn’t get to have bacon at the Two Whales, she doesn’t get to flick off Principal Wells, she never even gets the option. She doesn’t get the choice. As someone who understands what it’s like to have your options taken away, and you regret not even having the opportunity to make your own choice? It’s absolutely devastating.

Chloe also knows that Max loves her and enough to sacrifice an entire town, including her mother, to save her. At best, Max is a hero and Chloe experiences deep grief for the loss of the only home she’s ever known, even if she hated it, and her mother. At worst, Chloe is terrified. Angry. Max had the ability to save all these people and Chloe was willing to die for it, she accepted it, and Max had to be selfish and pick her. At worst, Chloe starts thinking, Max…killed 100s and 100s of people through her inaction.. for me. I’m the reason hundreds of people are dead. She starts loathing herself for it, but she accepts that she can’t change it. So, she tries to move on, but Max can’t let go. It haunts Max. Chloe has to unbury her baggage to help Max heal, because it’s the least Chloe can do, because Max sacrificed a town for her? An even worse case scenario, Chloe on a bad day thinks… “Max let a town die for me.. what happens if I try to leave? Will she kill me? What would she do to keep me here?” or alternatively, “What if Max found someone she liked better? Would she get rid of me too?” That’s a horrifying situation to deal with and I can’t even imagine which one of these horrible scenarios is canon.

Chloe tries to move on but she can’t, because in order to heal, Max needs to heal. Max can’t heal because Chloe is a reminder of everything she did. They’re actively hurting each other, even though they are one another’s most important person.

I know it sucks. They love each other. They still love each other. They might end up back together in the FUTURE. Until they heal though? There’s only damage to be done staying together at this point. It’s terribly tragic.

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part IV

Moonlight Becomes You

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: A quick historical note - President Roosevelt’s fireside chats are mentioned in this chapter. For those who may be unfamiliar with American history, the fireside chats were a series of radio addresses given by FDR between 1933 and 1944. They were designed to keep the American public updated about The Great Depression and the United States’ progress in World War II. If you’re interested, you can actually hear the audio of the fireside chat that Peach references in her letter.

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story!

The title for this chapter comes from the Bing Crosby song of the same name.

Dedication: This story continues to be dedicated to my sweet friend, @luminousnotmatter​. Her support has meant so much to me in writing this series!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to war and its impact, allusions to childhood death caused by the 1918 Influenza pandemic, references to illness, a lot of fluff.

August 7, 1942

Dear Peach,

It makes me real happy to hear that you like the nickname. I was surprised to learn that you’ve never had a nickname all your own, but I’m doubly happy to be able to give you your first. It’s a real honor, let me tell you. Not to mention the fact that you ARE special, so you certainly deserve to feel that way.

I think when we all get back, we’ll have to be very careful to keep Dottie, Tommy Boy, and Benny from conspiring, you and I. They do sound like they’re very much of one mind, your sister and my friends—though I’m sure Dottie is much lovelier than my lughead buddies. As I write this, in fact, Benny is snoring loud enough to wake the entire carrier. I’m not sure how any of the other fellas are managing to get any sleep. But at least as long as he’s snoring, I know he won’t be reading over my shoulder. We have to take our victories where we can, as we’re all quickly learning.

Now that I think about it, I do believe I made you a promise in my last letter, Peach. I promised I would try to be more organized, and I’m going to stick to that. I’m going to make a list, so that I’m sure to answer each and every part of your letter. I have to admit that I’ve read it five or six times already. The thought that you’d take such precious time out of your day to sit and write to me of all people still seems simply too good to be true, but so long as this dream is my reality, I’m going to make the most of it. I want you to know how much every word you write means to me.

First of all, trust me when I say that your words truly are sweeter than any dessert they could dream up for us here. Sweeter than honey, sweeter than ice cream, sweeter than pie—heck, even sweeter than a Georgia peach. Mail Call IS a wonderful day, and getting a letter from you makes it all the more wonderful.

