#though obviously it’s what the government hopes for anyway

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Just a cute, fluffy fic from Wayne's pov

💞

"Hey Wayne, how do you know you're in love?" Eddie asks him as they eat dinner that night. Wayne nearly choked on the pasta he was eating but covered himself by gulping down some coffee.

Shit, he needs something a little stronger for this, like when he had the talk with Eddie a few years ago, that was awkward as hell for the both of them.

Fortunately for Wayne's heart, Eddie kept his love life a secret. There were a couple people that weren't serious, but that's as far as Wayne knew. Eddie asking about love, though? This was new.

"I haven't got time for falling in love, Uncle Wayne, I have way too much shit to worry about, and it's a bunch of bullshit anyway", were the words of Eddie just a year ago.

Wayne knew his nephew craved love but at the same time viewed it cynically, so whoever this person was must be special to change his views.

"Why'd you ask boy?" Eddie's cheeks turn pink and he shrugs, gulps down the warm coffee and almost scalds his tongue. "Ahh shit!" his eyes widen when there's a knock on the trailer door, and Wayne gets up to answer it; he knows who it is even before he answers.

You're standing on the step, a D&D book tucked under your arm, smiling at Wayne with just a little bit of shyness this time which was an improvement.

You hurry inside and tell Eddie you'll set the books up in his room.

For six months, you'd been visiting the new trailer (all paid for by the government, so no questions were asked about the old one), and it took a while for you to relax around him; now that you did, it was like your second home and Wayne was used to you being here.

You had been visiting on your own, but sometimes with Harrington and Dustin, Wayne doesn't know what went on during Spring Break, just that Eddie was injured during the earthquake, and you were there for him every step of the way.

His wounds had healed but left scars, and sometimes Eddie woke up screaming after horrendous nightmares, not when you were around, though. When you were around it helped Eddie, helped the both of you work towards healing.

The fact that both of you were obviously falling head over heels in love with each other, is something that Wayne has kept quiet about, waiting until Eddie approached him about it.

Today was the day.

Wayne smiles gruffly. "This about your girl?" he nods to you as you head into Eddie's room and Eddie's cheeks darken even more.

"Yeah, yeah it is. She's amazing, isn't she, Wayne?" he enthuses; I just wanted to ask. How do you know it's love? I mean shit, I uh look at her, and she feels like home, and I don't want to be with anyone else ever; I feel like I can be myself around her, and she'd never judge me; she makes me tongue-tied and my heart races and she's so distracting and I... I'm in love with her" he sighs content then looks up at Wayne panicked.

"Shit, I don't even know if she feels the same?" Wayne sighs, he adores his nephew, but the boy is completely oblivious at times.

"Son, she looks at you like you hung the moon so why don't you quit horsing around and ask her out" Eddie looks like all of his Christmases have come at once.

"You really think so?" He asks hopefully and his eyes light up when Wayne nods. "Maybe I will talk to her then" Wayne then proceeds to watch his nephew practically melt at the sight of you; that was something that so very rarely happened with Eddie, so he was completely smitten.

Here's hoping that he did pluck up the courage to talk to you.

❤️

It's late when Wayne comes home from work; the TV is on, so Eddie is still up, and Wayne would bet that you're here too.

Wayne sees the two of you giggling together, holding hands and exchanging kisses, there's a big soppy smile on Eddie's face and he only has eyes for you.

About damn time. Also, Hopper owes him a glass of his best scotch so he will make sure to collect that too.

💞

[ccrisntok]

Your Masterminds, Whit Young, and Ace Markey! (mm! whace au)

(Spoilers lol)

what normal fellas ahahahahaha (I have poured my entire soul into these two there is nothing left of me)

A basic summary of their relationship:

Whit has spent like, over a year manipulating Ace into being complacent in his plans. In his own eyes, Ace is a sorta-stupid lacky, who he's constantly love-bombing to keep obedient. Although, he is a bit glad for the company... it was sorta empty when Ace was "dead" and they couldn't really talk. And maybe Ace almost dying from his fake execution was a bit disturbing. But he's sure its nothing! (He fell in love with him like a moron.)

Ace has fully fallen in love with Whit. He's not happy about it, but it happened. As a result, he's basically ruined any semblance of his own morality, just so he doesn't lose Whit, or the affection he knows is mostly performative. He's more than happy to kill his fuck-face classmates, after a... bit of prodding, and honestly, he'd do anything Whit asked at this point, even die. He'll still complain about it, though.

i tried to be as original as humanly possible, but I'm def giving credit to @talkativeanonymous, @acethehorseishere, and @a-blog-for-kat all for inspiring these two in one way or another (esp. a-blog-for-kat lol).

anyway there's the art, here's the promised lore. warning for like a million words. I'm serious. It's 1,400 words. you can stop here i don't blame you.

also sorry for the odd looking bullet points, didn't realize you couldn't have gaps lol!

This au operates on a probably un-canon assumption that I pulled out of my ass. That is that Mai Akasaki is both a student in the class of 27, and that she is the "time loop" student. She is usually a part of the killing game, but she isn't this time, for reasons I'll explain in a sec.

This specific loop, Mai is attempting to dissuade the (usual) mastermind from wanting to start a killing game in the first place. That mastermind is Whit Young.

She goes about this by trying to curb Whit's main reason for his descent into despair, his resounding loneliness, by giving him championship. Charles hasn't softened up to the others in any regard yet. But that wasn't the main reason, unbenouced to Mai.

In this loop, and this loop alone, Mai sets Whit and Ace up to be friends. She hopes they can help each other, since they usually end up more or less alone in their school life.

Surprisingly, it works. They get along decently well, although a codependency starts to develop on Ace's side.

Around this time, Whit takes up an internship at XF Future, which Mai doesn't realize. He innocently wants to explore other job options, "Matchmaking" not really being a stable career forever.

Obviously FX Future isn't a normal Tech Company. Whit starts to change, in a barely noticeable fashion, the longer he works there.

Ace notices Whit's contacts start looking a lot more vibrant after Whit takes a couple weeks off school for a "company trip." He thinks it's... sort of pretty.

(Whit's time at XF Future showed him a side of humanity he didn't realize existed. Insane levels of greed, using the concepts of "ultimates" to guide a stupid pubic where the Government wanted them, generally a dystopia. It feeds into his existing detachment from humanity, until he hits a breaking point, setting his sights on ending the "Ultimates" concept by killing the newest class in the public eye, including himself.)

(XF Future develops a new sort of technology, prosthetic "eyes" that basically turn you into a living remote control, able to connect to an entire building if its connected via a computer system. Security cameras, doors, fucking air conditioning- everything.

(Whit offers himself as the test dummy, and it goes perfectly.)

Anyway, Mai decides to talk to Ace, since she's starting to realize he's becoming a bit... softer after hanging out with Whit so much? And hopes like, for once, he'll actually accept help for his mountain of problems.

He doesn't take this conversation very well.

Mai, with knowledge from dozens of loops, accidentally brings up an extremely traumatic event, simply mentioning the name "Tyler" once.

In a blinding mix of rage and horror at Mai's knowledge of the event, that Ace has literally never even spoken about in this timeline, Ace shoves her away from him.

She falls backwards, and splits her head on a desk, killing her instantly.

Ace, in a horrified frenzy, calls Whit, literally his only friend.

Whit shows up. Ace expects him to freak the fuck out, call the cops, or something like that... But he doesn't.

Whit simply tells him they were going to hide the body together, not even remotely caring about Mai's death.

yeah that's a little fucking weird, and its terrifying, but going to jail is scarier sooo Ace goes along with it!

After this, Whit wraps Ace into uncharacteristically cruel pranks against some of their classmates and others at Hopes Peak, oftentimes resulting in physical injury.

He acts like these are completely normal and funny, while Ace is both freaked out by it, and sort of enjoys enacting pain on people he didn't like.

Along the way, Whit notices Ace starting to fall for him. Horrible news for Ace, since Whit plays into those emotions by becoming much more physically and emotionally affectionate. Which he doesn't enjoy, like, at all... not a bit...

Whit convinces Ace to assist him in greater and greater acts of violence until Whit just straight up kills someone (not a classmate, a stranger.)

Ace is of course tied into everything way too deep to stop now, and after all this... he doesn't really want to. So he stays as Whit's accomplice for months, up until Whit's weirdo behavior arrives at the idea of the killing game. He references the "First Killing Game", which Ace had never heard of.

The idea is a bit intense for Ace, but at that point, he didn't have anything beyond Whit. If it took this to stay with him... He'd do it. Even if in the end, they both were going to die.

So they get to work!

Ace had been taking engineering classes at Hope's Peak in hopes of getting out of jockeying, and he'd helped his family build sheds and shit since he was a kid, so he focused on the construction and executions.

Whit wired the building an all-encompassing computer system he could control, as well as stealing "Mono-TV" from XF Future, a robot he can fully control to be the "host" of the game.

He also steals the "mind wiping" technology from XF Future. It's weirdly easy to steal stuff from this company, hm? It's almost like they aren't protecting it...

Whit also uses another piece of experimental biological technology... on Ace.

A screen connected to his brain, a lottt less invasive than Whit's eye surgery. It doesn't impact Ace mentally, it just gives him the ability to produce visible projections for easy construction, communicate with Whit remotely, (and give Whit a way to always know what Ace's condition.)

The screen is unclipped when the game starts, but the brain implant is still connected to Whit, so he can detect Ace's condition.

After kidnapping the class of 27 and wiping their memories... It all starts. A killing game, streamed live to the entire nation.

Whit and Ace start off as a part of the class, interacting with the others like normal, a pretty decent show. Things go roughly as planned, putting everyone in the positions Whit wanted them. Untilll... chapter 2.

Ace gets his ass jumped, and almost dies prematurely. This is fine, Whit privately makes sure the wounds properly cleaned, but it does fill Whit with an... ominous feeling.

Ace still kills Arei, a part of the plan, and gets "executed", so he can more easily upkeep the executions and such behind the scenes.

After the screen playing the fake execution turns off, Whit checks to make sure Ace didn't get injured in his running around... but can't detect anything.

At all.

Ace's heart wasn't beating.

He actually, seriously, had a fucking heart attack.

(Ace's heart attack was for a combination of reasons. Firstly, his heart was actually in pretty bad condition as a result of his eating disorder, something Whit had figured was "over" by now. It wasn't!)

(Second, in that moment, the idea that maybe, just maybe, Whit could have been double-crossing him came to Ace. What if Whit loaded the guns? What if Ace's use was done, and Whit was finally getting rid of him? It was terrifying because he could die, and terrifying because... It'd make sense. It was all that ever happened to him.)

So he had a heart attackkk lameeeeee

This makes Whit tweak the fuck out, internally. (lol pretend his spooky ass sprite happens AFTER the execution, not before. shh its all made up its all pretend)

After Levi gets taken to the infirmary, Whit drops Charles off at his room as quickly as he can, then fucking BOLTS IT to a hidden passageway in his room to the like... Mastermind area, with the execution chamber.

Whit manages to resuscitate Ace in time, barely. And even after that, he's in pretty bad condition. But he's conscious and mobile.

Whit gets him as comfortable as he can, and after spending the night, he sort of... has to leave. He does some tweaks to Ace's brain screen thing, creating a functional heart monitor that Ace (and he) can watch.

As often as he can, Whit sneaks off to the Mastermind area at night to make sure Ace doesn't fucking die in his sleep. But Ace gets... decently better quickly, and returns to his duties overseeing the killing game.

Whit still visits almost every night to make sure Ace wakes up, which he can't really explain to himself. Ace was... supposed to be disposable anyway. Why would it matter if he died?

Anyway yeah the rest of the game happens. No clue there.

In the end, Whit and Ace come out as masterminds (happy pride).

I have a comic planned for how the end goes, soooo... that's it!

holy fuck! my fingers! hi the whole 2 people who made it down this far... uh... did you like my lore.....? do you want me dead now for having you read 1,400 words of two evil homsexuals...? 😅 love you thank you im sorry.

[is-on-its-way]

The moment Mulder quits

A point in which Mulder was ready to quit the minute he saw Scully hold a baby in season 7 and its effects in season 8

*this is my headcanon, its not gospel obviously Firstly, two scenes that are very linked in my head

Season 7 Ep 22 Requiem and Season 8 Ep 16 Three Words

Look at that face. That dead serious, at all costs face.

Season 7

Requiem. The culmination of Scully and Mulder's secret yearish? long quest for a baby. They've tried for a baby with IVF already. Mulder has promised her he wont give up on a miracle for her and they're well... trying basically, throughout season 7. Perhaps I would call it "hoping" for a baby. Maybe Mulder is hoping and Scully is characteristically ambivalent? Fully not using any contraceptives and I know there's a fic in there somewhere, anyway

The first scene above is why Ive never watched past the season 8 finale. nothing past them agreeing to be a family makes any sense because of Mulders face here. People knock Duchovny for not showing out when acting, but I will always be a defender of subtle acting. The way he can say an entire monologue of dialogue with the minute expressions on his face is quite breathtaking here.

Hes goes from sorrow at Scully not being able to have a baby, sorrow at her loss, sorrow at not being able to give her that; to regret at what he thinks is all his fault, at dragging her into this life; to pure love and affection for her seeing this baby in her lap and how good she is with him; and then a smile peaks out. A smile of hope that could compete with the Mona Lisa. Hope for their future and the certainty with which he knows what he wants so clearly, maybe for the first time in his life. His own family.

Like for the first time hes really deciding the cost is too much and he chooses her over the mission. He chooses their future over everything. And he's hopeful and perhaps even happy about it. which for someone with his amount of family trauma is a seismic shift. For so long he's chased the past in hope of fixing it, completely discombobulated and reckless in his search for well, his family.

Though, from the beginning of that moment in the rainy graveyard, he has slowly unconsciously coming to regard Scully as his family. In small gestures, a hand on her cheek or voicing out loud how important she is to him; to big gestures, giving up who he believes is his actual sister to save her.

We are lucky here, to be able to witness the moment the sparks of unconscious thought bloom into the flame of certainty. He follows up as well. Tells her she has to stay, that the cost doesn't outweigh the price anymore. Sure he wants to finish out this case, but he doesn't work without her, thats been established. Him telling her to stop, is his resignation as well. (There's a fit there too, with Skinner and him on the plane probably Skinner already knowing he's done.)

Thomas Flight praises subtly in acting better than I could ever articulate here:

Season 8

Mulder was weird and the PTSD was implied, but I choose to see it everywhere. After the moment in three words where Mulder tries to let them go gently because he thinks he's too damaged to be a father (Thanks @randomfoggytiger for the meta on that) (there's a fic here obviously where Scully gives him the space to be broken and also hers) After this though, he's not the Mulder as we've seen, ever. He's not the Mulder who

cares about exposing the government so he can say I told you so

cares about saving the public from the invasion

cares about finding the ultimate truth that has driven him since he found the X files

cares about solving cases and one upping the FBI, trying to force them to admit the truth out loud.

Mulder is fighting the entire season for his family.

he cares about exposing the conspiracy so everyone including his child will be safe.

he cares about saving the earth for his child's future

he cares about his childs and his families safety

he has zero concern about the FBI and what they do anymore.

In the second scene above, he's about had it with the entire conspiracy and he's downright pissed. He wants it all to end he doesn't care how. He wants to protect his child above everything. Sure he's usually reckless but this isn't for him and his self involved cause anymore, it's for his family, his wellbeing be damned at some points along the way. He states his thesis in three words while breaking into FBI files in an astonishing show of recklessness

"Look, Scully, I need to make sense of what happened to me. So that I can stop it. Because if I can't stop it, it could happen to anyone. It could happen to you. And who's to say it's going to stop there?"

I always wondered why he was putting Scully through all that, without realising this was the reason. Poor guy. There's nothing else in his purview anymore besides that baby who's in danger, and his family, so much so, when he is ultimately fired from the FBI, he's positively giddy at his newfound freedom.

If he had then gone down a path temporarily where he murdered his way through the remnants of the syndicate to assure the safety of his family John Wick style, I would've absolutely believed it.

It would've been insanely intriguing look at an evolving dynamic between Scully and Mulder. Scully law abiding Mulder reckless as always but with a different motivation. Becoming what he's always feared, to protect the family he has never had. A family he feels like he's only grasping at, as they're slipping through his fingers due to the danger and his recent and past traumas.

There's a reason a lot of the fandom sees Mulder as a happy stay at home dad post wherever they decide to end watching. Thats what he's been searching for his entire life. A happy family with loving parents. When he let go of that dream for himself in Closure, he found he could want that for his future family whatever that looked like (adoption, a miracle, etc.) in Requiem. And I personally don't believe he ever would let that dream go once he realised, I mean we all saw the devotion he had to his sister right?

