#to be fair I don’t know what those consequences should have been

[mariacallous]

In 2024, wealth concentration rose to an all-time high. According to Forbes’ Billionaires List, not only are there more billionaires than ever—2,781—but those billionaires are also richer than ever, with an aggregate worth of $14.2 trillion. This is a trend that looks set to continue unabated. A recent report from the financial data company Altrata estimated that about 1.2 million individuals who are worth more than $5 million will pass on a collective wealth of almost $31 trillion over the next decade.

Discontentment and concern over the consequences of extreme wealth in our society is growing. Senator Bernie Sanders, for instance, stated that the “obscene level of income and wealth inequality in America is a profoundly moral issue.” In a joint op-ed for CNN in 2023, Democratic congresswoman Barbara Lee and Disney heiress Abigail Disney wrote that “extreme wealth inequality is a threat to our economy and democracy.” In 2024, when the board of Tesla put to vote a $56 billion pay package for Elon Musk, some major shareholders voted against it, declaring that such a compensation level was “absurd” and “ridiculous.”

In 2025, the fight against rising wealth inequality will be high on the political agenda. In July 2024, the G20—the world’s 20 biggest economies—agreed to work on a proposal by Brazil to introduce a new global “billionaire tax” that would levy a 2 percent tax on assets worth more than $1 billion. This would raise an estimated $250 billion a year. While this specific proposal was not endorsed in the Rio declaration, the G20 countries agreed that the super rich should be taxed more.

Progressive politicians won’t be the only ones trying to address this problem. In 2025, millionaires themselves will increasingly mobilize and put pressure on political leaders. One such movement is Patriotic Millionaires, a nonpartisan group of multimillionaires who are already publicly campaigning and privately lobbying the American Congress for a guaranteed living wage for all, a fair tax system, and the protection of equal representation. “Millionaires and large corporations—who have benefited most from our country’s assets—should pay a larger percentage of the tab for running the country,” reads their value statement. Members include Abigail Disney, former BlackRock executive Morris Pearl, legal scholar Lawrence Lessig, screenwriter Norman Lear, and investor Lawrence Benenson.

Another example is TaxMeNow, a lobby group founded in 2021 by young multimillionaires in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland which also advocates for higher wealth taxation. Its most famous member is the 32-year old Marlene Engelhorn, descendant of Friedrich Engelhorn, founder of German pharma giant BASF. She recently set up a council made up of 50 randomly selected Austrian citizens to decide what should happen to her €25 million inheritance. “I have inherited a fortune, and therefore power, without having done anything for it,” she said in a statement. “If politicians don’t do their job and redistribute, then I have to redistribute my wealth myself.”

Earlier this year, Patriotic Millionaires, TaxMeNow, Oxfam, and another activist group called Millionaires For Humanity formed a coalition called Proud to Pay More, and addressed a letter to global leaders during the annual gathering of the World Economic Forum in Davos. Signed by hundreds of high-net-worth individuals—including heiress Valerie Rockefeller, actor Simon Pegg, and filmmaker Richard Curtis—the letter stated: “We all know that ‘trickle down economics’ has not translated into reality. Instead it has given us stagnating wages, crumbling infrastructure, failing public services, and destabilized the very institution of democracy.” It concluded: “We ask you to take this necessary and inevitable step before it’s too late. Make your countries proud. Tax extreme wealth.” In 2025, thanks to the nascent movement of activist millionaires, these calls will grow even louder.

[turbo-virgins]

Since Morrigan and the Inquisitor are both present toward the end of the game- like there is literally no way for both of them to not be there in some capacity- we had all the components needed to show some consequences for whoever drank from the Well of Sorrows. And then we just… didn’t do that??

[lokisgoodgirl]

The Rite: Consequence (VI)

A link to The Rite Masterlist is here A link to my regular Masterlist is here Summary: (6) It's the day of The Rite 🙈And whether Loki succeeds or fails in capturing your pleasure (and your heart) - there will be consequences. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Mild angst. Asgardians behaving badly. Smut. I am begging, pleading for your trust. (w/c 5.6k)

Loki blocked the fall of the blade with a hanging guard, catching his brother’s wild stare through the angle of his arm.

Dust scraped across his eyes from the training ring, but he blinked it away. They both glistened with mid-afternoon sweat - muscles straining; all hard veins and gritted teeth.