I appreciate your belief in me, Peach, more than words could say. In all honesty, I’m probably not even a quarter as brave as you think I am. Maybe I shouldn’t admit that in writing. I’m sure the rest of the guys would tell me to play the part of the hero, but the truth is that I don’t feel like one most days. I only want to serve my country and do my part, but I’d be lying if I said there weren’t days when I felt downright terrified to be here. “War is hell” is right, no doubt about it. I hope you don’t think less of me for saying so. But somehow, I know you won’t. I know we haven’t known each other long, but I just know I can trust you with these sorts of things. The thought of getting to lay down my burdens with you, even if only for a moment, is such a gift. Thank you.

Paris, huh? That must have been some honeymoon. Since we’ve arrived, I’ve been able to see [REDACTED], but I’m sure it can’t compare to what your parents saw back then. One day, I hope you do get to make it here, Peach. I hope you get to see all the most beautiful parts of the world. I wouldn’t want you to be here now, not when everything feels the opposite of beautiful, but one day. We’ll make it safe here again so that it’s beautiful for you. I promise.

Listen, if you can convince your mama to hand over the peach tart recipe, I just might be able to convince my mama to share her apple cobbler recipe…

Speaking of which, it made me smile to hear about your Fourth of July. For the record, Paddy was right—getting to hear about the parades and the fireworks and the strawberry pound cake (I’m sorry about the sugar, by the way) made me feel like everything we’re doing over here is worth it. Some days are real hard. Some days, it feels like we’re not making any progress. But when I hear that you and your family are safe and happy back home, it makes me realize that what we’re doing over here every day does matter. So long as you’re all still able to celebrate Independence Day in peace, then we’re doing our job. Some of the other fellas got letters from their families, telling them about their Fourth of July parties and picnics, too. We all sat together and read them out loud, and it made us feel for a moment like we were there. We could taste the hot dogs and the watermelon and the Root Beer Floats. And it made us smile and laugh, Peach. I promise, nothing you could tell me about life back home would feel like salt in a wound. On the contrary, it’s like a balm for our spirits.

I’m sorry to hear about Frankie’s teeth. I hope the little guy is doing alright. I remember watching my brothers go through it growing up, and seeing Clara go through it just a couple years ago. Being her godfather, it felt extra hard to watch her suffer, so I know just how you feel watching your nephew. In her most recent letter, Natasha told Paul that Paul, Jr.’s been cutting some teeth as well, but he’s “soldiering on, just like his daddy.” It seems like such a small thing, but I could hear Paul crying in his bunk that night. I don’t think he’d mind me telling you that, Peach, considering how trustworthy you are. He misses Natasha and Clara and Paul, Jr. something fierce, and I know he can’t wait for the day when he gets to hold them in his arms again. Since your thoughts for us seem to be so powerful, maybe you could spare some for Paul? I know it’d mean a lot to him.

Paddy is a good man, Peach. A great man. I know you know that and you don’t need to be hearing it from me, but it’s true. If ever he’s feeling down about staying stateside, you let him know that none of us could be doing what we’re doing over here if it wasn’t for what he’s doing over there. He’s a smart guy, Paddy is, and we appreciate how hard he’s working. If anyone feels differently, well—quite frankly, their opinion just doesn’t matter.

It is a little tricky to have a conversation on paper, indeed. Oh, I wish more than anything that we could be talking face to face. I think of that night on King Street all the time. Can I be honest with you, Peach? I hope you won’t think this is too forward, but when the days here are long and hard, sometimes I just picture your pretty face and it makes things feel better. And I hope you know that your loveliness is so much more than just skin deep—your heart and your kindness are what make you so beautiful. I’m sorry for being so forthright—I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable—but I just wanted you to know that. Your friendship and your kindness to me that last night stateside mean so much to me, and they always will.

Speaking of friendship, I’m rather starting to think that my friends like you more than they like me. You should have seen Tommy Boy’s and Benny’s faces when I told them you said hello—they lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July and demanded to see your words for themselves. Evidently, my word wasn’t good enough. They say hello in return and want to thank you for all your well wishes. Paul says hello, too. He says of course he remembers you, and that he hopes you’re doing real well. He still hasn’t forgotten about getting Natasha a string of pearls just as pretty as yours.

I’m sorry the heat’s been so oppressive back in Charleston. We’ve had nothing but rain here for weeks, so we’ve been rather wet and miserable. But your letter was a bright spot amidst the clouds, and I’d be happy to take some of that southern sun off your hands  if you’d be willing to take some of our clouds and rain.