In other words these are my reasons season 9 onwards make zero sense and I regard them as AU

[iznsfw]

above the law, (under you)

TWICE's Chou Tzuyu x Male Reader Smut

4,629 words

Categories | lawyer!Tzuyu x criminal!you, thighjob, blowjob

Quick one for TWICE's maknae. Hope you like it.

The thing about law is that it's actually quite flexible. Forget what your law professors taught you and all those fines the government threatens. If you manage to lie with just a bit of space for truth to distort your falsehoods into, you can get out of anything easily. That's certain, actually, no matter what consequences are inscribed into whatever bible juries and judges have. Maybe you'd only have to spend a few days in jail, probably narrowly avoid a death sentence. 

At least, that's how it works when you've got a good lawyer. 

Oh, yeah, that's what Tzuyu is for. Lucky you.

"So you understand," she says, spreading your files on the desk like it were butter across toast (don't mind the choice of comparison; your stomach is growling), "that it gets suspicious."

Actually, you don't. "Do elaborate."

Tzuyu sighs. She drags a hand along her golden hair. Normally, colored hair in the courtroom would be looked down on, but she's reached that kind of status that it doesn't matter what she does or who she represents—whether she wins or loses the trial for you, she's Chou Tzuyu, and everyone still gives her the deserved respect. 

But with you, the situation is more dangerous. It's a hit or miss with you, and now, the two of you are getting closer and closer to missing.

"You've been in and out of juvie since you were in middle school," she says, one pinky up to count the factors. Another as she goes on, "And you haven't stopped robbery and physical assault since then. You raged in the divorce court, too, so trust me: when it comes to custody of your kid, it doesn't get easier."

Three fingers. Three's the charm, right?

"Well," you curl down the sides of your mouth and raise your hands, "obviously."

Again, you're lucky to have Tzuyu. She's the only one who's paid enough to put up with your bullshit. She's the only one who can get you out of said bullshit. If you said that to anybody else, they'd kick you out, and you know enough already about being excluded and rejected.

That's not to say you feel sorry for yourself, just to be clear. You're too used to this rowdy lifestyle that your own actions don't humiliate you. Neither does the fact that you haven't matured from the age of sixteen. 

In that case, you do feel sorry for Tzuyu, though. She's an intelligent and beautiful young woman. She's only going forward from here on out, but you'll always hang onto the hem of her dress pants like a tail. You're a mistake that no Mongol pencil top can erase, and that's been sealed into her mind long after she accepted to represent you. 

She's the one getting paid anyway. No need to muck over it.

"Did you do it, though?" Tzuyu asks. 

"Do what?"

"Did you beat up your ex-wife's husband in front of her?" 

Honesty is a virtue that only your lawyer is deserving of. So, "Yeah."

Tzuyu pinches her nose. "And the drunk texts?"

"Uh huh."

"The lamb blood on the yard?" 

"All me, baby," you answer. 

You're a bit regretful, to be honest. Not for the fucked up shit you did to coax your ex-wife into getting back with you, but with how you failed to use your own blood to write out "YOU'LL ALWAYS BE MINE, DAHYUN!" in front of her house. But you've already crossed one too many lines.

"You sound proud," Tzuyu notes. "Don't you realize how this can influence the trial?"

Do you? Probably, but you've gone to court so many times, against so many people, that it's become like a second home. The Corinthian columns looming over you don't scare you anymore. Neither do the judge and jury.

Maybe the reason you keep fucking shit up is the need for something to feel?

You haven't felt anything in a long time besides anger. Maybe that's it. Maybe that's why you keep doing what you do despite knowing it can ruin your few good relationships with the few good people who deal with you.

"You can get me out of this alright, Tzuyu," you say. Prop your feet on the opposite plush seat that stands at the front of her desk. "Just lie—you know, it's your job."

"I'm a lawyer, not a magician," Tzuyu says, speaking through her grinding teeth. "I'm not another foolproof way to buy yourself out of consequences."

"That's nice. Got that comeback off searching 'badass lawyer quotes'?"

Tzuyu stares at you. She's really too cute to be in a courtroom, but the way her full lips are set and her eyes glare through your soul make you remember that she's up there for a reason. All these certificates and awards placed on her wall and bookshelves aren't out of nothing. She deserves respect from you because she's still your lawyer, she's still your only way out of going to prison.

"You just… don't care, huh," Tzuyu remarks. "Everything about this is just one huge joke to you."

Her tone isn't far from her usual formal one, but it's mixed with realization, too. She realizes that you'll always be like this. It's not your job or your kids or work—it's you. It's all on you.

"But really," she continues, with a small, bitter laugh, "the funny thing is I actually held out hope for you."

She did? 

You've been waiting a lifetime to feel something that isn't rage. You're surprised to find out that it would happen, and the thing would be guilt.

"I—I thought that if I did everything I could for you," she says, her fists curling tighter to the beat of every syllable, "for you to get away scot-free, you'd actually put some sense in yourself." She smiles sarcastically. "But I was stupid to think that, wasn't I?" 

Everyone's been disappointed in you one way or another. It's no lie that your parents are. There's also a reason why your siblings won't talk to you anymore. But the disappointment riding off Tzuyu's words hurt unexpectedly. It breaks you. 

It also, somehow, angers you. 

"Get out of my office." She points to the door. "I'm done with you."

"No, you're fucking not," you reply. 

Tzuyu's accustomed to your banter and attitude, but that actually stops her in her tracks. She looks at you with disbelief.

Your smile quakes with anger. "We're not done until I say so, Tzuyu."

"That doesn't work on me."

"Come on, let's face it, attorney," you say, stressing the title with false respect. Set your hands on the desk scattered with files and folders. "You like me."

Tzuyu rolls her eyes. "Oh, please, spare me the—"

"No." 

Your steps trace a marble path to the back of her desk, to the place that should be off-limits to you. You never raped or anything, but you remain a criminal, and she remains a lawyer who has to set boundaries. 

However, all boundaries are crossed when you've got her backed up to the edge of her desk, when her pretty face is centimeters away, and your hands are itching to tear the high fashion uniform off her slender body.

It's the first time you've ever seen Chou Tzuyu scared. Her face is set to a poker expression in the courtroom and out of it, but seeing her parted lips and wide doe eyes ignite your emotions. It's new, it's different, and you love it more than you should.

"Come on, Tzuyu," you press, tilting your head to the side. "You know why you want to keep defending me after all the fuckery I did."

"And what can that be?" Tzuyu asks. Her brows are raised.

Another question, you see. This girl really should stop inquiring about things she knows well the answer to, but, graciously, you say it out loud for her. You're a good guy like that. "Didn't I say it already? You like me. Admit it: you're tired of defending guys who at best stole from Walmart. You want the real horror. You want me."

It's all delusions to grope for the upper hand, but you see Tzuyu's eyes. You can read them well from all the time you've unwillingly(?) spent together, you know that her rare expression of vulnerability means something:

You've caught her.

"Oh." Smile. Your rambling holds some truth after all. "So I'm right. Of course you like me."

"Don't flatter yourself," Tzuyu snaps. She struggles to keep eye contact with you. 

"No, no." Guide her face to meet your gaze. "You want some relief. It's not easy being a lawyer, definitely not easier to fall for a psychopath client. But it just happens. You can't control it."

She swallows, looks down, and shakes her head. That's something she's humble enough to admit. "No…" 

"Of course. I can give you what you want, you know."

"I don't want anything from you," says Tzuyu. Her eyes fire an unspoken word of caution to you. "You don't know what you're trying to do."

"For a lawyer," you chuckle, "you're a terrible liar. I thought that was the whole thing with you people."

"I told you to leave already." 

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," you say, sliding your hands down to her tiny thing of a waist, "until you tell me what you actually feel."

You can feel Tzuyu's breaths accent the rises and rests of her tight midriff. She's contemplating this over, but she knows that she's grown fond of you. You know this, too. Like you said, there's a reason for her staying with you. 

You have to admit you've grown fond of seeing her, too. Her face is more than easy on the eyes. Hearing her as well is an everyday delight; her soft voice is melodious, even when she's describing your crimes. 

So, what's there to say? 

"It's not right," Tzuyu says. The shakes of her head are too repetitive to be sincere. "I can't be biased towards you. I… I have to be professional."

"It's just you and me, sweet," you quip. Step closer so that her body's flush against your form and her gaze can go nowhere. "Live a little. Who cares if it's wrong?"

"My career—" she tries.

"Tzuyu. Come on. Fuck the convict you want so badly. I put you through enough already."

Understanding passes through her eyes, mingled with hesitation and a sprinkle of fear. She wonders, as she peers at your face from a taller height, how you knew about the whole crush ordeal. Was she too obvious? Flirty? Patient? It can be one or the other, and she'd still have to dial it down.

But her heart skips several beats that her words come unrehearsed. Your hands at her waist, so close yet so far to where she needs them to be, trigger her needs. 

So, there it is: she needs you. She has to accept that.

"O-okay," Tzuyu finally agrees. 

"There you are. You finally came around."

"Just shut up and fuck me."

"Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you?" Your shameless kisses end up on her neck and collarbone that peek through the ends of her blazer and the neckline of her innerwear. "I know you thought about it, Tzuyu. How I'd bend you over on this desk, fuck your brains out, make you cum more times than you can count."

As you pull the blazer from her body, Tzuyu hisses, "Don't get too happy, dickhead."

How unprofessional of her. But you have to admit it feels powerful to be able to extract the most unladylike of words from a woman who'd never dare utter them. And you're just getting started—she's only sitting on the edge of her desk, and not even filled with your cock yet. 

Your fingers aren't idle. They appreciate her tall curves and the fullness of her thighs. They even slip under that pencil skirt to feel around for her center. 

Of course, you find it. You find it under a layer of flimsy shorts and panties. Tease her clit; have her legs join in attempts to undergo the stimulation. 

And then—

"Oh my god," she whines. Tzuyu purses her lips. Curls her fingers at the cliff of the desk. "Feels so good."

"I know it does," says you. "Why don't you return the favor? Jerk off my cock with those pretty hands?"

Her posture becomes too straight to be proper as you press your fingers at her sensitive pink walls. "I've done too much for you. Y-you don't deserve any more favors."

That's fair. She's still a smart girl, even when she's soaking your fingers. 

Can she be a good girl? To be a good girl or not to be—that is the question.

"You're right. My cock deserves to be inside you, not just in your hand."

The faster pace has Tzuyu's legs jerking. "Fuck you."

Chuckle. "You are."

Maybe you don't need a handjob as a warm-up. Your cock already erects by itself watching Tzuyu react and moan to your digits pumping in and out of her. Her beautiful arms, free from the blazer, struggle and strain to stay upwards with how quick you're fingerfucking her. Her unkempt whines are so unlike her that there's complete pride inside of you, an arrogance, even, that's birthed from the fact that you make her like this. You're so fucked up that it turns her on when it shouldn't, and now that you're fucking her, the immorality of everything gets her wet. 

"P-please," she says. Her doe eyes are watery with need. 

She's never said that outside of the courtroom, where she says that only for formality's sake. But here she is, anyway, begging you for something she'll have to spell out if she doesn't want you to go crazy and fuck her in every corner of her office. 

Maybe that's what you'd do anyway.

"What is it, Tzuyu?" you ask. Your fingers strain while the heel of your hand hits and rubs her clit. "Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need."

"Please," again, "faster. Oh my god, that's all I ever want, please go faster."

No more do her legs close. Rather, they part. They welcome your thrusts and rubs. She's completely allowing you to fuck her, despite how wrong it is and how it can screw up your future trials. Bias this and bias that are things she doesn't care about anymore. All she knows is that her nipples ache to be pinched, and her pussy awaits more of your thrusts because she's close. So close that she could taste euphoria already.

"Should I go rougher, hm?"

"Please, fffuck, I don't know." As you squeeze one of her handful-sized breasts, she bites her lip hard. "Just fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, please, make me c-cum—"

When Tzuyu orgasms, it's messy yet quiet. Her formality shows up even in sex. Her moans are tight and so is her pussy as it clenches down on your fulfilling digits, and you have to perk your ears up to hear her sounds of pleasure. She's still a quiet girl, barely talkative (though you've managed to pull a few pleas out of her already), and you're completely trying to change that with your pumps.

Your lips create a purple bruise on her neck. Tzuyu sighs and gasps helplessly. She's wetting your fingers like a flood, and you keep provoking the natural yet woman-made disaster; you drag your fingers at her velvety, weak spots and venture deeper. 

You don't have to ask her if it was good. She's panting heavily, and sucks on the soaked fingers you've led to her face to calm herself down. Watching her pink lips work away at your hand, as if she were suckling something completely different, makes you more turned on. Her warm wet mouth deserves to be somewhere else rather than just your pointer and middle.

"Now that wasn't so bad," you say. Draw them out of her mouth. "You didn't leave any for me to taste. How selfish."

"You still could." Tzuyu points to her mouth. 

It's clear that she's wanted you to kiss her forever. When your lips press against her mouth, she immediately slips her tongue inside. You return the favor, but also to have her own self-made taste of love. 

As expected, she's fucking delicious. 

You hold her head in place as the two of you kiss for seconds that felt like hours. After, you're breathless.

"You're a good kisser," she comments. 

"You want me to tell you what else is good?" 

"Oh, please. Show, not tell." 

Your belt's off and soon, your trousers are as well. Tzuyu's gazing at your hard cock with admiration. It just boosts your pride and arrogance—you can never tell the difference between the two when they mix and match with each other so often.

"No one told me criminals had big dicks," says Tzuyu. She skates her hand on your cock, stroking it softly. Her eyes have left it and instead seal on your faltering gaze. 

"You learn something new everyday." Try not to make your shuddering breaths obvious when she starts jerking you off. "You like?"

"I think… I think I want to suck it."

"Go ahead. No one's stopping you."

"There're a lot of people stopping me," she informs you. "If they find out I'm fucking a client, then what?"

She doesn't live up to her words of concern because she hops off the table cleanly and kneels anyway. Her small face looks even tinier next to your cock. And you realize now how her mouth is miniscule too after she wraps her lips around your cockhead. 

You shiver. 

Tzuyu's staring again. 

This time, her large eyes are directed up at you. She doesn't have to focus on your dick when her mouth is doing it for her. With each harsh swipe of her tongue on your tip and the drawing of her mouth closer to the base, your cock grows wetter with her drool and precum. 

"Your mouth is amazing, Tzuyu," you say. You're not afraid to admit that.

She responds to you not with words, but with more suckling. She closes her lips around your base then slowly brings her mouth up. She repeats this cycle of pleasure until your whole rod is coated with her. When she feels you throb in her orifice, she giggles—what's more satisfying than seeing the guy who put her through hell become weak?

You're in a daze of your own, too. As much as you like seeing Tzuyu dominate the court with her steady voice and no-nonsense look, she looks so much better when she's on her knees. When her hands wrap your hips to thrust her head forward and force your length down her tight throat. When the usually serious look in her eyes fades into obscurity and is replaced with an almost innocent look that says "come on, use me, fuck my mouth."

That's exactly what you do anyway. You don't need her prodding to fuck her pretty face.

Tzuyu's hums vibrate on your sensitive flesh. The back of your cock slides deliciously on her tongue and almost all of your rod slides down her throat. It bulges; you can tell even without looking down. She's a slim girl after all. It's easy to fuck and fold and use her. This situation isn't any different.

"Yeah, that's it," you say, grinning. "Take my cock, Tzuyu. Take it like a good girl."

Her ears burn. Her thighs squirm together, and that's how you find out that she might like being called a good girl more than you'd think. Stroking her hair that looks like it was personally woven with real gold has her whining. You can't believe the tough lawyer has a submissive side, too. 

Has she done this before? She seems to be taking the thrusts to the back of her throat well. Perhaps she simply enjoys this. You'll never know.

"I'm gonna cum, Tzuyu," you announce. "You better swallow it all like the slut you are."

Her cheeks hollow as your cum fills her mouth. Her lips remain sealed on your tip so the flow of your semen ends up nowhere but inside her. 

After you pull out, you realize then that you've just fucked your lawyer's face. It's like everything was a lucid dream that eventually blended into reality, because there's Tzuyu, still kneeling and gulping down your cum, and your cock out in the open between your bare legs. There are lines you've crossed before, but you never thought you'd do the same to the boundary that's been set between you and Tzuyu. 

Where's the rage you felt earlier? Why does arousal take its place?

"I'm not a slut, by the way," says Tzuyu airily. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm not your good girl either."

"Oh, alright. Does that mean you won't let me fuck you?"

"Jerk," she spits. "Your cock isn't even that big."

"I guess I should leave then. You were a good fuck, Tzuyu." 

Turn your heel with faux intention to exit, like she's told you to do earlier, but you're pulled towards her again. She tugs your wrist and pulls you to herself, her ass snug against the edge of the table and you pressed against her slim frame.