Loki licked his lips, tasting salt, and his arm began to quiver beneath the press of his brother’s blade – but he wouldn’t relent. He never did.

The Rite was only hours away.

It began at sundown. He wasn’t allowed to see you, and beating his brother into the dirt was as good a distraction as any. Better than the ones I’m used to.

And besides, after the two of you had talked until sunrise – about everything and anything that avoided the question of love – there was nothing more to be done.

If Fandral had told you about the second part of The Rite, he was glad you hadn’t raised it. He didn’t think he could bear knowing its outcome in advance. Better the short, sharp shock of shame than its clammy shadow. Better to whisper in your ear and devour your lips and feel your hand searching the angles of him until he was sick with painful desire.

“Yield,” Loki grit. A thick strand of hair had come loose, trailing over his vision. The furrow of Thor’s frown grew deeper.

“Why would I? I have you on the run, little brother.” A soft grunt broke in Loki’s throat. He flexed his shoulder and parried Thor’s sword to the side with force, kicking the blonde’s left foot from under him in the same movement. Thor slammed down into the sand; sprawling and sword clattered against the stone beneath.

“You don’t fight fair, Loki” “Maybe you should fight better.” Thor scrambled to his feet, sand sticking in clumps to the sweat gathered on his chest. “I am the greatest warrior this realm has ever known because I fight with honour.” Loki rolled his eyes. “Honour,” he spat. “At least you shan’t have your ill-gotten reputation in the histories as its greatest lover for much longer.” Thor hacked a wad of dust-gritted saliva and spat it to his feet. He looked up with a twisted smile. “I don’t know about that, Loki. Of the two of us you’ve always been seen as the bigger whore. A talented one for certain, but a whore all the same. And soon enough, your Rite partner will join the throng; be forgotten like the rest.”   Before he knew it, Loki’s dagger was at Thor’s throat.

His vision flashed white, and behind him came the jangle of armoured guards, circling them with their spears readied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thor’s hands rise to steady them.

“Brother…” Thor said slowly, “I know you’re nervous, but killing me really would remove any chance you have at the succession—”

 “—I won’t take insult from those who wax lyrical about honour and leave their loin’s fruit to the vultures.” Thor frowned. “What are you talking about?” He tried to look down at the blade glinting by his thorax and only succeeded in nicking his skin. “Ow.” Loki released a withering sigh, flipping the dagger away and kicking Thor’s foot from beneath him. The other one, this time. His brother crumpled like a wet towel. He turned, seeing several of the guards’ facial expressions flinch between the gaps in their helmets.

“Disperse,” he muttered, striding past them and wondering mildly how long it would be until Odin found out. He needed to bathe. He needed to be alone. I need to be with her. But he couldn’t have that; so alone, it would be.

“Don’t worry brother,” he said dryly as he scraped sweat-soaked hair off his face. “I’m sure none of father’s spies will impart that you were bested by a whore.” Thor’s blustering protestations made a smirk curl the corner of his mouth. He must remember to tell you about this, when all was said and done: when the succession was set in stone, when the home for abandoned children was secured, when he knew that you loved him. And as he exited the training ring, Loki realised with horrifying clarity that one of those possibilities hung around his neck like a millstone: heavier than the others – threatening to collapse him to his knees.

If she loves me, he re-worded in his mind, beginning to walk a little quicker to the safety of solitude.

You’d been woken in late morning and bustled with minimal ceremony to the private baths on the upper floors of the palace.

Once there, your day-gown had been stripped by a flurry of exquisitely beautiful maids; each dressed in blue fabric as thin as gauze, hair like pure, precious metals. How you hated them.

You hadn’t realised you wouldn’t see Loki until The Rite itself until he’d told you last night before you parted ways. You’d kissed him so roughly against the wall, fingers digging into his scalp, that you’d almost passed out from lack of oxygen.

And now…here, with the most impossibly beautiful nymphs in all of Asgard – it felt like there was no time. You need to be near him. Isn’t that how love works? But then, you wouldn’t know. You suddenly wondered if absence before the ceremony was really part of the tradition, or if Odin and the rest of them were trying to keep you apart. Hoping he’ll fail. —Stop being so paranoid.