Now you’ve really given me something to look forward to, Peach, if you’re really serious about singing something at our next dance. I assure you that it’s easy to promise that I won’t laugh because I KNOW you won’t be terrible at it. Your voice, I know, is just as lovely as you and I can’t wait to hear it.

It’s funny you mention “Chattanooga Choo Choo” because that one just so happens to be one of my mother’s favorites. I think the two of you would get along just swell. I just had a letter from her the other day, and she assured me that all is well at home. It does my heart good to hear that from both her and you.

I do know “Blue Moon,” Peach. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hear it the same way again without thinking of your beautiful words. As I write this letter right now, the moon is shining down, and I’m picturing it shining down on you, too. The last time I got to see you—well, I suppose the only time I got to see you—was in the moonlight, so I think it will always be special to me. And you’re right—when I think of the same moon shining down on you and me, and all my friends and family back home, it makes me think that maybe the world isn’t so big a place after all. Maybe we’re not all as far apart as it seems. Thank you for reminding me of that. I did tell Paul, and he wrote your words down to send to Natasha. So we all owe you a debt of gratitude.

Alright, have I rambled on enough? Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever written letters so long as the ones I write to you, Peach. But I suppose it’s because I want you to know me. It’s funny, I’ve always been happy to blend into the background. I’m not the sort of guy that most people take notice of—not like Paul and Tommy Boy—and that’s okay. I’ve always been fine with that. But with you—well, I want you to know me. I don’t want to blend into the background where you’re concerned. And I think that maybe you understand that? I felt it that night we met—that you understand. You understand so much, Peach, and I’m so grateful for that.

I won’t bore you with it now, but maybe sometime in the future, I could tell you stories about myself? Stories from when I was growing up, stories from Annapolis—stories that will help you get to know me? I would never want to pry, and you don’t have to tell me anything about yourself that you don’t want to, but I thought that maybe—well, I don’t know what I thought except for the fact that I’d really like to know you, the same as I’d like you to know me.

Okay, I think exhaustion is starting to addle my brain, and I should probably stop writing before I say something that makes me look even more foolish than I probably already have.

You’re in my thoughts, Peach, and I wish you nothing but the best. I hope this letter finds you happy and well.

Sincerely Yours,

Bobby

September 19, 1942

Dear Bobby,

I’m so, so sorry that it’s taken me so long to write you back. I felt that your beautifully heartfelt letter deserved all my attention, and I didn’t want to sit down to write a response until I was able to give it that.

We had a bit of a crisis here in the Sheridan household back in August, around the same time your letter arrived in the mail. We’re not sure how he possibly could have picked it up, but poor, sweet Frankie came down with influenza. He couldn’t keep anything down, and then he started burning up with a terrible fever. Dottie was absolutely frantic, and we rushed him to the hospital. When the doctors confirmed it was the flu, Dottie was beside herself. I know you’ve never met Frankie, but he’s normally such a happy baby, so full of life and joy—to see him so still and lethargic and quiet was quite terrifying. I was scared, too, but I tried to remind Dottie that her son was just as strong as his mother. Dottie was born in 1918, you see, during the Spanish Flu epidemic. She was one of the only babies who survived in the hospital where our mother delivered her. I think that’s all Dottie could picture—all those mothers and fathers who never got to bring their children home. She insisted on bringing Frankie home to care for him—she said she wasn’t going to run the risk of keeping him in the hospital.

Poor baby was terribly sick for over a week. I don’t think Dottie or Paddy slept a wink that whole time. I tried to convince them to take turns staying up with him, so that they could get some rest, but they just stayed by his side all night, every night. It really is quite something, isn’t it? The power of a mother and father’s love? I won’t lie, Bobby, there were some really scary moments when we weren’t sure he was going to pull through. I’ve never been so afraid or cried so many tears in all my life, I think. But then one day, his fever finally broke and we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve never seen my sister or brother-in-law look more happy or relieved. It felt like we had all been holding our breath without even realizing it, and we were finally able to breathe deeply again.