Okay, so—

"I fucking hate you." Tzuyu tears the buttons off your shirt with a clean rip, and kisses your chest. Your neck. Grabs your waist to ensure that you're going nowhere. " I hate that you're so fucking annoying. I hate that I can't spend all day fucking myself on your huge cock."

"Did you just say I had a huge cock?" 

"Like I said," Tzuyu snarls, "shut up."

Whatever snarky response you could have come up with on the spot is lost into an embarrassingly loud moan. She's forced your still sensitive cock inside her, and now her hips are dancing forward and back. It's a dance of death with how it bears its weight on your mind and girth. 

"Thought I told you to be quiet," she says smugly.

Her skirt has ridden up her waist. You take advantage of this to get a feel for her thighs. They're slim yet round at the same time, creating the perfect balance that fits your squeezing hands. Tug on them to pull her closer. Your remaining inches make it past her folds, and Tzuyu moans in delight.

"And I thought you didn't like me," you say. But it's difficult to be cocky when her tight little pussy is just that good, squeezing you as if determined to drain your might and taking you good and well. 

Tzuyu scoots her wide hips side to side, arms sedentary on the sides of the table as she rests down on it, and bites her lip. Intentional or not, it's too fucking sexy. "Things change."

So, that's how it works out: your lawyer on the flat of her desk, above scattered piles of papers describing your crimes and issuing your statements, with her legs spread around your midriff and receiving your cock as a traveller in the desert would receive water. She's desperate, is what you're saying—her gasps are timed to the beat of your thrusts, and she's accompanying it with soft curses. This whole sex thing could be a song, you see. Tzuyu can play the vocals, and her cleavage that bounces behind her vest could be looped and made into a matching music video. It's just so perfect.

"So good, you're so good," she sighs, her mind addled with thoughts of you ruining her insides and, probably, fill her up with semen. "Fuck me harder. Touch me. Use me, my god, just fuck me."

You pull up her vest to devour her breasts. The brown nipples end up in your mouth, suckled on and chewed, while the softness of her small tits are relished with squeezes. Tzuyu whimpers quietly, volume hushed down as it always is with her. Although her quiet whines turn you on, it's the will inside you to have the silent lawyer screaming that propels your thrusts. Drives them with a purpose that's so specific your hips could have a mind of their own. 

Dragging her vest off her torso is how you see that your cock is bulging through her tight midriff. The lines of her abs hide not your cock forcing yourself through her hole. Tzuyu notices it, too, and you feel her become wetter underneath you, because she loves it. She loves how wrong this is, how she's letting a person she shouldn't even be acquaintances with outside of her career use her like a doll.

"P-please," she says (for the millionth time, yes, but you'll never grow tired of hearing it.)

"Should I go harder?" Do exactly that, rutting her against the table, even without her answer. "Rub this little thing here?"

Tzuyu cries out. There's a completed mission—you've finally forced her to scream, and it's all thanks to your thumb toying with her clit.

"Oh my god!" she yelps. She looks at you with eyes filled with shock at how good it feels. "Oh my god, yes, keep doing that! It feels so—fuck!"

"Keep screaming like that and I'll make you cum. Do you want to cum, Tzuyu?"

She nods dumbly. "Yes, make me cum. M-make me cum around that stupid big dick, I love it so much, please!"

You're reaching places inside her that her own fingers couldn't embark to. The bulge on her stomach goes farther, and you think of how you're rearranging her guts so deliciously, how she's pounding at the table in frustration and pleasure and screaming, and how you can give her bliss with just a few more pumps.

Your thrusts hold purpose—they're driven by Tzuyu's boobs lifting with the creaks of her desk, the squeeze of her pussy as it swallows you whole, the helpless look on her face. She's so beautiful, really, and you're glad to be able to—

"Gonna make me cum!" she wails. "Gonna make me cum, gonna make me cum, don't fucking stop!"

Tzuyu's pleasure reaches an all-time high. She clenches as hard as her muscles can bear and screams. Her throat must be sore because of that, so you don't forget to kiss all over it as you extract a violent orgasm from her with rough, untimed pumps. 

She's shivering, eyes unfocused. She's rambling senseless words that don't quite give clues to what they should be comprehended as.

That's exactly what you want.

You pull out. "I want to fuck your thighs." Show so after that: slip your dick in between her soft, supple skin, and add, "Gonna explode on that fucking stomach."

"W-why not inside me?" whines Tzuyu. She closes her eyes as your cock unintentionally brushes over her folds and prods at her bundle of nerves.

"You're already fighting to give me custody of my kid," you chuckle. "What makes you think I want another?"

Tzuyu manages a laugh. You're too laser-focused on fucking her thighs though to appreciate her first love beauty when she smiles, since you're as close as you can be. With the soft flesh holding your length captive as you pray for your soul not to be by the eyes of justice, you have no choice but to do what you said: cum on her tight midriff.

White above tan skin is a beautiful color on your lawyer.

"You're… you're a little evil, you know that?" Tzuyu makes out. She glances at the puddle of cum on her rising stomach with fascination.

"Oh, love." Lean down to kiss her, with your arm pillaring the space on the table not occupied with paperwork. "You're just now figuring that out?"

[rosetowers]

hey if they made a Nimona tv series or something...

what if another kingdom's ruler came to visit for diplomatic/trade reasons

and the ruler was an asshole. let's call him King Dick

he saunters in like he owns the damn place

and takes one look at Bal and goes "ah, yes. this one"

straight up gets down on one knee and proposes

Bal obviously says no, a bit flustered and awkward

King Dick brushes this off

meanwhile Ambrosius is glaring at the king

the other knights are getting a bit nervous

Ambs is well known for being protective of Bal

he also has a history of biting

but he keeps his cool and jealously casually puts his arm around Bal

King Dick does not like this

for like, a few days or so he makes a point of trying to woo Bal

keeps bringing him flowers, offering him riches, interrupting dates with Ambrosius

who eventually gets sick of it

so he challenges King Dick to a duel to leave Bal alone

King Dick takes it has being for Bal's hand and accepts

Ambs just wants to beat the king until he either leaves Bal alone or stops moving

whichever come first

(he's hoping it's the latter)

on Bal's end, this whole thing has been a pretty uncomfortable experience and he doesn't necessarily like Ambrosius being jealous

on the other hand, two rich, important guys are fighting over him, and in all fairness to King Dick he's actually pretty attractive in a smarmy Gaston-like way and a pretty good fighter

it makes him feel special

so he's just enjoying the show for a bit while he waits for Ambs to win

Nimona has just spent this entire plot laughing her ass off and egging Ambs on

she's just having the time of her life

like whatever the state of her relationship with Ambs at this point, she definitely considers him the better option for Bal

anyway King Dick is actually doing really well holding his own against Ambs and eventually they fight to a standstill, neither will yield

Bal's fed up. with the fight and with the king

he's tried to be polite for the sake of diplomacy but he's had enough of being harassed

so he gets between the pair of them

grabs King Dick as though he's gonna kiss him

and head-butts him as hard as he can

(bonus points if the king's wearing a helmet)

then he turns to Ambs and tells him to come get cleaned up

Ambrosius.exe stops working

he kinda nods vaguely and follows Bal to get some medical attention

Nimona loved the whole thing

she's a bit concerned how Bal did that tho

like she's seen him to it before how does he not have a concussion??

now she wants Bal to get checked out too

King Dick eventually wakes up and threatens war if Bal doesn't marry him

everyone's worried until the rest of King Dick's government officials arrive

it turns out King Dick's kingdom is run by a parliament

his family have been powerless figure-heads for generations. he has absolutely no power or authority to declare war

meanwhile the officials are begging for forgiveness for their king trying to steal Ambrosius' (currently the highest authority in the kingdom) boyfriend

everything gets sorted without issue after this

tho King Dick swears vengeance

[lucysgraybird]

whoa...part 3 of modern!university!coriolanus x fem!reader, and it's 18+? who is she. anyways part 1 here, part 2 here

warnings: mdni, oral (f&m receiving), p in v (unprotected), blood mentions (minor), religious imagery (minor)

The summer between junior and senior year comes and goes, as does the first semester of your last year in college. It's filled with internships and grad school applications, but you're still going strong with Coriolanus. You get through the most unguarded you've ever seen him – the weeks leading up to the release of LSAT scores. You're actually unaware that it's coming up because he's been so private about the whole process until you get into a screaming match in the Snow apartment with him about something you can't even remember now. When you threaten to leave if he can't be polite, he breaks down crying – something you didn't even know he was capable of. He apologizes and explains himself, and though you suspect his tears aren't genuine, you catch him in a hug and hold him on the couch until he falls asleep. 

A week letter, his score comes in the mail: a perfect 180. The celebration is quiet – just you, his family, and his boss, who Coriolanus is closer with than you knew. He's an interesting man – his name is Strabo Plinth, and you learn that he's the CEO of a company that manufactures weapons for the government. You want to tell your boyfriend that such a job may not play well on his resumé at the polls, if that's where he wants to end up, but it's not your place and you're sure he's thought about that. 

All in all, by the time the spring semester rolls around, your futures are beginning to take shape. You both get into your dream schools, him for law and you for intelligence analysis. When that letter comes in, Coriolanus teases you up and down about being the stereotypical academic recruit into the CIA, but you care more to understand these agencies than work for them. You won't attend school together anymore, but it's not more than an hour by train to visit, and there's been no indication of the end of your relationship nearing. In fact, when your parents come down for parents’ weekend, Coriolanus spends about forty minutes talking to your father away from you and your mother, and when they rejoin the group, your father claps you on the shoulder and tells you that you found a good man.

There's a brief, blissful period at the end of the year before graduation when everything's been turned in and you can just enjoy the sunshine and new warmth. One of these days finds you and Coriolanus lounging on the quad on a blanket. Your head is in his lap as he plays with your hair, working his fingers through the small tangles that the early May breeze has created. It is quiet, and you are bored.

“Oh, Coriolanus,” you say, opening your eyes to lock on his. The midday light turns them almost white, like his eponymous snow. It takes a lot of willpower not to pull a face. 

“Yes, darling?” A nickname he's picked up in the last month or so. It made you laugh in shock the first time he said it, but now it feels lush. 

“I got an email from the dean the other day. I made valedictorian,” you say with a toothy, cruel grin.

You're hoping for a reaction, maybe a flash of anger. It dances across his features for the barest fraction of a second, enough to work a little adrenaline through your body, and then you get a neat smile and a cock of his head.

“Congratulations.”

“You're not mad?”

“Why would I be? You've worked hard, you deserve it. I'm not going to get upset over a silly title.”

You sit up and turn to stare at him. “What do you mean, silly?”

Coriolanus rolls his eyes. “Don’t be like that. I mean that I decided it wasn’t important to me anymore, now that I’ve gotten into law school. I thought you had gotten over it too, but since it’s important, congratulations.”

He’s deflecting, obviously, and you tell him as much. 

The corners of his mouth quirk up and he shrugs. “Okay.”

“No, you are! What, did you get salutatorian? Since when are you fine with second place?”

“Since first place wouldn’t have gotten me anything, darling. You’re ruining this for yourself, okay? I’m glad you got what you wanted.”

You’re left with nothing to say, searching his face for any mark of that brief rage from earlier before flumping back into his lap. He laughs. 

“I’m sorry, baby. You don’t need to pout. I would’ve said something else if I had known it was going to upset you like this.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I’m not,” you say, giving him a gracious smile, having found a new mate-in-one. “Whether or not you wanted the title anymore, we’ll always know who’s smarter.” 

Your face says teasing – your tone has teeth. Coriolanus’ eyes narrow. 

“That’s not what this means.”

“It’s what it means to me. And you clearly don’t care about that, so it should be no problem if that’s how I’m taking it.”

And ooh, you know it’s petty. You know this is possibly the most childish conversation you’ve had with anyone in years. But he doesn’t reply, opting instead to settle back on his hands and stare across the quad. There’s a mean tension in the air now, blooming hot, fizzy pride in your sternum. It’s nearly suffocating, but you breathe through it until it’s just another triumph. 

Graduation goes as smoothly as anything run by the school can – which is to say, too long and a bureaucratic clusterfuck – but you give your speech and get your diploma and take about forty pictures of Coriolanus onstage, and it feels like the perfect punctuation on this chapter of your life. After seemingly endless festivities and photoshoots with various family members, you’re dropped back at your apartment. There is no work to be done, for once: nothing to write or study, and your lease doesn’t end for another month, so nothing to pack. For the first time in your memory, you are truly idle, and you’re learning that it is not a feeling you enjoy. You pick up your phone and call your boyfriend.

“Hi, darling,” he says when he picks up. His voice is brighter than usual, a sure sign that he’s been drinking. “Did you get home okay?”

“Mhm. Did you?”

“Just laying in bed now.”

“Oh.” You try to keep yourself from sounding too disappointed, but from the huff of laughter on the other end of the call, you know he’s picked up on it. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come over, but if you’re in bed, then nevermind.”

“Come over, like–”

“If you want.” You have yet to go this far with him, but tonight seems like as good a night as any. 

“Um, okay. Yeah, I’ll be right over.” 

The line goes dead, and you have to laugh. For all his airs and poise, he is still just a man. 

The benefit of today being important is that you’re already pretty done-up: your makeup is still perfect, though your lipstick gets a reapplication, your hair looks good, and you have matching, nicer undergarments on. Honestly, you’re not really sure what you’re supposed to do for this, not with him, and the confidence you had calling Coriolanus is fading fast. 

Unfortunately, it’s too late to be having those thoughts, because within twenty minutes, he’s knocking on your door. You let him in. He's still in his button-down, tie, and slacks from graduation, though he's shed his suit jacket. He leans down to catch you in a quick kiss. You wrap a hand around the Windsor knot in his tie, though whether it's to steady yourself or pull him closer is a mystery even to you. Not like it makes a difference; it elicits an electric, low groan from him anyways, his mouth opening over yours and deepening the kiss. He tastes like champagne, sweet and shimmery and young. It is a contrast to the way he grabs your waist with a heavy hand and presses his tongue in to fight yours, which feels like whiskey; all heady, stinging heat. You have not had anything to drink: you are starting to wish you had. 

When he pulls away to catch his breath, his lips are swollen and slick and stained with your blood-red lipstick and finally, finally, something alights in your chest and in your stomach and even lower, a ball of fire sitting in the cradle of your pelvis. You release his tie and drag a manicured thumbnail under the line of his bottom lip, smudging away the rouge you left there.

“Pretty,” you murmur, though you're not sure where that comes from. He is pretty, though, especially like this; undone and imperfect and desperate (you can tell as much by the way he's pressing into your hip), all for you. 

A growl releases from Coriolanus' throat and his hand goes to the belt of your dress, deftly undoing the buckle. He is desperate, but desperate for you to know that you haven't made him weak. You can only have from him what he is willing to give, he will take from you anything he wants. Or, at least, that's how he thinks as he starts dragging the zipper of your dress down, crowding you against your apartment wall.

“I have a bed, Coriolanus,” you protest weakly, the complaint dying on your lips as his latch onto your pulse point. He scrapes his teeth over the tendon in your neck, and you recall how he smiled at you when you were first dating, like he wanted to eat you. You realize he could now, if he tried, open his maw wide and sink sharp canines into the side of your throat, pierce the carotid artery and stain perfect teeth red with blood. Tipping your head back against the wall, you shiver and give him better access.

“Let’s go, then,” he murmurs, not stopping his ministrations on your collarbone, where he's working a bruise into the hollow between your clavicle and the muscle of your shoulder.

You shove his head back gently and lead him to your room, which is tidy save for your desk, which is still scattered with papers from exams. Coriolanus doesn't seem to care, just crowding you back towards your hospital-cornered bed. Once you're down, he's crawling over you and returning to suck marks down your shoulders and chest as he tugs your dress off your body. When he gets to your bra (a small, silk thing, meant to lay smooth under the dress you wore today), he just stares for a moment, tracing a finger over the fine fabric. Just as you're about to tell him to do something, Jesus Christ, he latches his lips over your nipple and mouths at it through the cloth, sending sparks down your spine and a wavering moan up your esophagus. When he switches to the other side, the wet patch is exposed to the air and the sudden chill is almost more electric than the warmth of his tongue. You wonder if he could push you over the edge with just this; it certainly feels like he could. Then he shoves a hand under your back to release the clasp and tear your bra off, and the two seconds his mouth is off your skin gives just enough reprieve that when he returns and bites down, the rush of pleasure drops straight to your core with an ache that has your hips canting up. This inspires a breathy, warm chuckle from Coriolanus.

“Impatient,” he teases. 

You swallow hard. “It's not my fault you're…”

“Good at this?” He says, dipping his hand between your legs and dancing his fingers over the gusset of your panties, eliciting a whimper and an honest nod from you. 