Steam rose from the hot spring, undulating like flame as one of the nymphs massaged your shoulders. I wonder what Loki’s doing. Does he miss me? Is he nervous…? You lifted one calf out of the water where you’d perched at the edge of the baths, the scent of orange oil thick in your nostrils.  Suddenly the fingers stopped working, and she leant down. “Loki’s very good, you know. Everyone knows it’s his favourite thing to do to a woman, or a man. You’re so lucky.” She giggled, and your stomach tightened with a wave of inexplicable anger. “I’m jealous. They say he does this thing with his tongue that—" “—Oh hush, Mavor.” You winced as Frigga’s chide sparked like a lit match. She settled, dangling her feet in the pool beside yours. “Leave the poor girl alone, I’m sure the past few days have been much to contend with.”

You turned fractionally, almost blinded by the golden assault of her sunlit hair. She’s staring at you, faint crows-feet scrunched from the vaguely discomforting smile on her lips. “What happened last night with Fandral was improper. What must you think of us?” “I don’t think it of you,” you lied, memories of the sick little girl cinching tight around your mind; the fact that Fandral and all the other court-wankers had no clue that Loki was the one clearing up their mess, doing any real good. But it was a secret, and a secret it would remain.

And then you remembered what Lagertha said when the nurse had thanked the gods. ‘Not the gods,’ she’d said, beaming with pride as Loki blushed. ‘This one’s the only one worth having.’

Frigga’s close-lipped smile grew. “We can’t blame Fandral for being in love with Loki, even if his methods were…”

Your eyebrow rose. “Petty? Spiteful? Unforgiveable?”

Frigga laughed: a practiced, twinkling chirp. “When you live as long as we do, dear…nothing is truly unforgivable.”

You frowned, vision blurring as you stifled an eyeroll and Freya continued. “Perhaps you understand how he feels…now that you’ve gotten to know my second son a little better.” “You want to know if I love him, is that it? Well, I don't know.”

Shame swelled under your thin bathing gown, and Frigga inhaled quietly. “I of all people in this palace understand that words matter less than what we feel in here-” she said, pressing a fan of fingers to her chest. “You may think our customs strange, but they were born from centuries of upheaval and selfishness of our rulers. Markers needed to be set. It’s important that the general populace knows nothing of the second requirement of The Rite. It’s sacred.” You let out a petulant sigh. Don’t sass the queen, you willed, staring ahead at the water spilling over the edge of the balcony to a waterfall below.

Frigga cleared her throat. “The Rite ensures that those in line for succession can put another before themselves, represented through giving pleasure – and can capture their heart, their love—” “—Yes…I know that now,” you spat, eyes blazing towards her. “No thanks to any of you. Fandral had to tell me, of all people. Couldn’t resist rubbing it in my face that I’d fail Loki.”

Frigga’s face fell. But now you’d started, you couldn’t stop.

“And besides…Odin, Thor…they cheated the system, didn’t they? You and Odin were engaged! Sif was pretty much raised on a diet of Thor-infatuation.” You shook your head, heat flushing up your neck. “I didn’t say it was perfect,” Frigga said. “But the succession cannot be risked. And despite your current ingratiation, you are an outsider; you cannot understand these things.” “Oh,” you said, choosing to ignore her honey-drenched barb. “It can’t be risked, I see…unless it’s Loki, the one no one cares about?”

Despite her mask of diplomacy, irritation rippled on Frigga’s face.

“He had many options, and every opportunity,” she said through perfectly straight, gritted, teeth. “And he squandered every one of them. But something’s changed these past centuries in him. Something in these past weeks, too. A mystery, certainly.”

She stood, and the wet length of her glittering gown slopped across the floor. “Although I’m pleased to see you feel so strongly in his defence – it bodes well for his performance. Perhaps he’ll succeed after all.”

Your snorted. “And if I fail him, Fandral can step in: problem solved.” Frigga sighed, waving away an approaching nymph who skittered gratefully backwards.

“That’s not how it works,” Frigga said with a cloying sweetness, "- Loki would fail you: he would have failed to bring you pleasure, and capture your heart in a meaningful way. He only has one chance at fulfilling The Rite, at joining the succession. I did urge him to wait another 500 years but..."