We’ve all been in recovery mode since then, and have been monitoring Frankie very carefully. Just as he started to get better, Dottie fell a little under the weather, so Paddy and I were taking care of them both. I’m very happy to report that both my sister and my nephew are back to their smiley, happy selves, which has been such a joy. I’ll be very glad to put this whole episode behind us.

I want to thank you for your last letter, Bobby, because it truly helped keep me sane when it felt like the whole world was spinning out of control. Though I didn’t feel able to write back until everyone was feeling better, I did read your letter every night before I went to sleep. You wrote that my stories from home were like a balm to your spirit, and I just want you to know that your words were a balm to mine. You are one of the kindest men I’ve ever known, Bobby. Thank you. Thank you so much.

You would think with so much time to plan this letter in my mind, I would have something brilliant to share, but I’m afraid that I’m still feeling a bit scatter-brained after everything. So here are the words that have been bouncing around in my head and my heart for the past few weeks, in response to yours:

You’ll always be a hero in my eyes, Bobby. The fact that you’re brave enough to admit that you’re terrified just further proves it to me. True heroes don’t think of themselves as heroes. They just do the job that needs being done—like you’re doing. And your country is so proud of you for it. I’m so proud of you for it.

I believe you when you promise that you’re going to make it safe there, wherever you are right now. I’m confident that the world will be a beautiful place again. Maybe one day you can show it to me.

I might just be able to convince my mama to share her peach tart recipe. We’ll see. You sweet talk your mama, and I’ll sweet talk mine.

Thank you for putting my mind at rest about telling you stories from home. If they really do lift your spirits, then I promise to tell you as many stories as you want to hear.

Poor Frankie really can’t catch a break, can he? Between his teeth and the flu, he’s had a rough go of it lately. But I’d say he’s “soldiering on,” same as Paul, Jr. I’m sorry to hear how hard the separation is for Paul. As his best friend, I’m sure it’s hard to watch him struggle with that. Of course I’ll be thinking of Paul and Natasha and the children. I include them in my prayers every night, and I’ll continue to do so until they’re all together again. I keep all of you in my prayers.

Thank you for your kind words about Paddy, Bobby. I didn’t share them with him, because I didn’t want him to be upset that I knew how he’d been feeling, but I have your words tucked away in my heart, and I’ll be sure to pass them onto him when the time is right. He is a good man, and I’m glad to know that other people see it in him, too.

You really are too kind to me, Bobby. I have a feeling you may be remembering me through rose-colored glasses, but I thank you for your sweetness all the same. Your friendship means a lot to me, too, and I’ll always be so thankful for that night we met. I’ll never forget it.

I find it impossible to believe that your friends could ever like me more than you. How could they, when you’re such a wonderful friend? Tell Tommy Boy and Benny that I say they have to take your word as golden because you’re extremely trustworthy. I don’t want to hear about any more of this doubting nonsense. And tell Paul that my family knows a couple jewelers who would be glad to help an American hero. Whenever he’s ready to find those pearls, he can just give a holler.

I’ll gladly give you some sunshine in exchange for some rain! With fall coming, it’s not quite as hot as it’s been, but we’d still gladly take fresh, clean rain to wash away the last of the sticky heat.

What song would you like to hear? I’ll start practicing now, so that by the time you come home, maybe it’ll be halfway as good as you seem to think it’s going to be.

From what you told me, your mother sounds just lovely. I’d love to listen to some Glenn Miller over a nice apple cobbler with her.

Oh, none of you owe me anything. I’m sure I’m not the first person to make such an observation about the moon, and I won’t be the last. But I am glad that it could bring you all a little bit of comfort. And when the moon comes up tonight, I’ll be thinking of you.

Bobby, you could never fade into the background, not to me. But I do understand what you mean. I’ve always felt the same. I’ve never been one that people take notice of. Dottie’s always been good with crowds. My friends Emily and Marilyn—they were volunteering with me that night at the dance—they’re always good at making conversation. I’ve never been that way. And I’ve always accepted that about myself, same as you. But it is nice to feel like someone really sees you, like they really know you. I have that with my family, but it’s good to know there’s someone else out there who understands me. Someone like you, Bobby. I want you to know me, too.

I’d like it if we could share stories with one another. I’d like that very much. I want to hear more about your farm in Iowa, and your family, and all the mischief that you and Paul and Natasha got into when you were growing up. I’m all ears, whatever you’d like to share.