“You don't know the half of it, darling,” and he hooks his arms under your knees to drag your hips forward until they're nearly off the bed. He's knelt between your legs like he's taking the Eucharist, ready to devour the blood and body of all that is holy. You watch his blonde head through fluttering lashes as he licks a line up the inside of your thigh before biting down right where it meets your hip. He breaks the skin, soothes the little wound with his tongue as he works your underwear down your legs. The way he stares at you – all of you – while he's still fully clothed, no mark of the past half-hour except his loosened tie and lipstick-marked mouth, makes you squirm. He braces your hips down with a strong forearm and looks up at you with a hunger in his icy eyes that is yet unfamiliar to you.

“Pretty,” he whispers like the beginning of a prayer, echoing your earlier utterance, and collects your wetness on his index finger as he runs it through your folds. 

The foreign feeling makes you whine. Coriolanus’ tongue flicks out over his lips like a snake before he dives into your cunt like a man starved. When your hand shoots down and grabs his hair, the groan that he lets out against you has you jerking like you've been electrocuted. He only grabs the fat of your hips harder, the pads of his fingers pressing in so hard that you're sure you'll have little dotted bruises there in the morning. It's almost embarrassing how quickly he works you to orgasm, your body trembling and your breath stilted as you teeter on that peak. His eyes flash and one hand releases you. Before you can ask what he's doing, he plunges two fingers into you and curls them up right as he sucks your clit hard, and that pain-pleasure of the sudden intrusion combined with his mouth has white-hot flames engulfing your body as stars explode in your vision and your legs very nearly go numb. His tongue and fingers don't stop until you're coming down and pleading with him in a broken voice, an orison to the congregant turned deity drunk on newfound power. He acquiesces, though, crawling up your body to kiss you and lick the taste of your pleasure into your mouth. Underneath it, there's the bitter, sanguine taste from his bite to your thigh, a reminder of the vulnerability necessary for that blessing. 

Legs still shaking, head still a little fuzzy, you use his determination to kiss you breathless to flip the narrative so you're straddling his hips, his growing need heavy and hard against you through the fabric of his dress pants. One eyebrow twitches up as he grins, though it wavers when you shift on him. 

“My turn?” He asks as he smooths his hands down your thighs, and you know he can feel the way your muscles twitch and jump under your skin.

“Your turn,” you reply, and shift so you can undo his belt. 

The metal of the buckle is cold in your hands, your skin still feeling a little like it's been set aflame, but you get it off and shove your hand into his boxers, unceremoniously pulling out his cock. He lets out a choked groan at the speed, and you think his eyes roll back in his head when you slide down his body. You allow yourself a moment of hesitation, having never done this before (or even really thought about it) before taking the head in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. The moan he lets out is primal, raw, and you are determined to get another from him as you hollow your cheeks and sink down further, minding your teeth enough to let them just graze the shaft. He shudders and jerks upward, hitting the back of your throat, and though it makes you gag, there's a certain pride in knowing you're breaking his composure, so you hold him there for a moment until he whimpers and slides a hand into your hair and you know you've taken the power back that he stole from you a moment ago. You swallow around him there before slowly moving back up, flattening your tongue against the underside before licking over his slit and sinking back down as far as you can bear, and his voice cracks around a moan as he cums down your throat. 

When you pull off him and swallow, he has an arm thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath.

“Where did you learn to do that?” He asks. His hair is tousled, sweaty strands stuck to his forehead and you grin, toothy and mean.

“Beginner’s luck,” you say as you take his softening dick in hand and watch how quickly he sits up.

“What are you-” he starts, but cuts himself off with a whine as you slide your hand up and down a couple times, trying to work him back up. “Stop, stop, that-”

Another moan, and you watch, pleased, as he starts to harden again in your grip. To be honest, you don't know where you're going with this, or what you expected to happen, you just wanted to see what other reactions you could get from him, how far you could take your regained power. 

As it stands, not very far, because he's hissing as you slide your thumb over the tip and flipping you over again so his elbows are braced next to your head.

“You're on the pill, right?” He reaches down between you to swipe his fingers over your clit.

You nod and buck your hips up into his hand, and with a breathy chuckle, he takes himself in hand and starts to guide himself into your entrance. There's a slight sting - he's bigger than anyone you've ever been with before - but he takes it slow, an uncharacteristic tenderness.

That is, until he's buried to the hilt and staring down at you, then snapping his hips in a way that should hurt but doesn't. It feels full and close and warm, his skin sliding against yours, sweat and other fluids mingling. You sneak a hand down to your clit and rub quick and hard, the way you do when you're alone at night and just need to get off and go to sleep. You're determined to reach your release before he does and you succeed, catching him in a kiss just as you cum, muffling your moans against his lips. The way your walls clench around him has him going rigid and giving you the most raw, tearing groan as he spills deep inside you, clearly not having expected to get there as quickly as you forced him to. He doesn't pull out immediately, opting instead to kiss you again, and you're not sure where you end and he begins, every bit of you mixed, in some way, with every bit of him. You stroke over the tense muscles in the back of his neck and he lets out a shaky breath onto your skin. Somehow, you know you've won this round, taken a weakness from him that he never meant to show you. When he rolls off you and tugs you into his side, you close your eyes, sleepy and sated in more ways than one.

[blerb-f1]

"and Found" - Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader # part two!

this is a part two! Part one is here!

Check out my masterlist!

-xoxo, blerb

“So anyway Charles, about the passport issue”

“Yes”

“We contacted the government and it's going to get here soon. One Issue remains until then. We can't let you out on the streets till we have it. No documents, no license, no drive”

“You are kidding me.” Charles whined, crossing his arms and smacking them onto the table.

“Even Italy has laws. Even for you. I'm sorry, Andrea will drive you where you need to go. Otherwise I might recommend trying cycling? Valtteri seems very happy since he started actively cycling.”

“Like hell I'll get on a bike in Italy - they're going to run me over before I leave this place!”

Had it really come to this? Did Charles Leclerc, Formula One race winner and Ferrari driver been demoted to bicycle?

With his head hanging low, the demotivated driver stepped outside. In his right hand was the key to his new bicycle, attached to a children’s keychain. Just lovely. The two wheeled vehicle was already waiting outside, a garnet red with Ferrari slogan on top. Weren’t these the free company handouts a few years ago? Or something handed out in a company wide lottery? Charles could remember Sebastian behind happy at the idea of others biking. It truly coudn’t get more embarrassing, could it? ‘When even was the last time i rode a bike?’, he wondered. Swinging his legs over it and giving it a push to get going provided him a wobbly pace. Taking circles around the parking lot helped becoming steady again, yet no joy could be discovered anywhere. Charles stopped the bike, leaning back and eyes passing over the building. In the distance, a person was approaching. As they got closer, he noticed it was Y/N. She was dressed in a pretty white dress, neckline dipping lower to a golden belt. She must have bought it in Italy, he just coudn’t imagine your average stern german lady wearing something similar. 

As she came to a stop in front of him, her expression showed a rude grin.

“Seems you’re without a drive, Driver”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve already made all the jokes.”

She nodded, as if fully aware of the emotions he was feeling.

“You know, Ferrari were so kind to give me these-”, she said, lifting her hand. Jingling in the air was a set of black car keys with the familiar prancing horse on top. “If you want, I could drive you somewhere. Would be less embarrassing than cycling”

In a really annoying fashion, she pulled the word ‘could’ as long as a chewing gum. Just sheer annoyance.

Charles thought about it. He truly did not want to be victimized by her driving again, but going further distances in climate control and not facing the Italian sun sounded stunning about now. With it soon being afternoon, the heat started becoming unbearable.

“Alright, I give in. What do you get in return though?”

“I want to visit Monaco.”

“Monaco? That’s 5 hours by car. Taking a plane would be faster.”

She just grinned again. “I probably won’t get the chance to drive a Ferrari again, right? So I want to make use of it. And with you by my side-” she poked her pointer finger against his chest. “I bet I will get stuff for free! And since you live there, you know the good spots to go to.”

“You are a cheapass, you know”

“I’m a train attendant, not a cheapass. Monaco is expensive.”

Charles pushed the bike against a wall, leaning it to the side. No one would steal a bike here, right? He wondered, walking alongside her.

“Aren’t you worried about being seen with me? I’m a celebrity, i hope you keep that in mind”

She just shook her head. “Nah, I’m not worried in any way, shape or form. Life would be exciting if gossip would be busy with me.”

“Exiting? It’s getting clear to me that you have no clue of what it’s like!" Charles got angry at her statement. She really knew nothing.

“Obviously, I don’t. But you seem like a nice dude. If people make rumors about us, I want to see them try. There’s nothing in my life they could ruin.”

Charles came to a stop. “Nothing in your life? What do you mean?”

Y/N just looked down. “That house is my parents. Mine now, I guess. Both died of old age a few years ago, had me quite late. My job is nothing I've specifically dreamed of ever. I just took it because I could work alongside my parental-care duties. So currently, I wouldn't mind having stupid fun. I mean, they might write some mean stuff about me. But they can’t get worse than 40 year old, hair dyed red, coworkers”

Shit, maybe he shouldn't have asked that. Pretty personal question, was she hurt?

“Don’t worry too much Charles. I’m fine. You don’t seem to be like that , though.”

She could see it on him, huh? “Yeah, I'm not. My dad…he passed away before he could see me win Monaco. I desperately wanted him too. Same as my best friend and god father…And now? I won the Monaco GP but instead of visiting them, i ended up somewhere in Germany.”

“I bet they’re happy for you, up in whatever flavor of heaven you believe in. If they’re family, they’re definitely watching. We could visit your living relatives though if that would make you feel better.”

He nodded. Great idea. “We could visit my mom and little Brother. They still live in our apartment in Monaco. My big bro already moved out a while ago, i did as well. I think that would feel good.”

“Well what are you waiting for then? Get going.”

“Can i drive?”

“No.”

He made a ‘hmpf’ sound and fake-pouted. “I bet I’d drive better than you!”

Shortly afterwards, they both found themselves seated in the expensive Vehicle. Y/N was busy adjusting the settings to her liking while Charles was fumbling around with the Spotify playlist. Just as he was leaning forward to input something, the driver pressed down the gas pedal. Hard. 

Charles was almost launched forward but the seat belt pulled him back with just his phone flying around . “God, you scared me!” he exclaimed, holding his hands on his beating heart.

Y/N just grinned, showing him her teeth.”I like scaring you, it’s fun”.

Charles just gave her an exasperated expression. “Why do you particularly enjoy scaring me so much?”

“You react so loudly, that’s fun. My colleagues are all old, tired people. Most you’d get is an eyebrow lift.”

That way, the drive continued. Charles and Y/N were vibing to the white girl music he had picked (Sorry Sebastian, no Senorita) while Y/N put in some weird German music. Charles was quite confused when he heard what sounded like children's music.

“What the fuck are we listening to right now?” he asked her.

She was vibing meanwhile, joke dancing while speeding. “True hit song! It slams when you’re drunk! "That's Bodo mit dem Bagger!”

“I’m not drunk Y/N so why are we listening to drunk people's music? Also, I don't speak German. Could you translate?”

“Drunk people's music is always good! You rich folk don’t know what simple pleasures are.” She huffed. “The title is just…Uh..Give me a second.”

Charles leaned his arm on the window, staring outside. “Considering you work with travelers i’d think your English would be better.”

“That’s rude, sir. I’m quite good if compared by my colleagues”

“Seb was faster.”

Y/N just sighed. “Isn’t this also your second language? Don’t be an ass. Also, Vettel had to speak English more often than I do, you knucklehead. I don’t get English speaking passengers that often.”

After a short moment of thinking, she came to her answer. “The title is Bodo with the Excavator. It’s about a guy excavating stuff but excavating is also a pun for hitting on girls. So that’s it. You ruined the fun now that I had to explain it.”

After that discourse, the car became devoid of conversation until Charles and Y/N reached Monaco. While trying to drive safely, Y/N was busy staring outside. Taking in all the sights she could from her driver’s position. Charles meanwhile directed her to the attached parking space, the guard at the front being confused at the sight yet not asking about it. ‘Professionals’, Y/N thought to herself.

As they stood in front of his mom’s apartment, Charles finally realized what he had done. He had invited a girl home. Worse thing being, Y/N was the first girl he ever invited home…Pascale would have a heart attack, wouldn’t she? He quickly took her to the side.

“Y/N” he stated with a soft, quiet voice. “I uh…”

“What, uh? Come on, tell me.”

“You’re the first girl I'm bringing home.”

She was surprised. Definitely didn’t expect that one. “Ever?”

“Ever.”

“Oh god, how do we tell that to your mom?”

“No use, I know her too well. Whatever we tell her won’t matter.”

“I could just wait outside if you want me to? Not trying to make your life harder here.”

“Nonono!” He exclaimed, widening his eyes.

“That wouldn't be in the spirit of hospitality of me.”

“Well then..”

She turned around, pressing the doorbell.

Charles quickly turned around. “No! AHH; I wasn't prepared!”

“Why are you so nervous, if at all i should be the one t-”

Before she could finish her sentence, the door opened. Pascale looked curious, her face turning joyfull upon seeing her son. She quickly brought him into a tight hug, pressing her chin against his shoulder.

“I-I was so scared when we didn’t hear from you!”

“Mom-”

“and I thought I had lost you! You can’t do that to me!”

“Mom-” his voice sounded more desperate now.

“But I’m so glad to see you healthy Charlie!”

She separated from him, looking her son up and down before her view skipped over to the companion at his side. 

“Who’s this lovely young Lady, if i might ask?”

Charles wanted to fully rectify but he could already see the thoughts in her brain running further ahead than they might ever be able to catch up with. Shit.

“I’m Y/N L/N”, she stated, stretching out her hand to Pascale. “I found Charles dead asleep on my train and later helped him home. Nice to meet you!”

Pascale looked Y/N now up and down. With this serious mom scanner, Charles knew her next face would tell him everything he needed to know about her. His mother was thinking, her brain computer on all cylinders before clicking the print button: smiling face,serious.png. She liked Y/N. Oh no.

“I’m so happy that you found him, Miss. L/N -  what would i have done without you!”

Pascale grabbed Charles by his ear, pulling him close. “Once he got into Formula 1 Monaco became way too small to contain him. Sometimes I wonder when he’ll run off to never be seen again.”

“Just Y/N is enough, I’m Miss L/N at work.” Her whole body shook as if remembering it. “Now i’m happy to see Monaco - seeing you both reunited i find this to be the perfect opportunity to leave so-”

“Nonsense! I can’t let you leave so soon. Seeing Charles' expression I bet you drove. Before going anywhere, you better wait a moment to allow him to he let off steam. Afterwards you two can go out and look at the city!”

‘You two? Oh no, she really thinks we’re a couple, doesn’t she?’ Charles realised. 

His mother was quick to push the two inside, heading off to brew coffee. Shortly after, three pretty mugs and delicacies were placed in front of the two of them. Y/N slowly leaned back, happily enjoying the hot liquid while Pascale kept questioning holes into Charles. She sneakily stole his piece of cake while he kept wildly throwing his arms around in gestures. Is that what interacting with Italians did to a man?

Then, Pascale directed her attention to Y/N. “I’d love to get to know you better but I have to work the whole day and tomorrow as well. If you want to, you could visit my salon tomorrow and we could chat while I do your hair. I bet you want to take the opportunity and see the city today.”

She gave Y/N a hearty smile.

“Are you saying Y/N needs a haircut, Maman?” he asked, sounding jokingly offended.

“No, not at all! I just want to get to know her, Charlie..”

Cute. Pascale really was cute. 

“Also, if you want to, we could dye your hair. As long as that's fine with your work dress code - i bet you would look lovely with some colors!”

‘Such a cute woman. I wouldn't mind her being my mother in law… Wait, no- I don’t want to be in a relationship right now. No-uh.’

‘Maman seems to like her as well - haven’t seen her this happy in a while.. I’ve also been enjoying myself around her.. No, I can't catch feelings here. I gotta focus.’

---------------------------------

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@barcelonaloverf1life

If you'd like to be tagged in future fics, hit me up!

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 57 Cope Posting

Not like this, dear void... not like this. The blessing/curse of Kagurabachi chapters ending in 7 being absolute banger cliffhangers continues and there is not enough copium in the world to get me through to next week. This entry is an absolute mess...

Let's start with practicing on the editor's comments again. Sorry if the colours are hard to read on brighter backgrounds, I live in Dark Mode as much as possible.