She gave a delicate shrug. "And besides, in his haste to tarnish you…Fandral excluded himself from ever being eligible. The arousal of a god touched his skin. You should have seen his face when he realised he’d neglected to don the gloves in his pocket: pompous little oaf.”

A whirl of butterflies erupted in your gut. “So, you see, my dear…” Frigga tipped your chin up to meet her eyes. “You are my son’s only chance…”

You looked up at her: the glint in her beautiful irises – and for the first time you saw something more than the performance she presented to the court. Mischief. “My son’s…and those sweet little children.” A smile curled at her wine-stained lips. “And I hope you are prepared for the consequences of that.”

The silent, unbroken stare shattered as the doors burst open and Lagertha hobbled inside with an entourage of three. They held something in their arms like a dead snake, spread between them, covered in thick cotton and secured with the Asgardian royal seal in five places along its length.

Lagertha clapped her hands twice and you couldn’t help but smile at the irreverence on her face as she cast an imperious glance around the room. “There she is,” she said, waving you towards her. “Come, come – we haven’t got all day. Sun will be setting soon.”

You jumped up and scooted over, and immediately her surprisingly iron grip fastened to your bicep. “Loki sends his well wishes,” she hissed abruptly, “hopes his mother ain’t been too much of a cow.”

You pressed your lips together. “He’s alright? He’s not…” “Nervous? Course he is, dear. Near-on shitting himself. Not that he’d say that out loud, but I’ve known him a long time…the real him, like you do. Bless his silken hose. But now…we need to focus on you.”

Minutes passed in a blur as one of Lagertha’s deputy Weaving Crone who wasn’t quite so nobbled rolled out a small podium. You mounted it, following instructions to raise your arms and soon the dress was pulled over your head and in a heap on the floor.

A mirror was wheeled from somewhere, and behind your naked body you tried not to look at Frigga perched on a chaise, supping from a goblet.

Over your shoulder, the assistant crones were unpacking the snake-like thing. It must’ve been twenty feet long, and as it unfurled, your breath hitched. They held up the part which went over your arms, pacing forward reverently. It was as sheer as cobweb, tiny golden flecks weaved into the impossibly fine threads.

It slid up your skin like liquid moonlight. The fabric kissed your flesh like the graze of a lover, and beside you, Lagertha smiled.

You eyed your reflection warily. “How many people will see me in this?” “Just focus on the prince, dear.” “How many, Lagertha?” Her eyes flickered up to yours before taking a renewed interest in straightening the sash. “No more than twenty.” “Twenty?” you hissed. “I thought…I don’t know what I thought. Norns. Who are they?” “Odin, Frigga, Thor…some of the high gods; selected nobles to witness. It’s an honour, remember that. For them, as well as you.” You could swear the outline of your heartbeat was visible. “Oh my god…will they see everything?” “Not everything, child,” Lagertha whispered, untying the sash loop and re-assembling it; buying time. The robes sides covered your breasts but left a gap of bare skin in the centre, gathering at the naval before the flowing, split skirt began.

“It’s all very hush hush beforehand, so the participants can’t…skew things.” “Skew things?” You saw Lagertha’s lips roll together as she tried to dampen a laugh. Her eyes darted to Frigga and quickly back to you.

“Touch ‘emselves,” she said with a straight face.

“Focus on Loki, dear.” Her voice was as calming as poppy-seed tea. “I know what I see when I see it.” She ran a nobbled hand down the curve of your waist, smoothing the fabric.

You swallowed, looking at yourself in the mirror. “How will they know if I…if I love him? How will they know if I don't know?” Lagertha spun out the silence, fussing with the fabric at your breasts. “Focus on Loki, dear,” was all she said.

And soon, you were on the move again.

After his father’s ‘motivational’ speech, Loki felt no better. Although admittedly, he did feel slightly lighter when he’d left. Lagertha’s arrival had been the only bright spot in the darkness of his mood. She’d clothed in him in the same style of ceremonial garments expected from all participants in The Rite – far less grand than yours would be, but Loki’s held more elaborate stitching than his brother’s had done centuries before: tiny runes and charms woven into the hem with wishes that whispered when he moved. “Tell her…” he’d started, realising that he didn’t know what to say. He grumbled out some inane quip about his mother. Lagertha raised an eyebrow. “I know how you feel about her, silly boy,” she said under her breath, eyeing Thor snarfing down a third plate of cold meats like he’d been raised on the streets and not in a palace. "You can't fool old Lagertha."