Before I close my letter, I thought you might like to know that President Roosevelt gave one of his fireside chats a couple weeks ago. He hasn’t given one since April, so we were all very eager to hear what he had to say. He spoke a bit about inflation and the cost of things. He promised that he’s working with Congress to try to keep things as reasonable as possible, but we all understand that’s rather difficult with a war on. And we’re happy to make the sacrifices necessary to do our part for the war effort.

He also spoke a bit about the progress of the war. I admit that talk of battles and military strategy goes a bit over my head, but he did say something that stuck out to me and has been in my head ever since. He said—and forgive me if I paraphrase a bit—that battles and wars aren’t won by men who are concerned about themselves, about their own safety and comfort. And it made me think of you, Bobby, and all your friends. It made me think of what you’re sacrificing, especially your safety and comfort. We’re going to win this war. I know it. And it’s because of men like you. Don’t ever doubt that.

I hope that when this letter finds you, you’ve managed to carve out a little bit of safety and comfort for yourself. I hope that you’re doing well, and that you’ll be able to come home soon.

Please stay safe, Bobby.

All my best,

Peach

[merakiui]

OMG THAT ONE TAG FROM OBGYN AZUL #or maybe idia who has knocked you up and keeps you in styx laboratories because security is so high there !!!!!! THIS OMGGGGGGGGGGG PLEASE WRITE THIS MASTERPIECE MISS MA'AM 😭😭😭😭😭

AAAA THANK YOU FOR CONSIDERING IT MASTERPIECE WORTHY!!!! I often ramble into the void when I write my tags, so I’m always pleasantly surprised and honored if they’re read and enjoyed. T^T <3

I have very good news for you, lovely anon!!! That concept is actually a wip!! :D I hope to finish it because the premise is so deliciously terrible. I must write at least one medical horror with STYX Idia; this is imperative. To be trapped in a high-security lab without any plausible way out… it’s too good!

STYX itself has so much unexplored potential for yandere fics! The fact that Ortho can control the entire security system is terrifying when you consider how he’s likely to side with Idia for everything (and we saw how he threw the entire lab into such grand jeopardy when he took over the entire system—how much of a perilous process it was to even reach the level at which Idia was at). Ortho just wants his brother to be happy and he’s happiest when he’s with you, so you must understand when Ortho forcibly locks all exits and alerts the guards of where you escaped to so that you can be brought back to Idia. He’s just doing what he’s certain is the right thing. He even tells you that your chances of happiness will increase if you stop struggling and acting so mean! Why won’t you listen? You’ll make his big brother sad at this rate…

STYX is such a gloomy place to be kept in as well. It’s too sterile and quiet, and everyone has their schedules and tasks to follow, so there’s no chance of befriending anyone in this place. The other researchers won’t spare you a glance. Orders from the Acting Director keep them silent and blissfully ignorant when you slam your fists into the door and beg to be let out. You’re almost as noisy as and prone to bouts of violence like the Phantoms. To think you’re only human…

Although STYX is likely the last place Idia wants to be, it works in keeping you safe and contained. He’ll visit with games and manga and whatever else you might want. You can have anything within the realm of reason. Idia isn’t cruel, but he certainly seems that way when he’s in work mode and he assesses you so calculatingly. So effortlessly detached and scarily clinical when he discusses your fertility with the doctors.

It’s scary to know there’s no escaping him or STYX, but it’s even scarier when you realize this will be your life. It isn’t a matter of maybe or a miscalculated variable; it’s the real, raw, inescapable truth. And that’s more unsettling than any candied lie or misplaced daydream.

[waterfire1848]

I just read about your au where Sokka and Azula are the only ones that realize their world has become a musical, I found it very interesting!

I shared this AU with stardust before, but I loved to imagine a scenario where the gaang travels FOWARD in time ( like their 2024) and decide to watch a theater production about themselves(lower expectations due to ember Island players)

But it turns out to be a musical presented in the style of Hamilton, maybe focused on Sokka and his eventual political contributions after the war, or just aang's journey in general

How do you think they might react to ir?

Hello, anon!!!