First page: ハクリが飛宗の転送に成功! そして- [Hakuri ga Tobimune no tensou ni seikou! Soshite-, Hakuri successfully transfers Tobimune! And then-] Last page: 座村, 漆羽… 事態は混沌へ… [Samura, Uruha... jitai ha konton he..., Samura, Uruha... the situation turns chaotic...] noting that the word used for "situation", jitai (事態), specifically has negative connotations (as opposed to 状況 [joukyou], which is neutral).

These comments are rarely more than fluff just to give the editors some presence in the work itself, so I don't take them as definite indicators of anything going on in the plot. But man. Man. "Bad situation" seems to be putting it lightly. I was ready to take you off the list of possible traitors, Samura! I was seriously going to do it! Whyyyyyyyyyyy

Chihiro and the Pink Menace

Fine, first up... school?

How does our cast stack up to the average student after getting home schooled in murder and cool action poses?

It was obvious to everyone that this arc would involve Chihiro learning about the unpleasant sides of his dad's legacy. So this is just a "hey don't forget" moment for us that also highlights how far removed Hiruhiko and Chihiro are from regular society. Those two (and Hakuri) should be in their last year of high school, complaining about homework or stressing about their future college/job plans right now instead of fighting to the death. Poor guys.

I don't want to presume too much about Hokazono-sensei's views, but I really like directly acknowledging that winners write history and so their wartime cruelty is often downplayed or re-framed as heroism. These kids and even Chihiro only know the revised version of what happened, not the truth of the matter.

Home schooled Chihiro confirmed! Kinda!

Anyway, some more John Plan Reveal. He wants Chihiro to learn the truth about his father's legacy and the impact it's had- that's why he hasn't been "harvested" yet. This implies that there's some terrible thing that could upend Chihiro's entire worldview to be learned. But we kind of already knew that based on everything I just said.

I hope this isn't a flag for John trying to convince Chihiro to join him. There are awful secrets that are going to be unearthed about Kunishige and the Kamunabi this arc for sure, but it's kind of a waste of our time to do the "oooh it was worse than you thought why don't you join us to set things right" rigamarole.

Obviously the Hishaku have some compelling reasons to do all this if they can get someone as loath to kill as Samura on their side to murk his war buddies. It's just never gonna convince Chihiro so I hope we don't get a moralizing yapfest to accompany John's outstretched hand. I trust the writing though! So far it's been almost nothing but excellence so... chill, me. Just wait and see.

I think that no matter what happens Chihiro will continue to forge his own path with allies who care for him at his side. He won't choose the government's path, or the Hishaku's, or even his dad's- he'll create something new. Standard stuff for a shounen series but I never get tired of seeing it!

Before moving on to the coping session, there's something neat in this scene that I want to ramble about:

Local yapper yaps while the guy listening to him literally overthinks

I'll use the JP version if I have to, but I like how Chihiro's inner monologue deliberately overruns Hiruhiko's speech bubble to show that he's not paying full attention while his thoughts are in overdrive. He's still partially listening but he's not quite as composed as he appears to be on the outside, which is confirmed by the close-up zoom into his stressed look with the sweat drops. Yet when we zoom out, he seems a bit more put-together like usual. He's still exhausted from yesterday, man! Really should have rested up... at least the author acknowledges it. (Forced bed rest soon? Hopefully?)

This is how Hiruhiko was able to get the drop on Chihiro. Chihiro's got a lot on his mind and he has trouble focusing, just like Uruha chided him for on the train. His resolve is unshaken but he's still prone to wavering in the moment as he tries to process things. He even misses the fist time Samura's name was mentioned! Clearly Chihiro needs Hakuri or Uruha or someone there to yell encouragement at the right time to stop him from getting lost in his own head. But he's got a lot to think about and work through right now, so it's understandable why he's so stressed out.

Poor Chihiro. He's coming to the conclusions that we, the readers privileged with having weeks IRL to ponder new information, came to long ago. The Master is not treated like a hero but a prisoner, and probably for very, very good reasons. Ones good enough to convince Samura to make a deal with the devil.

What Actually Happened?!

Not all the blades have themes from nature, it seems. Geisha offered many different types of entertainment to guests, from performing music to conversation to serving sake. So now we have the idea behind the name [Swaying Sake]!

First up to delay just a little longer: Kumeyuri power reveal! Seems to be based in some kind of performing arts aesthetic with the geisha that were conjured. Fitting for the guy who wears kabuki eye make-up right? ...And for the next bearer, who interrupted a kabuki performance to pick it up in a theater... I see you and your foreshadowing, Hokazono-sensei.

Fine. I'll admit it. The ending of the chapter makes it crystal clear that Hiruhiko is the new bearer contracted to Kumeyuri by having his origami butterflies come undone as he grasps the hilt in his teeth. Can't even hope it's another case of someone "borrowing" power like Kyora did with the Shinuchi of the bunch.

Magatsumi's the only blade that can be used by someone not contracted to it, hence the extra protections it needed.

So that means... yeah. Uruha's gone. Just like that.

There will be thousands of theories about what exactly happened to Uruha, why Samura made a deal with John, what the details of that deal were- we'll get the truth soon. I'm most interested in the reasoning that ties into Samura's sincere beliefs of killing being an evil act.

The burden of death weighs so heavily on him that he blinded himself in penance. But he's willing to let his own apprentice die -probably even kill him himself!- because of... what? What was so horrible about fighting with the Master and Kunishige's weapons for the good of the nation? What compelled him to help the Hishaku kill the remaining bearers and upend the peace they earned?!

Hey, Samura. Is it really so bad to be called a war hero while being treated like a prisoner in a comfortable government-provided jail facility? Is it so horrible that "alternative facts" pass for real history to bury whatever horrors you witnessed and possibly perpetrated? Is it truly awful to have people willing to die for you despite all the grave sins you've committed? That they're likely completely unaware of thanks to government propaganda and being too young to have witnessed the truth?

...I need those Seitei War flashbacks pronto.

*----------------------------------------------------------------------------*

Wait a minute. Jail? Even the friggin' onsen?

Yup! The Master's the only one being treated like a dangerous criminal outright, but the 慚箱 [sanso] are just dressed up prisons for the Bearers. The Kamunabi ain't even subtle about it.

慚 [san] - to feel shame 箱 [sou] - box

The government put these guys in specially-constructed (or repurposed) buildings officially referred to as "shame boxes" and told them they couldn't leave. Even the name given to one of them is a bit much! 国獄温泉 [Kokugoku Onsen] translates to:

国 [koku]- country/state/national government 獄 [goku]- jail/prison 温泉 [onsen] - hot spring

Gee, I wonder if Uruha was having a good time at State Prison Hot Springs?

That said, while there may well be some bitterness between the Bearers and the Kamunabi, it's not the main motivating factor for Samura. His is definitely rooted in how they all acted during the war and how guilty he feels now that they're promoted as heroes.

*----------------------------------------------------------------------------*

It looks like Chihiro's being summoned by Hakuri in the very last panel so we might get some perspective on Samura's reasoning next week. Probably no clear answers right away, but at least enough to see if he really was the one who killed Uruha and a bit of insight into why. And to see if Uruha's dead at all... I mean, if we don't see a body... let me be delusional, okay?!

I'm just not able to go all-in on believing Uruha's dead. But it's not because I don't think he actually is... it just doesn't feel real after spending weeks preparing to let go of Samura. Not to mention the tried-and-true tactic of baiting out strong emotions with implied character deaths.

Normally I don't take death foreshadowing like this too seriously in shounen series. I just wait to see if the author is faking me out or not before getting stressed (unless it's Hakuri, in which case I stress responsibly). But Kagurabachi is a series that lured the MC with a child's severed leg and showed two suicide attempts on-screen, one of which was horrifically successful- right in front of someone who was already traumatized too. Hell we lost most of the anti-Kuregumo squad without much fanfare back in the Sojo arc! Only actually showing a child being tortured on-screen is too much, apparently. This series is dark as hell when the author wants it to be and Uruha's death is probably another one of those times.

There's hope in me that Uruha can still come out of this alive just because I like him so much, but I want the author to follow through on his death when it's presented as such an ominously real scenario. All signs point to Uruha being a goner, so don't make it look iron-clad then say "nah" the next chapter with some technicality that we couldn't have known about until the reveal. I would rather lose Uruha in an unexpectedly painful way than be faked out just to get the reaction out of me, y'know? Don't toy with me. Commit to crushing my heart, dammit.

But, God... oh man. I fell for the bait and got stupidly attached to a Bearer in the arc named after killing them. I even knew bad times were coming because of all the levity at the start of the arc but still went on hoping nothing would happen so soon. Laugh at me, I deserve it. I probably helped this manifest by mentioning how awful it would be if Chihiro found out a Bearer died because Hiruhiko was able to contract with one of the blades. Saying "I crave the angst that will come from this situation with every fiber of my being" in a post tag was overkill. It's just:

Author: names the arc after assassinating the bearers

Reader: gets attached anyway

Author: assassinates a bearer

Reader: ╚(•⌂•)╝

Coping Theory

May as well put my two cents in on how it could have gone down while I'm here...

I wonder if he planned to die in the raid instead so it looked like an unavoidable accident, sparing everyone else from the carnage.

This exact sequence- the Makizumi talking about honor in death for saving Samura, and Uruha's words that the Bearer's lives need to be valued above others'- is what solidifies Samura's resolve. This man is filled to the brim with guilt and self-loathing (much like another swordsman we know). He cannot save himself, but... perhaps he can take some equally bad sinners down with him for the greater good. He's not only a mirror for Hakuri, but Chihiro as well- one's resolve to save no matter the cost to one's self, and one's resolve to go to hell for what they believe is right. That's how I'm reading this until we get his own insight on the matter, at least.

It's not a stretch to infer that Samura thinks the Bearers are better off dead in large part due to the powers they command and things that were done during the war. That's still a huge mystery to be unraveled but I mean:

Seeing the bare minimum of Magatsumi in action really drives home how horrific these "heroes" could seem out on the battle field doesn't it? No wonder the clone sorcerer described the Seitei war as "hell on earth". But the public has no knowledge of this. They only got the sanitized version fit for PR purposes and feel-good stories.

The Hishaku seem to be intent on dismantling this image. Perhaps that's how they got Samura on their side? Not sure how the current Bearers dying and giving the Hishaku access to that dreadful power is better than the status quo, but that's something that will become clear with more reveals about the ideology driving the group. Maybe Samura doesn't care so much about the rest of the world and just wants to do what's best for the truth that's been buried under nearly two decade's worth of secrecy.

As to what happened with Uruha... two things come to mind. One I think is more likely, and one I want to cling to until it's ripped away as I sob and beg for just one little bit of comfort.

Most likely, I think Samura and Uruha had an exchange about ideals and the value of their lives. Samura overpowered Uruha per the plan as the "trump card" and that was that.

In delulu land, I want Samura to have been double-crossed. As in he made a deal on the condition that the lives of the people he cared about would be spared, but of course Uruha couldn't be allowed to live. So the Hishaku ensured that he'd die there no matter what. It's a bunk theory since Mr. Hatshaku left once the situation turned against him... maybe incorporate some of the datenseki mind control stuff in there somehow? I don't know. Just let me have this until canon proves otherwise.

Hakuri and Chihiro, Though?! And Miscellaneous Questions

(Ch. 46) I'm not going to be okay for a while and neither are they.

Best boys are really gonna go through it no matter what Chihiro is summoned back to. They'll be in a rough way... not only did they lose Uruha and hand Kumeyuri to Hiruhiko, but Samura betrayed them all... oof. So much for proving themselves to the Kamunabi. They're going to get an earful and be set back in the "negotiations" big time.

No doubt Chihiro will put this burden on his shoulders too, even if no one could have predicted Samura's defection to the enemy. It's his dad's legacy that's causing all this strife right now. He'll be more motivated than ever to unravel the war's true history and I'll be right there with him hoping he doesn't push himself too hard or harshly. The son shouldn't be responsible for the sins his father committed before he was even born. But that's just like, my opinion, man.

Meanwhile...

"I'm still good for it," wheezes the guy with blood gushing out of his nose at an alarming rate.

Hakuri will probably blame himself too. Depending on how things shake out, it could be for anything from accidentally arming a traitor to seeing someone die in front of him again. There's a good chance he'll (temporarily) lose the thing that makes him useful too, so that'll be an extra layer of angst for him to deal with. What value does a broken tool that couldn't fulfill it's one purpose have?

I also wonder what prompted Hakuri to summon Chihiro away from Hiruhiko. He's kind of in rough shape to do it just 'cause he misses his (boy)friend. They have cell phones to communicate with so it seems a bit abrupt to summon him back without checking first. Hakuri's also not the type to impose on someone to protect him. Nor is he the type to drop Chihiro into the middle of a life-or-death situation without a sense of mutual understanding first. So there had to be some kind of pressing need. The timeline of events means he's summoning Chihiro right after Uruha was killed, so... more soulmate stuff maybe? Their souls call out to each other and resonate when they're in distress, after all (it's canon baybeeeeee). They're in perfect harmony and all that. Sorry for the shipping nonsense I just need any bit of fluff I can get right now.

So many questions that might not get answered...

What about the Makizumi? Will they defect to serve Samura? Or will they try to help get Hakuri to safety with the Kamunabi? Samura doesn't want to kill them at all so no matter what happens they'll live at least. Hooray an elite squad that didn't bite the dust... (I think they will choose Samura because of everything he did for them).

How did Hiruhiko know when Kumeyuri was usable anyway?! Was it some signal from his mystery supporter that was lurking outside the window? And who was that- did Worst Jeanist show up?

Samura's loath to kill innocents, but does Hakuri count as one? Would losing his sorcery be enough to count him as neutralized for the Hishaku's purposes? Was exhausting Hakuri the main reason why Hiruhiko sent all the forces to the temple in the first place?

Hiruhiko wasn't surprised to see Tobimune disappear, so the Hishaku probably know about Hakuri's power. Their mole within the Kamunabi should get a bonus for the turnaround time on learning that bit of info and sending it on. Unless John's playing 5D chess and knew about Hakuri's awakening and team-up with Chihiro before they even met the Kamunabi anyway... perhaps even orchestrated it too... that would definitely need a very good explanation.

Alright. Okay. Let's wait on tenterhooks together, dear void. No waterworks until they show the body, got it?

[sob]

[chrysopoeias]

opinion posting about riza hawkeye/otp on something i see a lot around town but i disagree with.

Anyway. One thing I see more often than not is the idea that Hawkeye joined the military in order to chase after Mustang because she wanted to protect him. Or that she chased him while in love. But that is actually not true. I know ‘Because I have someone to protect’ is meemed into everyone’s head, but that was not her reason for joining the army. And it does not make sense either.

Like in a strategy guide to get Riza laid any% speedrun, what option is most logical?

1) Go completely no-contact with Mustang. Attend possibly multiple years of the military academy, likely in a different region from where he is. Get into a speciality that is wildly different from him. Git gud at that and then hope that maybe, if all the stars align her future boss will one day for some random reason put her in the proximity of this magic scientist she has not spoken to in years. And then ??? profit?

2) Literally just call Roy on his phone number, perhaps sent him a nice letter, or visit his address.

Sure, the first thing is what actually happened. But it's way too uncertain for that to have been planned. She did not need to be a soldier to be close to him. Roy was not a stranger to Riza, she had his current up to date contact info. He gave it to her on page/screen after her dad died. 

When she first sees Mustang in Ishval Hawkeye looks angered and shocked to see him. The first thing she says to him is ‘Do you remember me?’. These two had no contact at all between 1905 and 1908. Mustang got flame alchemy and skedaddled out of her life (even though he was supposed to look after her lmao) and Hawkeye also had clearly no intention of seeking him out when she could have done so easily. She did not join the army to protect him. And also, she says why she joined:

She wanted to improve the lives of the people of Amestris. So am I saying it had nothing to do with Mustang? Well no. Her reasons for joining the military are the same as his. 

She looked up to him. Here is this young man who has been to places beyond her sad little town and graduated from the military academy, he is a genius alchemist and must know what he’s talking about, right? That is on top of whatever their relationship was like before then, and whatever adoration she had for him already. She trusted him and thought his dreams were wonderful. Riza also wanted to believe in a peaceful future. Remember that they live in a totalitarian military dictatorship that has been in continued armed conflicts since the middle ages. There has never been a time of peace, ever, since the country was founded. And from the normie Amestrian point of view, they are just defending themselves from outside attacks. I believe that if Hawkeye and Mustang were sent to a border conflict instead of the civil war, they would have never questioned their government.

Anyway, Riza saw an opportunity to be useful with her own two hands, beyond being a walking notebook. Even if she could die in the process, it’d be worth to try. (And the military would also give her a salary after growing up in poverty and a place to live that is not the house she was abused in). She was a teenager with no family, no guidance, no idea what to make of herself. But this was something she could do. (She could have chosen many non-violent paths instead too, to be fair, but I digress).