Loki’s chest tightened: fighting the urge to deny it, fighting the urge to let his persona of bravado take hold. “I can’t love. Everyone’s always told me I’m not…made for it.” Lagertha’s laugh caught in her throat. She made a face. “Who? Him?” She yanked her head towards Thor leering covetously at a wheel of cheese. “Please,” she added under her breath. “And if she doesn’t love me?” Loki asked, voice crackling under the weight of the words.

Lagertha rolled her eyes. “It was a big ask in such a short time – any fool could see that, even your brother. But if you can…then maybe she can too.”

She shrugged, and patted his bare pecs twice. “I saw the way she looked at you when you came to get measured, and she couldn’t look away when you were playing with little Grisyna.”

Her eyebrow rose again. “Besides…if what she feels isn’t strong enough to fulfil The Rite…doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Doesn’t mean it isn’t worth exploring, tending.” “But the children," Loki hissed, ensuring he was out of Thor's earshot. "If I’m not in the succession, then if father finds out, he’ll—” Lagertha flapped a hand. “— We’ll figure out a way. We always have. Odin isn’t going to sweep in and decimate them – Frigga wouldn’t allow it…they’ll be shifted out somewhere, all nice and quiet so no one finds out what a bunch of unworthy vagabonds his court is.”

She reached up his neck and instinctually he stooped so her hands could cup his jaw.

“You are worthy of love, Loki Odinson. Giving and receiving,” she said quietly, searching his eyes. “No matter what some daft Rite says.”

“Brother you simply must try these prunes.”

Thor belched, pressing a fist to his mouth too late. Loki and Lagertha looked at him with matching expressions of disgust, and her hands fell from his jaw. Thor chuckled.

“Seems like your partner has competition for her place tonight,” Thor said, throwing a prune up and trying to catch it with his mouth. It hit off his eye and bounced to the floor. “I’ve been laying with gods since Odin was a sparkle in your grandfather’s eye, boy…I wouldn’t possibly qualify,” she said, gathering her things. She looked at Loki a final time, sharing a conspiratorial nod as Thor flushed pink. “Boy?!” Thor balked, as she shifted from the room with a quiet, purposeful grace. “Boy!?” he said again, marching to Loki. “That old witch is too familiar. I should have her removed from royal favour.” “You’ll do no such thing, brother,” Loki drawled, picking up a goblet of wine before setting it down again, untouched. “Who will make the garments that enchant your groin to look larger?” Thor’s cheeks began to turn violet. “That was supposed to be in confidence.” “Oh, dear.” Loki spun to his reflection, tilting his head. “Well, you’re lucky I’m very good at keeping secrets - if I choose to.”

Thor's lips pursed tight. Clearly, today would not be the one he’d break the habit of a lifetime and concoct a witty response. Loki’s gaze shifted back to himself.

The ceremonial Rite garment clung to every line of muscle like shimmering skin. It rippled at the merest breath; whether it was silver, or gold, or white depended entirely on the angle of the light. Bell sleeves draped from his wrists, hanging down to his mid-thighs and melting against his skin like dregs of foam into sand.

The fabric was split down his torso; cock on full display; sheer fabric leaving no inch of the skin beneath to the imagination. The hem of the robe brushed the floor as his bare feet shuffled, inspecting himself. He looked resplendent.

Loki sighed. “Fix my hair, will you? Or try, at least.”

A box rattled as Thor combed through a variety of pins. Loki rolled his eyes. “The gold one, with the emblem.” “Which emblem?” Thor asked, bored. “My emblem, you cretin.”

Thor worked in silence, and Loki was glad of it. His brother managed to gather the hair in a serviceable knot at the top of his head: fastened with the golden snake pin at its base. Loki’s cheekbones slashed deep shadows into his face, highlighting faint blue shadows under his eyes. The sun had almost set, and soon enough, there was a knock at the door. Thor squeezed his shoulder. “I wish you fortune, brother. May her heart be open.”

Loki waited for the quip about her legs being open too, but it didn’t come. And unlike the cowing pleasantries at last night’s feast, he felt a shiver of gratitude wrench up his spine at the sentiment.