Thanks to a spirit attack, the Gaang find themselves in modern New York time. Sadly, they're in the middle of the road when they land and run to the side of the road. They've never been in an area like this and there are so many people and nothing around them looks like home, so, of course, they're terrified and run into the closest building they can find for some kind of safety. They manage to make it into a theater, which is the only building name they recognize, and take a seat to rest for a minute, trying to collect themselves and figure out what is going on. (Aang: Look. Katara: Is that a poster with us on it? Sokka: Come on, not again. Zuko, reading the poster: Avatar: The Last Airbender. A story of war and hope. Sokka, groaning: It's happening again.) They decide to sneak in to watch the show because they don't know anything about this modern world and, in their minds, they think that this would be a good way to see what all has changed or how they're viewed in this world. Is it more like the Fire Nation where they're about to die at any second or is it like the South Pole where people like them?

Firstly, the play is incredibly well done (from an effects standpoint I mean) which shocks the Gaang because they were expecting something more along the lines of what they saw on Ember Island. (Theater can evolve a lot after a couple hundred years or so). The second thing is that they are shocked with how well they’re portrayed. (Aang: They got a boy playing me!!!! Zuko: Really? Nothing about how they’re actually showing our struggles and not just playing us as idiots or crying or just angry? Sokka: I’m saying good meat jokes!🤩 Katara: And I’m not crying every second. Suki: We had a very low bar of expectations.) The first part of the play is fairly similar to what actually happened, with the events now portrayed much better and more seriously. The only difference? People sing. There’s a solo song when Aang breaks out of the iceberg, a solo for Zuko about his honor, a mini solo song for Katara when she gets the waterbending scroll, and a song with everyone when they meet Suki, a song between Aang and Zuko———“I can sing that good?” “No. No, you can’t. Please don’t sing.”———and a song with everyone at the North Pole. Once the final song is over, the light dim and everyone leaves and the Gaang takes it as their sign to go. (Suki: What’s got Sokka all upset? Kaatra: He’s mad he didn’t get a solo song.)

As I said, the play really does show things in a more serious light, so when they get to the second part and Azula, Mai and Ty Lee come up not only do Mai and Ty Lee get a song about how nervous and scared they are because they don’t know what’ll happen if they say no but there’s also another half of the song dedicated to how excited they are to fight the Avatar and bring honor to their nation. (Katara: I have to ask, is honor a Fire Nation thing or a you thing? Zuko: Fire Nation thing. Sokka: Don’t give me the mental image of Azula with one of those horrible ponytails screaming honor all the time). They’re about halfway through the second part when Azula gets a solo song———“Seriously!? She gets a solo?!” “Let it go, Sokka”———, dedicated to her talking about how she’ll captured the Avatar but there’s also a moment in the song when she gets a spotlight moment and sings about how she’s scared of her father and failing him. The song is one that the Gaang gets caught up on because they never imagined Azula to have these fears of not being enough and failing Ozai. It makes the Ba Sing Se final fight and song that much more interesting.

The play ends with the correct way that the comet actually played out. In the third act there’s a song for Katara with bloodbending, a duet of Aang and Zuko that mirrors the one they sang during the first act, a song for everyone during the DOBS, a song between Mai, Ty Lee and Azula when they betray her and a song for the final battle———“My eyes! My eyes!” “Zuko, it’s okay! Calm down!” “My father is singing! He’s singing!”. All in all, the play wraps up much better than the one the Ember Island Players put on. (They still don’t know how to get out of this time but at least the theater has gotten much better). The Gaang decides to slip in backstage when the musical is done so that they can talk to the actors and actresses about the play.

When they get backstage (first of all sneaking backstage at a play is a lot harder in this time period. There is a lot more security now and everyone thought they were 'crazy fans'), everyone runs off to talk to whoever played them and the actors really have no idea who these people are, because why would they? (Katara: You played the parts so well! Aang: And your singing is amazing! Sokka: Why didn't Sokka get a solo song? Actress!Katara, in a whisper: Did someone call security yet?) The kids are kicked out by security but they don't really care. That play was 10x better than whatever the Ember Island Players did and the singing was really good, if kind of weird at some points. (None of them will be able to get over hearing Ozai and Zhao sing. That traumatized them more than the war).