And then it all went to shit obviously. You cannot become a sniper and never expect to kill. Selling your agency to the state means you can’t just play hero when you want to, you will be sent where ordered whether you like it or not, and forced to commit horrors or die a traitor. Believing the naive ideals of protecting her country was a mistake. Blindly admiring and trusting Mustang was a mistake. Smarter people than me can go expand on that.

But the ‘because there is someone I have to protect’ reason Hawkeye gives for being in the military is actually the reason why she stays. She could have gotten her diploma after Ishval and leave the military behind. But she chose not to.

She stays and will continue to kill because flame alchemy is her responsibility and she has created Mustang, all his kills are mentally hers. If she quits or kills herself while he does not, flame alchemy is still loose in the world outside her control. And just like Roy, she never fully gives up on her dream about protecting everyone. There must be a way to make all this worth it. There is still a way to change the country so future generations won’t have to go through what she did. She’s already doomed so she will take that responsibility so others won’t have to. She violently and fully clings to that.

If Mustang dies before doing anything positive for the world with their dreams and his abilities, all Hawkeye has done with her short life is cause destruction, murder and create a murderer, all the suffering would have been a waste. She cannot life with that guilt or continue the path alone, she will give up and kill herself. Especially in the scenario where she kills Roy herself, and with that her only hope.

There is no way out for them. But their murder-suicide pact was not planned for since they were young. They never intended to see each other again and spend their lives like this. You can blame dad for setting them up for failure.

[espinosaurusrexex]

The Trap - Introduction

Worlds Collide Collection

BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader apocalypse au

summary: Welcome to the apocalypse. This is the introduction to the new world you're about to enter. Let's see what your life is like. Do me a favor and be open, and maybe there'll even be a handsome stranger to meet...

a/n: so this is heavily influenced by The 100 and Love and Monsters and I guess also Maze Runner, if it seems chaotic at times, that’s because it is. With that being said: have fun reading i’d love to hear what you think 

word count: 2.2k

warnings: grumpy/sunshine, mentions of death and misery, loneliness, dystopia, nuclear weapon and monster stuff, obnoxiously optimistic reader (give her a chance okay)

collection playlist | main masterlist | collection masterlist

May 10th 2039

Hey Book,

Here are the things that happened today:

found a new pen (that’s great because this one is running out)

watched the acid fog from the building with the tall glass roof (pretty dope if you ask me!)

went to the west border and saw new tracks

finally got the nose right on that Gordon Ramsey sketch (it’s finished, yay!)

gave Berty a makeover

The day has been pretty sweet. I’m thinking of going out tonight to watch the meteor shower. Hope I don’t die.

Anyway, see ya tomorrow!

   ~You know who :)

The notebook closed with a loud thud that made even you twitch. Your eyes went to the basketball on the shelf above the makeshift bed.

“Sorry, Berty.” The ball didn’t respond, obviously. Its plastic wig shifted slightly further over the marker eyes, making it seem all crooked and funny looking. You weren’t crazy. You just preferred not to talk to yourself. 

A look at the window told you that it had gone dark by now. The weather conditions weren’t too great for another acid fog so your plan was good to go. You grabbed your backpack and headed out to the cliffs where you had the best view. Ever since the apocalypse started, there were a lot more stars visible at night. Half the population had been wiped out with the Hydra nukes and the rest played survivor with the mutated animals roaming the earth due to the atomic bombs that had been fired on that day. 

You remembered it vividly actually: Bright beams shooting through the sky and then it rained down like hellfire. Green glowing stripes covered the horizon from where you looked down onto the city.

The world hadn’t been that great to begin with to be honest. People were suffering, water and food supplies had shifted into the negative, and don’t even get started on climate. Humans had collectively decided that their planet was going to waste anyway. So, where was the harm in a little more destruction, right?

It’s not like you or any other normal citizen had had a chance to decide on another outcome anyway. The united governments of the world had been infiltrated by an organization with fucked up values and no sense for common human decency. They didn't care that their bombs would wipe out half of the world’s population. Hell, you’d be surprised if they even considered this an argument for their ‘cons’ column. But, hey, it had one benefit after all: if this was the worst it could get, there was nothing left to lose.

You kicked open the door of the buried school bus that had become your temporary home for a while now. Temporary in the sense that there was no way of knowing what would happen or when something would attack. You tried to make them all as cozy as possible though. Berty was a big part of that attempt. The painted basketball had become a loyal companion in your ever-shifting habitats. And even though it was a pain to transport a so unfortunately shaped object, you would never dare leave it behind. 

The humid evening air hit you like a broken fan. It was springtime, but that had stopped to matter many years ago. The weather merely shifted between scorching hot days and bearable nights. Though the wintertime was making being outside a little more doable. The trees hung low over your head when you stepped past the traps you had laid out around your home. You lived at the edge of the forest, which wasn’t the most secure place of all the ones you’ve had so far, but it was a little cooler. Most of the dangerous things out there hid several miles from the tree lines anyway. 

A dark sky stretched over your head as your feet dangled off the cliff by the forest. You were munching off an old can of beans that you had found on your stroll through the cities as the bright streams of light shot through the sky. It was beautiful and thrilling. Teetering you on the edge of remembering the very day that made this whole shit show go down. The sky was lit up back then too, but it wasn’t half as beautiful as this.

You could have sat like this for hours. The meteors wouldn’t stop passing until the sun rose, but there was a danger of being tired in broad daylight in this world. You couldn’t risk strolling through the morning with half a working brain. Especially because the morning brought a routine acid fog with its sunlight. You took a look at the tactical watch on your wrist. It was 3:30 am - Probably best to head back to safety.

As you stepped through the dried ground, you hummed a song from the old record in your bus. It didn’t work great and it was broken in several places which had you always listening to a slightly messed-up remix of the actual song, but you liked it anyway. Close to the bus, however, there was rustling from the side. Your body went into surviving mode immediately. There was a routine: hide, listen, escape. Only idiots fought whatever was out there. 

So that’s what you did.

The tree you hid behind was wide enough to cover you whole, which gave you easy access to sneak your head past the trunk and see what was making the noise. It came from about 20 feet before the buried bus, but there was nothing to be seen. The rustling continued though and as you stepped forwards from your cover, you noticed that it came from underneath. Something had fallen into your trap! It was foolproof of course, but you still approached it with care, fearfully and intrigued all together as to what you had caught this time... well, it was the first time here to be perfectly honest. Even more exciting to say the least.

Your feet crunched the dried leaves beneath you as a mumbled curse reached your ears. That was weird. Last time you checked, monsters didn’t talk. You were even more surprised, however, to find a broad man tangled in the hole you had dug outside your home. Of course, a person had been stupid enough to walk into your trap. You had been so excited about something more dangerous. 

The man had not noticed you standing above the hole just yet. He was still working with the net you had splayed out beneath the fallen leaves, too busy cursing his life away in the dirty opening. You cleared your throat after a minute, though. And as amusing as the whole scene had been, the man looking up at you wiped the smirk off your face immediately. He was gorgeous. Bright blue eyes gleamed up in the moonshine, a deep frown on his face as soon as the surprise to see you had faded.

“You got caught in my trap.” You said blankly, still captured by his face. You had not seen another person in nearly a month. It was strange, to say the least. That’s why you weren’t really expecting your mouth to say anything smart.

“This is supposed to be a trap?” The brown-haired man huffed before cutting through the last rope to free him from his restraints.

“Well you can’t get out, can you?” There was a short silence in which you caught the slightest hint of disbelief in his eyes.

“If you wanted to catch a monster with that, you wouldn’t be making such snarky comments. It’s barely deep enough for them.”

Anger crept up your neck. Who was this stranger to not only fall into your - awesome - intruder trap but also criticize your work even though he was the idiot stuck in it? “Why do you think I wanted to trap monsters? Maybe my trap was for people, which, in that case, it is brilliant.”

“It’s stupid,” he grumbled. 

“Oh come on give me a little credit, I only had spare materials.”

There was the confused glare again, and you couldn’t really place it just yet.“Yeah, yeah. Trap’s great now get me out.”

“That wasn’t genuine.” Your arms crossed before your chest, but you couldn’t hide the small smile forming on your lips. This was fun.

“You know what’s gonna be genuine? My foot in your ass once I get out of here.” Oh, not so fun.

“That's not a really good way to make me help you, you know?” You were about to step away when you heard him sigh deeply beneath you. A triumphant smirk appeared on your face before you held your head over the hole again.

“Can you please help me out of this genius trap?” The Brunette was rolling his eyes, but it was good enough for you - after all, you didn’t want to make enemies just yet.

“Why of course! I love people that appreciate good handy work!”

You nodded appreciatively and reached for the net he held your way. It took a little bit to get enough momentum but then he jumped and dug his boots into the soil walls and within seconds, the stranger was pulled up from the ground. 

“Drop the bullshit.”

“What bullshit?”

Now that he was standing in front of you like that, you noticed how tall he was, and built, too. It was a wonder you had managed to pull his weight out of there now that you thought about it. He was really handsome, too. His dark hair fell into his face and his eyes were bright blue, staring down at you with a gloomy expression. It didn’t scare you, though. You were more... fascinated by him, really.

He looked at you for a second, and the gears were literally turning behind his eyes. But he caught himself quickly, shaking his head and making his way out of the forest. You weren’t ready to have him leave, though. It was rare to meet people now, and this one seemed entertaining enough.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Away.” You barely heard him over the heavy footsteps he pressed into the ground.

“You can’t go!”

That made him stop. The stranger turned around with an unfazed expression, his shoulders hanging low with annoyance, but you wouldn’t let up. “And why’s that?”

Shit, you hadn’t thought it would get this far. Your hands wrung the net as you stood there looking for an explanation. But the guy turned around with a condescending clicking of his tongue. “Wait! You haven’t told me your name.” You shuffled over to him in haste, you steps faster than his, but it was difficult to catch up to him, still.

“I don’t have to.”

“You do, actually. It’s a rule.” He stopped again, and you almost fell at the abrupt halt.

“A rule,” he repeated in disbelief, his face still unimpressed, but he was quite pretty this way.

You smiled. “Yup. You fall into my trap, you tell me your name.” To be honest, you were a little proud at how fast you had come up with the idea, but it seemed the stranger was still not impressed. He just crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows at you almost amused.

“That's not a rule.”

“It’s my rule.” Was that a tiny smile creeping onto his features? You liked it - looked way better than those broody anger lines.

Then he huffed and shook his head. “Bucky.”

“Gesundheit,” you answered immediately, but that seemed to stick that annoyed look right back onto his handsome face.

“No. Bucky is my name.” Oops.

“Oh. Sorry.” You tried it out in your head, then. And it suited him quite nicely. It was a little odd but witty - just like him. 

“Whatever.” His arms untangled before his broad chest and Bucky looked ready to leave again. You didn’t want that, though.

“Would... uh.. would you like to come in?” Why were you so nervous all of a sudden? Your hands were a little sweaty, but talking to someone that actually responded felt so good...

You earned another look with that question. Really, you’d already gotten used to those in the three minutes you knew him - seemed to be his M.O. 

“What?” He wasn’t confused this time, at least you didn’t think so. It sounded more like he hadn’t heard you.

“You know... be my guest.” A bright smile spread on your lips, but Bucky wasn’t buying it, and frankly, you were running out of ideas to keep him here. Normally, people were happy to see others around here, but Bucky? He didn’t seem to like talking very much.

“Sorry, gotta go.”

Your eyes found the ground as you heard his steps distancing from you again. “Oh, ok.” You mumbled to yourself, and with a last wash of hope, you called out again. “Will I see you again?”

“No.” He was already by the tree line, now. And Bucky didn’t seem like the type of person to run back the distance in slow-mo like you had seen in those old films. 

It didn’t discourage you, though. “Okay, you know where to find me!”

“Not gonna visit you!”

“See ya soon!” You waved and bit back a triumphant smile when you heard him chuckle before he disappeared out of the woods. 

Hey, Book, It’s me again.

And, man, what a great day!

more…

Wanna be added to the taglist?

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[dairyminki]

this heavily reminds me of my san series ngl

✨️ part of my 300 milestone event 🪄

title: make it up to you

pairing: choi san x gn!reader

genre: established relationship, fluff to suggestive real quick

warning/s: use of pet names (baby, babe, kitten)

wc: 879

a/n: hello hello to one of my fave persons here! this is just one of the many pics u sent me sooo sit back and enjoy ig?? helpsksks i'm really thankful for that san series of urs btw cos it was the reason we both started talking hehet,,,anyway! i hope u like this one luvv <333 and yes the pic do be rlly reminding me of ur san im screaming this was not so nice of u

*reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated!

—

San chuckles, hearing the frustrated huffs that manage to escape your mouth every now and then. He could practically see from the vanity mirror, currently in front of him, the little pout on your lips as well as your arms that are crossed against your chest.

You were already in bed, dressed in your bluish sanrio themed pajamas and—he bets—you're absolutely warm and comfortable under the comforter right now. Although, your furrowed brows say otherwise.

"What's my kitten pouting for, hmm?" San coos, a hint of teasing present in his tone. He has his head slightly angled to the right as he eyes his newly moisturized face in the mirror, two fingers pressing on his lips.

The thing is, he's currently intently admiring his no makeup face and he's not trying to deny that because—damn, he does look great.

You always tell him this, and there are still times that he can't quite put himself to believe it—not tonight though, obviously.

"If there's someone who resembles a cat more, between the two of us, it's gotta be you, Choi San."

San stills in his seat and his self-admiration comes to a halt.

You…

You just called him, San. Not sweetie, not darling, not bubba, and most of all, you didn't call him, Sannie.

Rather, you referred to him with his government name, and this was enough to relay to him just how deep your growing annoyance with him is now.

"Baby…" San softly says, he briefly lifts his butt off the stool as he turns to fully face you.

But when you make no effort to reply and simply cover your face with the comforter instead, he stands up and makes his way over to the bed.

San keeps sweetly uttering the endearment until the mattress dips due to his added weight and until the very moment that he's already laying beside you.

A whine comes out of San's mouth when he sees that you've managed to steer clear of his not so subtle attempt of caging you in his arms. You avoided him by rolling towards your left and viola!—you're now a human sized burrito.

"Baby!"

"Don't baby me!"

"But you're my baby!" San whines even louder.

"Yeah? And you kept this baby waiting for an hour when you promised you'd be done for only a few minutes," You argue, prying off the comforter from your face—San takes note of your slightly red face with a smile—your movements, sharp.

"Babe, I had to make sure that I've wiped every ounce of makeup from my face. Plus, I wanted to be presentable enough for you since we haven't seen each other for like a week," San squeaks, and he sees that you're trying your very best not to roll your eyes at him.

Instead, you scoff.

"You're pretty handsome already, Sannie. I always tell you that."

Ah, now there's that nickname he loves hearing.

Now lying on his side, San musters all the strength needed to pull you towards him—though, he didn't really need that much to do so. This action causes your body to be unwrapped from the comforter and ends with your face flat against his rock hard chest. San laughs when he hears you mutter an 'oof,' and then wastes no time to wrap you in his arms and entangle his legs with yours.

You were now his prey, trapped, and if he's merciful enough, he might just be contented in giving you a few kisses to make it up to you—despite your cute whines—for just a few seconds and then release you from his cage-like embrace, and call it a night, afterwards.

"Ou shmell good." San hears your muffled voice, and he giggles because of the light vibration your voice just made against his chest. And then you're pushing yourself away from him at arm's length, staring up at him.

"Have you been working out more, by the way? Your chest is…" You pause to clear your throat. "...rock solid." You continue, blushing.

San does his absolute best to stay calm despite your comment and your now flustered face. Instead, he makes it a mission to tuck every stray hair that fell and covered your face, behind your ear, and not meeting your eyes while he does so. And he was doing great, very great.

Well, that was until one of your hands gripped his muscly arm, and the other started playing at the neckline of his black tank top.

It's safe to say that the tables have turned and San was now the flustered one.

He is now the prey as he finally locks his eyes with yours. The dark gaze you were wearing was a clear indication that it won't just be cute kisses tonight—but rather, a hot long night filled with further lingering touches and kisses trailing down—

"Make it up to me?"

But, oh—San is very willing to make it up to you, alright. In fact, he might just not show mercy after all.

San hears you murmur, which enticingly pulls him out of his reverie. And then it happens so quickly, with San barely having any time to blink, that now you're already straddling his hips. San's chest heaves at the sight of you on top of him.

[simply-ivanka]

Joe Biden and America’s Out-of-Control Spooks

The president should step aside rather than find out how the deep state would save his candidacy.

Wall Street Journal

By Holman W. Jenkins, Jr.