“Thank you, brother,” he whispered, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. “I need it.”

The stone seemed to pulse beneath your feet.

You walked in procession: Frigga at the front, the Asgardian nymphs flanking you each holding a clutch of your train as the golden door grew closer. Goosebumps needled your arms beneath the silk-chiffon. ‘Just focus on the prince’, Lagertha had said. ‘Just focus on him’. Finally, the procession stopped. Frigga beat a fist on the door three times, and inside there was the muffled sound of trumpets.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Heraldry? Be serious.

The doors swung open. The hall was narrow, with padded benches lining the walls like one of those Midgard chapels and torches throwing throbbing amber hues on the floor. It was so polished that the gemstone stars set deep into the dark ceiling reflected on its surface, and your feet wobbled as the world slewed around you. “It’s alright,” the nymph to your side whispered, staring ahead. “Just keep walking.” You tried not to look at the shaded figures who populated the benches, but the curiosity was too much. Fandral sat with a sullen expression, glowering at your progress, the centre of his face marred with a purple bruise which spread to his eyes. You smirked. Frigga stopped, and stepped to the side.

And then, you inhaled sharply. Loki stood with his hands clasped behind his back: posture impeccable, body tight with braced muscles and his raven hair swept up in a devastating knot.

He wore a robe made of the same material as yours. In torchlight, it looked like pure gold – rippling with opacity in time with the flames. But still, his alabaster skin was visible beneath it. The god’s bare form was as flawless as you remembered from the night in the baths – it felt like a lifetime ago.

And yes, his cock really is that big, that perfect. You thought you might have imagined it. His face was set in ceremonial stiffness, but those eyes sparkled. He isn’t embarrassed. You decided – fuck it – you weren’t going to be embarrassed either. You opened your mouth to speak but, regrettably, Odin got in first. “Gods, nobles…you are welcome to the attempt of my second son – Loki of Asgard – at fulfilling The Rite of Successional Pleasure, and taking his place as one of the realm’s true-royal sons.”

Loki sidestepped as you found yourself guided by the nymphs holding your train, nudging you towards a raised platform at the end of the hall. A firm looking cushion sat on top of it: the deepest navy blue, scattered with silver thread.

You climbed each of the four steps, turning to the crowd of shadowed faces occupying the pews and trying to ignore the graze of your hardened nipped against the fabric. For Loki, you reminded yourself.

Looking up, you could make out a golden railing suspended from the ceiling, thin bunches of material hanging from it in thin sections.   Loki mounted the steps with easy grace, cock swinging, drawing your hand to his lips when he reached the top.

“You are well?” he murmured against the skin, looking up through his lashes. Your stomach roiled with the need to kiss him, but all you could muster was a nod. A silent understanding passed between you of how fucked-up this was. “It will be over soon,” he said, brows peaking. Your lips rolled together, but as words shaped your lips—

“Loki Odinson: God of Mischief and Lies, Son of Asgard.”

Odin’s voice rang around the cloisters like a war-cry. “I command you to prove yourself worthy of the people you seek to rule by bestowing unrequited pleasure on this woman. By doing so, you prove that you can put those you rule above yourself; that if you can cultivate their love, you may one day hold the crown.”

Cultivate their love. The phrase made a shiver tighten your shoulders.

A woman even older than Lagertha shuffled up the steps, and beside you, Loki stiffened. Red markings smeared down her face, paste crusting into deep wrinkles. She gathered your hands. Her eyes closed, face tipped to the feeling. The very air seemed to sharpen. “She is untouched by a god: she has known no seed, she is eligible for the ceremonial Rite,” the woman announced. Beside you, Loki’s muscles relaxed. A nymph tapped your shoulder and you drew your eyes from Loki’s. “My lady- we need to—” “—I can do it,” Loki cut in. He observed her visible panic with clear irritation. “Nowhere does it specify this in the ceremonial texts, I assure you.”

There was a hum from the crowd, but no objections. Loki ushered you to the bed. He leant down to your ear, and the warmth of his breath ignited fierce, obscene desire in your core. The crowd, forgotten. “Lie on the bed, so that your head rests near the top," he whispered, shivers running down your limbs. "Those two women will fan the train of your robe. It’s very important that you let them arrange it how it needs to be. You’ll be restrained, but don’t fear…it will not hurt. It’s only so—” “—I don’t touch myself,” you finished. Loki smirked. “Skew the results,” he replied, eyes glittering like the gems in the ceiling. His knuckles trailed down your bicep and for that moment, there was only you and Loki in the room. “Shall we?”