Thursday’s catastrophic debate can be a lifesaver for America. A different kind of 2024 election is still possible, starting with a rollicking contest of impressive Democratic governors for their party’s nomination. The outcome wouldn’t merely result in replacing an invalided Mr. Biden. It would allow Democrats to hire a new standard-bearer who doesn’t need to dig America ever deeper into the pit of lawfare, media lying and intelligence meddling to get himself re-elected.

This is the real issue now.

Not exactly the bipartisan wise person I’ve been hoping for, Bob Bauer will have to do. A former White House counsel under Presidents Obama and Biden, he has a timely new book, “The Unraveling.” Our democracy, he writes, endangers itself with its free fall toward win-at-all-costs cynicism, and the trouble doesn’t begin and end with Donald Trump.

He’s right, and only missing is 75% of his case since he doesn’t mention the collusion hoax or intelligence officials lying about the Hunter Biden laptop to help Mr. Biden get elected, episodes in which his own hands may not be entirely clean.

Now he has a chance to put his money where his mouth is. I see the same descent into reckless, zero-sum politics that he does. So does fund manager Ray Dalio, who told clients this week that the behavior of our parties is “threatening the rule of law as we know it and is bringing us closer to some form of civil war.”

What I don’t see is an underlying cause or dispute, such as slavery in the Civil War, of transcendent magnitude to explain it.

The tainting of our elections itself is what’s driving Americans apart.

This is where Mr. Bauer’s moment has arrived. He played Mr. Trump in Mr. Biden’s debate prep. He’s obviously trusted by the candidate. He could point out a few things about how we got into today’s mess, starting with former FBI Director James Comey’s ill-advised meddling in the Hillary Clinton email case to help another Democratic candidate. Play history backward without Mr. Comey and everything is different now. Mr. Trump likely loses in 2016. The collusion follies never happen, profoundly damaging half of America’s faith in Washington.

Mr. Biden is playing with the same fire all over again. He had every moral and political reason not to seek a second term—his age, Hunter Biden, the intelligence community’s unseemly lying to the American public to secure his first victory over Mr. Trump.

Almost anybody in the Democratic Party was a better bet to beat Donald Trump a second time, and Mr. Biden wasn’t a good bet to beat almost any Republican who might earn the GOP nomination instead of Mr. Trump.

But Mr. Biden insisted on being the candidate anyway, and we got the bubbling up of Trump prosecutions from dutiful Democratic prosecutors around the country. Whatever their merits, the charges had an overridingly political purpose: Return Mr. Trump to center stage and give Mr. Biden the one opponent he might reasonably hope to beat.

The miscalculation is now apparent. Mr. Biden’s own deterioration makes him the opponent even a scandalized and distrusted Mr. Trump could likely beat, possibly in a landslide.

What now? Ours was already in danger of becoming a government of siloviki, to borrow Russia’s word for intelligence operatives actively manipulating domestic politics. This subject our media continues to shy away from though academics are taking it up: the revolutionary and unprecedented activities of Mr. Comey and Obama intelligence veterans James Clapper and John Brennan starting in 2016 and again in 2020 with the laptop lie.

In my view, Mr. Biden is more blundering than calculating in this mess. He foolishly indulged his son over the years, getting himself in a situation in 2020 where his campaign had to be rescued from his family-created scandal by the shockingly disingenuous intervention of intelligence officials falsely fingering Russia for the laptop.

But ask yourself: Having stumbled into a dynamic where they might need a failing Mr. Biden to hold off a Trump restoration, how will our Clapperized elite prevent the outcome they have been telling themselves and us for eight years would be the end of America? Do you want to find out?

The 2024 election is already shaping up to be a deeply souring democratic experience for millions of Americans, the third such presidential election in a row. It can get a lot better or a lot worse depending on what Democrats decide to do, with Mr. Bauer hopefully whispering wisdom in Mr. Biden’s ear.

The next few days will be telling. If Mr. Biden remains in the seat, Mr. Trump may romp to a broad, unambiguous victory and mandate. Then you’ll want to hold your breath on the morning of Nov. 6.

[mrdixon]

A Rugged Muse | Chapter 2

pairing: eventual daryl x f!reader

wc: 4k

warnings: typical twd warnings, suicide, child death, gore (not as graphic but yk.)

summary: reader flees her city, meeting two rednecks on the way.

A/N: sorry this took so long and sorry it actually sucks URGGGHH tbh my writing has been eurrgghh so i hope this is somewhat legible, just know that it will get better. and i promise next chapter won't come like two months later

a rugged muse masterlist | regular masterlist

The door opened with a slight creak, peeking your head out to get a glimpse of your environment. You could hear the loud thumping of your heart echoing into your ears, placing a hand on your chest to try and calm yourself. The hall was quiet, a few of your neighbours’ doors were wide open. They probably fled.

The thing that caught your eye though was the door across from yours was still shut, Betty. You knew Betty from your history class from first semester, she had light brown curls and the prettiest green eyes you’ve seen. You probably have a few sketches of her in your sketchbook.

You cautiously walked out of your apartment and towards hers, knocking gently against the door. No response. “Betty? It’s (Y/N),” still nothing. Your stomach dropped again while you shakily reached for the doorknob, twisting it to find it was unlocked. You pushed the door open slowly and walked into her apartment, it was dim. The lights were off and the only source of light was the lamp down the hall.

“Betty?” You called out again, keeping your hand at your hip where the daggers were. Just in case you had… to use them. Her apartment was oddly clean despite the panic of the dead walking, so she should still be here. The faint smell of lilac filled your nose, a couple of clothes strewn around as you walked deeper into her apartment. You heard the faint sound of the television running, but you ignored it when you saw what happened to Betty.

She sat limp against her armchair, a very obvious gunshot wound to the side of her head, the gun in her left hand. Your stomach turned as you got closer, her hair was still perfectly curled but those green eyes were pale, empty. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat and gently reached forward to close her eyes, not wanting to see her dull gaze. There was a letter on the coffee table and you noticed how unsteady her handwriting was, she was panicked. Her family was across the country, she had no one in a time of desperation. So she took matters into her own hands.

“The dead are walking, the government advises everyone to come to the camps in Atlanta. Food and supplies available for everyone…”

Your head turned to the tv which played the news, the newscasters hands were shaky and he was obviously sweating. This was real. You quickly scanned the area for anything you could take with you, carefully grabbing the gun in Betty’s hand. Might as well put it to good use. There was only 7 more bullets and no refills. You put it in your waistband anyway (with the safety on) but decided not to rely on it, you were better with hands on combat.

As you rummaged through the cabinets a thought entered your mind, did you even know how to get to Atlanta from here? You nervously nibbled on your bottom lip, opening a drawer and finding a map. How the hell do you even read one of these? Your eyes scanned over the small lettering, squinting as you brought it closer to your face. Your eyes followed the road from your apartment to Atlanta, frowning the more you looked. It would take about 4 hours to get to Atlanta from here if you took your car. Glenn was already in Atlanta so you had to get there quickly, not wanting to make him wait and think you died.

“Fuck,” you muttered, folding the map into your pocket before grabbing whatever you could carry and shoving it into your bag before getting out of there. You took one last look at Betty’s dead body before leaving her apartment and shutting the door.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you ran down the hall and down the stairs while keeping high alert and watching around. When you walked outside it was still strangely empty, but you didn’t dawdle. You preferred getting more supplies, but the few stores around the apartment were raided already so those were out of the question. You took the map out of your pocket and unfolded it to determine where you needed to go. It would take about an hour to get to Atlanta if you took Interstate 985 and switched to interstate 85, you could manage that…

You trudged on and made it a goal to avoid as many dead as you could. Sure you could kill them but you didn’t really want to, it was a struggle killing one so you couldn’t imagine taking a bunch of them at once. While walking through your city you noticed a few people driving by watching them pick a few people up off the sidewalks, while you admired their generosity, you couldn’t really trust anyone. A lot of people here were selfish which is reasonable, especially when you have dead people trying to eat you alive.

You got to the parking lot where your car was and quickly hopped in, throwing your bag onto your passenger’s seat. You put your key into ignition and started the car up, quickly pulling out of the parking spot and getting on the road. Your fingers tapped absentmindedly against the steering wheel, biting your lip anxiously. Your right hand reached out to turn on the radio, hoping music would ease your worries. It didn’t help much but you kept it on anyway, driving through the familiar streets you’d take on your way to work. Your fingers now tapped the steering wheel on beat to the music, relaxing your shoulders. It’ll be fine. You’ll be in Atlanta in an hour or less, and you’d be with your brother. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself to get into that positive mindset.

There was a man by the side of the road, hunched over. You slowed your car a little to see what was wrong, but you knew by the way he was convulsing now. He was bit. You almost gagged but pressed your foot down on the accelerator, driving right past him. This was no time to be distracted by others, you had to focus on yourself.

You drove quick, thanking whatever god was there for the roads being clear. It didn’t take long before you reached the highway, already smiling to yourself in hope. But you quickly started frowning when you saw a few of the dead walking around, grimacing as you saw the wounds on them. Some of them were missing limbs, a few with straight-up holes through their bodies. Their mutilated bodies made you sick, trying to avert your gaze but naturally you couldn’t. You carefully dodged them, most of them following after your car. All you did was swallow thickly and pursue on down I-985.

As you drove further along the highway, you soon realized why the roads were clear. You audibly groaned as traffic started to get thick, looking ahead to see people getting out of their cars to determine what was happening up ahead. You furrowed your brows in frustration as it was clear this wasn’t going to move any further along, but when you turned your head to back up, there was already people pulling up behind you. You hit your head on the steering wheel and took a few deep calming breaths before grabbing your backpack and turning off your car. You got out of your car and followed after the people ahead of you to see the situation. As you started getting closer to the end you heard horrified screams and people ran past you, if you weren’t so frightened you’d probably roll your eyes. But as soon as your eyes landed on the scene, you felt your blood run cold. There had been an accident, probably due to people freaking out, and there was a man who had transitioned to one of the dead. Your eyes widened as you soon recognized him as your neighbour Jerry, he was grabbing at anyone.

You watched in horror as his youngest daughter watched her father maul at a bystander, she was obviously disoriented by the crash so all she could do was watch. Her small eyes wide in distress as she clutched onto her teddy bear, your eyes darting around to find her mother, eventually finding her slouched over in the passenger’s seat. The little girl cried out, reaching out towards her father.

“No!” You yelled, pushing past the crowd in hopes you’d get to the girl first, but unfortunately fate wasn’t on your side. A blood curdling scream cut through the air as you watched the girl get dragged by her father, ripped apart in broad daylight as the multiple dead started feasting on the child. You felt yourself get lightheaded, once again pushing past the crowd as they all scattered. You stumbled towards the forest, holding your palm against your mouth. Your eyes were watery and your entire body was wet with sweat. The screams of everyone soon became distant as you dragged yourself into the trees, collapsing onto your knees and retching for the second time today.

You cried again, pitiful really, crying and throwing up all at once. You couldn’t save that little girl, sobbing as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. You’d seen that girl around town, always with her father. She had the brightest smile and the most infectious laughter, and she carried that bear around everywhere. You let out a quiet sob as your mind played back the horrific way she died, being torn apart by her father as she was eaten alive. You couldn’t bear to see it, squeezing your eyes shut.

You felt something grab you by the shoulders and you immediately spun around, finding one of the dead had crept up on you. You fumbled for one of your daggers, stabbing aimlessly at the dead. You wanted to scream. Wanted to vent out all your frustration you had against this world. You let out a loud sob as you kept stabbing, raising your arms and bringing them down repeatedly, until all that was left was a mush of guts laying at your feet. You heaved at the sight, turning away from it and tremulously wiped your dagger on your pants, putting it back into the holster on your thigh before doing the same to your glasses.

You finally calmed down and returned to earth, almost crying again when you remembered your car was now gone and you’d have to travel on foot. You reached for your bag and took out the map, scanning over the paper and trying to determine where you were now. You were just off to the side of I-985, but it’d be hours before you even reached I-85. You sighed deeply and just carefully folded up the map after you sketched out your path, placing the map into your pocket.

So much for getting to Atlanta in an hour.

You woke up to the sound of banging against a metal sheet outside, you lifted your head off the hay you were laying on. You found a little shed on your way to I-85 and decided to rest, but judging by the way it was dark out, you slept a bit too long. You frowned and lifted yourself up from the hay, groaning at the soreness in your muscles. You placed your glasses onto your face before making your way towards the door. The banging was loud and you cursed mentally at the fact that the dead would come walking straight to it. Your hand instinctively went towards the daggers attached at your thigh, grabbing one and carefully opening the door.

To your misfortune, it was pitch black out. You breathed heavily and turned back in for your bag, grabbing your flashlight. Now with one hand occupied with a flashlight, you held your dagger in your other hand and walked out of the shed. You made your way over to the source of the banging, and there the dead person was, just continuously walking into it. You rolled your eyes and stabbed the thing in the back, pulling your dagger out and turning back towards the shed.

A few more hours till sunrise and you can start walking your way to I-85. Or so you thought before you heard groaning behind you, you whipped around and was met with the same dead person you killed just seconds ago. Judging by the movement coming from it, you obviously didn’t kill it. You panicked and swung your dagger, throwing yourself off balance. You let out a shout as you fell backwards, your glasses coming off as you fell, and the dead person toppling over you while your head hit the ground harshly. Your hand had let go of the dagger, it being thrown a few feet away from you. Unfortunately, the other daggers were inaccessible due to the dead person draping itself over you. With the strength you could muster up, you held the dead back with one arm, the other outstretched blindly to the dagger.

The dead thing’s jaw snapped at you, getting closer to your face. You grimaced in disgust from the putrid smell coming from it, the decaying skin getting closer and closer to yours. You yelled out in exertion, bringing both hands up to push the dead body back. Your muscles were already sore, clenching your jaw tight as you did everything in your power to push this thing off of you. It was no use, the snapping teeth came closer and closer. All you could do was close your eyes and accept your fate.

THWACK

The body suddenly went limp above you, your eyes opened and saw the dead body unresponsive on top of you. An arrow was through its head. There was rustling in the bushes nearby, your head snapping in the sound’s direction. You quickly pushed the body off of you and sat up, grabbing the dagger and your glasses near you.

The owner of the arrow made himself known, walking into the clearing where you were looking. He had a scowl on his face, sweat that glistened on his biceps under the low light of the moon. You could tell he knew what he was doing, from his rugged appearance and the way he held himself. He made his way over to you and you kicked away cautiously, his narrowed eyes glanced at you before walking over to the dead body. He let out a grunt as he pulled the arrow out of its head, a gross squelch sound could be heard.

“S’posed to get ‘em in the head,” he drawled lowly, wiping the arrow on a grimy rag he pulled out. You watched him carefully, in case he made any sudden moves. When he didn’t, you stood up and brushed yourself off.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, he just grunted and started walking off in the direction he came from. “Wait!” He turned slightly at the sound of your voice, an unimpressed look on his face. You looked down at your fingers, playing with them anxiously. His gaze was intense, one you’ve never encountered before. It made you a bit frightened quite frankly, his irritated grumbling made you even more anxious.

“Ya gonna stand there, or are ya gonna say somethin’?” He grunted. You looked up at him, his eyes trained on you intensely.

“Are you going to Atlanta?” You asked quietly, still playing with your fingers absentmindedly. He looked down, smirking slightly as a bitter chuckle left his mouth.

“Nah, shit’s been blown up by the military.” The older man grumbled, tinkering with the crossbow he held in his hands. A chill hung in the air around you. Your heart felt as though it had stopped beating, falling into your stomach as the feeling of dread washed over you.

“What do you mean?” Your breath caught in your throat as unwanted thoughts ran through your mind, “my brother is there.” The man looked a little uncomfortable from the amount of conversation that was taking place, his scuffed fingers anxiously tapping on the foregrip of his crossbow.

“Mean’s exactly wha’ I said,” he shifted on his foot, “it was their way of takin’ care of the damn virus.” He lifted his hand to nibble on the side of his thumb, glancing you over. You thought about Glenn, grief settling in you. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and soon they rushed down your face, a torrent of emotions streaming down your cheeks. The man shifted again, now very uncomfortable with the situation. He didn’t know what to do as his eyes narrowed uneasily. He cleared his throat, his body turning to leave. “Well, uh…”

You sniffled, wiping your cheeks while the sound of his boots crunching against the leaves signaled his departure. You didn’t know what took over you, but you ran after him. This man had just saved you. He immediately turned his head upon hearing your heavy footsteps race after him, your breathing a little heavy.

“Can I go with you? Where ever it is you’re going?” You panted, wiping your runny nose on your sleeve not even caring if you seemed disgusting in the moment. You looked up at him, his expression cold. If you had ears like a bunny, they’d surely be tucked back as you cowered under his scrutiny. He was about to just leave you there but you opened your mouth, “you won’t even know I’m here. I have my own stuff, so don’t even worry about sharing food or shit like that. Just, please don’t leave me alone.”

Your teary eyes and desperate tone almost made him feel pity for you, but he shook his head. “Tha’ ain’ a good idea.” Your desperation made you want to drop to your knees and beg, but you still had some pride in you.

Before you could convince him further, an older man appeared behind him, placing his hand on the younger’s shoulder. Upon seeing his face you almost mistook him for a dead one, your hand moving towards your daggers. The sound of his voice proving your judgement wrong.

“Well, well what do we have ‘ere?” His raspy voice was evidence of his older age, “baby brother, ya found us a fawn fer dinner?” His chuckle made you furrow your brows in disdain. The younger brother practically rolled his eyes in annoyance, shrugging the hand off his shoulder.

“Ain’ no fawn, was jus’ leavin’.” He glared at his brother, nudging him to walk on. The older kept his sunken eyes on you, a grin on his face as he glanced you up and down.

“Aww, tha’ ain’ no way ta treat a lady,” the older man nudged his brother. “C’mon, take a look at ‘er. Poor things frightened out of ‘er mind, can’t hurt ta take her wit’ us.” You watched as the younger man hesitated, glancing at you awkwardly. Sure, you were already uncomfortable with the older man but you couldn’t help but be grateful for him talking you up to his younger brother.

“Whatever,” the archer mumbled before turning away. You would’ve jumped in glee if it weren’t for the soreness in your legs.

“Thank you, thank you so much.” You smiled, finally relaxing your shoulders. “I need to go back to grab my backpack, mind if I take a sec?” The older man nodded while you ignored the grunt of annoyance from the younger one, walking back towards the shed to grab your things.

Once you came back the younger brother had his back to you, impatiently pacing around.

“So, what’s yer name missy?” The older man spoke out while the other walked ahead, the both of you following after him.

“(Y/N) Rhee…” you mumbled shyly, keeping your hand lingering by the daggers at your thigh. Though he let you walk with them, you couldn’t help but feel a little cautious. After all this was the apocalypse.

“Name’s Merle, Dixon. Tha’ prissy over there is my baby brother Daryl.” Merle introduced himself and Daryl, your eyes dragging towards the younger Dixon walking a few feet ahead of you two. Your eyes traced over his broad shoulders, nodding in response to Merle.

“Where are we headed?” You asked softly, looking around at your surroundings. The sky was getting brighter with every hour, the air feeling warmer. Merle shrugged, laughing gruffly.

“Dunno, Daryl has been walkin’ for days. Figured it’d be better to get a move on than mope aroun’.” You looked back at Daryl, it was almost like his ears were perked up. He was definitely listening to your conversation though he paid no attention, you kind of got the idea he didn’t like talking very much. Still, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

Silence fell over all of you as you three walked through the forest, the sun was just starting to come up, leaves crunched under your feet and you couldn’t help but noticed they didn’t under Daryl’s. On closer inspection he was purposefully missing the leaves, but still impressive as he wasn’t even looking. You decided to walk closer to Daryl, walking ahead of Merle. You were like a little duckling who imprinted on him, your loud footsteps clashing with his quiet ones.

“Could ya walk any louder?” Daryl hissed, turning his head slightly and glaring at you in irritation. You shrunk and muttered an apology before looking down and making more smarter foot placements, almost tripping over yourself. He sighed, shaking his head as he pressed on. Your lips pressed into a thin line as your cheeks flushed in shame, continuing to walk after him.

Daryl refused to stop walking despite you and Merle’s protests of needing rest, but eventually you three stopped near a supermarket. Still, you guys decided to just sit around in the forest for safety reasons. Daryl was grumbling to himself when you and Merle settled down on a log, pacing around.

“Daryl, go sit an’ rest.” Merle waved his brother over, earning a glare from the younger. “Or don’, at least skin those squirrels we caught earlier.” As if on cue, your stomach rumbled embarrassingly and your arms instinctively hugged around your torso. Merle laughed and nudged you, “look, missy is hungry.”

“It’s fine, I got my own food.” You mumbled and started rummaging through your backpack, trying to avoid Daryl’s eyes. You grabbed small tin of tiny sausages, your stomach growled again. When was the last time you ate? As you tried opening it, the tin was quickly snatched out of your hands.

“I haven’ seen any of these since the outbreak started,” Merle rasped and opened the tin quickly, but Daryl quickly grabbed it back and shoved it back in your hands. “Hey!”

“I’ll skin the squirrels,” Daryl growled at his older brother, placing himself between you and Merle on the log. “No need to be stealin’ ‘er food.” You looked over at Daryl, his tattered sleeveless shirt damp with his sweat, his brows furrowed as he dropped his bag and looked through it. You silently ate your sausages while Merle groaned and waited for his own food. “After we eat, we’re walkin’ again.”

Now you were the one to groan, Daryl’s head snapping towards you. Not wanting to seem ungrateful for their somewhat hospitality, you bowed your head and continued eating.

“We can make it ta’ interstate 85 before night,” Daryl rubbed his bottom lip with one hand, pulling out dead squirrels with the other. You flinched back at the sight, you were still new to all this. You swore you saw a smirk tug at Daryl’s lips at your reaction, but he turned before you could see.

You dropped your empty tin and leaned back a bit, sighing. You thought back to Glenn, wondering if somehow he made it out of Atlanta before shit went down, dropping your head into your hands. Daryl looked you sideways, his knife skinning the squirrels easily. The morning was still young, meaning there was plenty of time for you and the Dixons to get to I-85.

You lifted your head and tilted it back to see the sun rays shine through the branches of the trees, closing your eyes to bask in the warmness of the sun, hope bellowing in your stomach. Maybe you’d be able to make it through with these guys.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Post-Surgery Day 35 (but three days late)

cw: surgery, bodies, medical

- Good news! The wound separation in my nipple has healed closed and scarred up, and all the scabs are gone. I'm so, so frickin' happy and glad I kept my anxiety in check over it. There were so many times I wanted to pull the scab away and see the damage, or send a billion questions to the surgeon. But I trusted what the nurse told me to do, and it's fine.

- I've been a biiiit naughty with the reaching and the stretching and I've got a bit of a ache in my ribs, like, just beneath the incision? I think it's muscular in that I've obviously been hunched over and fairly stationary while I heal. I figure I'll be getting some physio and exercises after my appointment in a week. The incisions are fine and neat AF, I can't remember whether I mentioned that the part under my arms is already so faint? I thought I'd need to get some tattoos to camouflage it but I don't think I will.

- Still chonk. Sigh.

- I am exhausted after my first week (and a half) back at work. I've been relatively good and not lifting stuff too heavy, or reaching too high. My colleagues have been awesome, and I mean awesome. I've received so many hugs and big smiles; they genuinely missed me, which... I'm actually shocked? I didn't realise how much healing I still have to do in terms of self worth. The damage done by a handful of people a year or so ago has clearly impacted quite deep. But, anyways, people keep coming up to me to tell me their kid is trans or non-binary or gay, or they know someone who is, or their kid's partner is... They are so excited about it.

- I have had one encounter with someone I think has terfy leanings. It was an assessor from a training body we use for our trainee teachers. She kept using my deadname, even though her institution has been updated. Now, I need these teachers to pass so I bit my lip. My headteacher, however, a big Welsh dude, informed her that if she couldn't address his teachers with respect she could leave the premises. I was... shocked. So was she. I was named appropriately for the rest of the day, and when I thanked him later he just said that some people have no class, and ambled off to herd some kids. 🤣

- My driving license came through! That's the second government body that has acknowledged my new name and gender. My bank is sorted too. I'm going to sort out the mortgage (second bank, land registry), the vehicles (car and bike) and my passport. The passport I am worried about because I've reached that they can be picky about the GIC. We'll see.

- I am delivering a conference for the first time tomorrow as myself and I'm actually a little bit nervous? I don't think anything of talking to rooms full of 100s, usually. I'm an expert in my field and that's why I'm there. But. As me now? The person I've had to keep protected and quiet for years? Scary.

- Six more days until my final appointment with my surgeon. I hope I get good grades in healing so I can go back to the gym. :3

[angelsandarsenic]

From the moment Cucurucho appeared, I have loved that freaky bear thing

Cucurucho (and the federation) has so much horror potential that is not talked about nearly enough. There's all this awesome creepy fanart of Cucurucho, but the pure horror potential I-

Of course, from the beginning, Quesadilla Island and the Federation have been very similar to communist propaganda, what with the happy go lucky Pato (and admins) giving them steadfast rules with extreme consequences, "I hope you enjoy the island", the census bureau, so much stuff being "classified" and don't even get me started on the happy pills. But this type of behavior has such a psychological horror feel; what specifically gets me thinking all the time is that phrase "I hope you enjoy the island". It's so fucking ominous, especially if you imagine Cucurucho as this Clearly Not Right but is Pretending creature--which you don't even have to, the QSMP did a fantastic job of presenting them that way anyway--the phrase is framed as something positive but is sooooo eerie and👏 I live 👏 for 👏 that 👏 shit👏.

Obviously, I have to acknowledge poor horror protag Cellbit, who's absolutely going through it, but the whole server has huge madness and phobia horror themes, and even home invasion/survival themes in a twisted way, as well as, all together science experiment horror.

The madness/phobia horror subgenre focuses on the effect the situation has on the characters more than any actual killing that may happen. Of course, murder is an excellent scare tactic in this genre, similar to, again, uber controlling governments that "make people disappear" or outright show off execution as a control method. This subgenre is about characters going insane, what drives people to do terrible or desperate things. In this way, the eggs are a huge factor.

Everything about the wall and not being able to leave the island sets up for a claustrophobic, trapped feeling. You are not in control, something something about fragile birds and freedom versus big predators--the Federation is in control. The admins and the code monsters and faceless and named federation workers, the happy pills or outright killing and torturing people, everything you do is either allowed or not by the Federation. It breeds resentment, prompts people to explore and rebel, so the players were given the eggs. It worked as a fantastic distraction, and everyone grew incredibly attached to them, like they were supposed to. This is where home invasion/survival type horror begins to tie in, but I'll get to that.

By the way, has anyone else ever been suspicious about the eggs coming from the Federation and what that could mean for their trustworthiness? I'm not talking about the eggs becoming code monsters, that's sort of a different thing, I mean as the eggs, in everybody's homes and personal lives, they have free access to everything on the island.

The players settled down. They built homes, they made lives for themselves and tasks were required to do to keep the eggs alive, like what happens when people have children for real. It forced them to become familiar and complacent on the island and gave them every reason not to leave.

I don't need to explain the impact that all had, almost every action is driven by the eggs, for the eggs, for family. The way everyone reacted when the eggs got taken, then again, and the desperation everyone has to get them back safe, such as Philza Minecraft willingly walking himself into a trap just for the chance of finding Chayanne.

The Federation can just take away the eggs at any time. They can take away the players' security, autonomy, create mode, etc. What strikes me though is the way the plot has progressed so far, and that's what makes it science experimentation horror.

First, we start with Cucurucho again--emotionless, detached, sterile and white colors/coding, and what is their job? To collect data on the players. Cucurucho has shown up several times throughout the QSMP, including before the eggs ever came into play, as a worker for the census bureau.

The eggs require regular tasks with increasing difficulty, which could be viewed as similar to scientists working with animals seeing how they perform and complete specific activities, like a mouse running through more difficult mazes to find cheese. Then, players get more complicated and specific tasks and no one gets to know why/what they're for usually.

Remember the first time the eggs disappeared, we were afraid they would never come back? I was surprised that they did. I think events like this are the big tests, and maybe it was just me, but it feels like the eggs are being taken and allowed back, not like the players have any actual affect on the situation.

It would be remiss not to mention the backstory that's slowly being uncovered and how some players are being outright experimented on or manipulated by the Federation. Jaiden as Bluebird plus Baghera and Quackity, Cellbit's interactions with Cucurucho and Forever and Pac on the happy pills. Speaking of, I'm so incredibly curious to see what's going to happen to Philza now  👀 👀

The Federation has had very limited interactions with the players and usually through representatives or proxies. They're kind of like a hand of God coming down to mess with stuff whenever they see fit, or again, like scientists, watching and controlling and taking notes. What all for?????? This would also explain Cucurucho's pure hatred of Tubbo--Cellbit was expected, and his investigations were only going so far, then he is easily put back in his place with a little scare, or gets preoccupied (oh how easily Roier could be used against him). Tubbo on the other hand, came out of nowhere. He's a chaotic little anomaly of their new test subjects and doesn't take time to cautiously settle into the island, not to mention he presents as harmless, which was how he got the better of Cucurucho in the first place. Who knows what he could do to the other characters and the Federation's experiments?

It's also worth mentioning that the whole setting is an island. Meaning even though the players can't escape, there are other people/land out there, but the players are in a secluded, controlled environment.

Lastly, "islands" (enviornments that are isolated for the duration of the media in some way) are a main setting of horror and specifically home invasion/survival horror. Similar to phobia/madness horror, home invasion/survival horror focuses more on the buildup before the attack, the characters being watched and the subsequent affect. It also relies on the characters having a a place they feel safe or something/someone they want to protect. That’s what the QSMp created when they gave the players the eggs. Even though the players are on the Federation’s island, they’ve been forced to make homes there and made connections with each other and with their kids. Then, the monsters attack. Monsters that didn’t show up in the very beginning, progressively getting worse and targeting the eggs. It’s like the characters have been dropped on the island just to be food or playthings for the creatures. The characters get high security doors and windows and reinforced blocks, they get powerful weapons. Then there’s the code, and the Federation itself, tearing into the characters’ lives and families, no matter what they do, they’re never safe. There is no sense of security and I think even with Etoiles getting the code monster’s sword and every advancement the players make, it won’t be enough. Not to mention, Philza, one of the best survivalist, innovative and fighter players just got kidnapped.

Lastly, Cucurucho said the eggs left because there was something worse than the Federation on the island. That statement is terrifying on it’s own, but it fits right in with this au genre of horror—the assailants don’t show their faces until near the end of the story, and not only do we know very little about the Federation still, but this new threat looms, completely unknown.

Ok, ok, I know I got way off topic of Cucurucho, but like I said, since they first showed up, the QSMP has had fantastic horror potential, that it’s living up to, we just don’t talk about it much.

[thingstrumperssay]

Well, I don't think I quite got all of my thoughts straightened out so this is probably going to be a huge mess, but I want to post it before the Gaza strip is blown up.

I think the easiest way to describe how I feel about the war between Israel and Palestine is pure frustration. I don't know the small details on this, but I at least understand the basics. (I think.)

So basically Israel has been ethnically cleansing Palestinians for over 75 years now. It's been getting worse and worse throughout the decades.

So this group in what's left of Palestine is formed. They call themselves "Hamas." When you corner a cat they're going to attack. A group of people retaliating against those who's cornering them was inevitable, because their extinction is pretty much inevitable, so why not go down fighting?

I'd root for a group who retaliates against the people oppressing them, but that's not what they're doing here. I get that these people are young, but the group is taking their grudges out on anybody who lives in Israel and not those who are the ones actively responsible for their oppression.

What I was hoping for I know is a fairy tale. I was hoping that this group would take over the government and anybody who tries to stop them and establish a coexistence with those who are willing to coexist with them. Or at least kick them out. (Which I'm not for for economic reasons, but if I discussed that now I'd be derailing to another subject.)

The thing is, they know by now that taking Israel civilians hostage isn't working. Israel's government's response to them taking hostages is to cut their water, electricity, and to blow them up.

Last night (or a couple nights ago, depending on where you live) Israel sent a message to people living in Gaza that they're going to give the citizens living there 24 hours to leave before they blow it up. There are several things wrong with this.

They said this in an electronic message. Gaza doesn't have electricity.

The message is in English.

They don't have anywhere to go.

This is the Gaza strip. The gray part is Egypt. Egypt's government is reluctant to let them in because they have a peace treaty with Israel. (I assume that's the reason. I'm not entirely sure.)

Edit: Israel blew up the way to Egypt anyway, so...

Not that it matters much anyway, because the message to evacuate the Gaza strip was obviously not for them. It was a message justifying genocide to their largest trade partner- America. If you're wondering why Biden's taking Israel's side, that's why.

America gets stone, glass, metal, pearls and sometimes medical supplies from Israel. They get cars, integrated circuits and diamonds from us. So we benefit pretty well from each other's existence (minus the pearls and diamonds) so of course they're going to pretend to be "fair" to the innocent people of Gaza.

I'm sure I'll come back to edit some things, add some things and probably delete or strike out some things as I learn more and as more happens.

TL;DR: Hamas is targeting civilians instead of their oppressors directly. The government of Israel's response is to blow them up. (Even though they'd probably be blowing up their own citizens, too.) I'm frustrated about all of this.