You did as he’d asked, settling on your back. True enough, the two nymphs spread the train of the robe until its huge length spilled down the steps and halfway up the narrow aisle. The rest of it pooled across the bed, pearling weave undulating in shadows. When they were done, your arms were spread and satin tied to your wrists; fastened somewhere down the sides.

And all the while, Loki stood where you’d left him – facing the crowd with what you imagined was a thousand-yard-stare.

One of the nymphs approached the long material draped from the ceiling. Loki brought a hand up, clicking his fingers. The material sprung to life, metal rings scraping on metal as it worked around the railing; surrounding the bed in a circle of thin, voile fabric.

You’d been prepared to repeat Lagertha’s mantra in your head at this point, but it turned out it wasn’t only easy to focus on Loki – it was impossible not to.

He drew a portion of the curtain to the side and slipped through: utterly beautiful in his regally-repressed lust. That lithe body shifted beneath the sheer robe as he knelt on the bed: one knee, then two. You squirmed, unable to help yourself. You were already wet, arousal sliding between your thighs.

“Kiss me?” you asked quietly.

His brow furrowed, eyes falling to his crotch. He was hard. It was the first time you’d seen him erect without any clothes on. Even in the baths, he’d been underwater. Saliva welled in your mouth, heart thumping. A bead of pre-cum had already swelled at the tip. “This is rather unorthodox,” he muttered. Whispers were audible from the world beyond the curtain. Loki swallowed. “But you look so…” He swallowed again, eyelids fluttering closed and hands falling to the mattress. “I’ll get seed on you. And we can’t have that. Not now.” “Not now,” you agreed as your legs parted.

Loki’s breath hitched as he drew the sliver of fabric covering your crotch to the side. The god lowered, lips fastening to your thigh as his hands scooped under your legs. You felt like you might catch fire.

He kissed up to the knee, lingering on each inch of skin like you might vanish. Your nerves were wild, and it wasn’t until the whine of his name had left your lips you even realised you'd done it. There was a ripple of amusement from the crowd, and one of Loki’s brows rose. “As you desire,” he murmured, before fastening softly to your clit.

A moan ripped from your throat.

The touch was almost nothing, but it was a lit match to sulphur. All the desire, the longing, the denial – it came rushing up your throat in that moan.

Loki’s tongue was silk. It smoothed over the folds of your sex, coating you in his wet enthusiasm. Every long, languid lap coupled with a groan of approval in his chest; the sharp angles of his jawline slotting perfectly between your spread legs.

“Loki,” you gasped, back arching while his fingers spread against your hips.

He suckled your clit, eyes opening with calculated precision to lock with your own. “Loki,” you chanted again, reaching to tangle a hand in his hair and failing. His mouth broke from your pussy. “Yes, little owl?” he hummed, chin glistening with your arousal, a playful dimple winking at the corner of his mouth. You huffed.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as the god chuckled against you thigh, wet, lazy kisses bitten into the flesh. His eyes met yours as he kissed over your mound, lowering completely before dragging his nose through your cunt and covering your clit again.

“Gods, yes….f-fuck,” you gasped.

There were more titters of mirth behind the curtain. But you couldn’t hear them – you could only hear Loki’s desperate sighs of need as he worshipped you, only feel the coil winding in your belly as orgasm began to crest; only sense the press of his fingertips pulling your hips deeper into his open mouth.

Suddenly someone shouted: another, and then another. They were hushed by a voice suspiciously like Frigga’s.

You turned your face unwillingly to the side, craning up, straining against the binds. The end of the train was just visible were it ended down aisle. You squinted. Where before it was a kind of white, now it was… “Green?” Loki’s palm pressed against your chest, sliding to cup your breast with a squeeze as you lowered.

“Ignore it,” he breathed: wet, hot. And then, he pushed your knees back. Your eyes widened as he towered above you, fingers spread on your calves like a chariot-rider. A single curl had come loose from the top-knot. Loki lapped from the base of your slit to the tip.

His movements were fluid, and wild – yet perfectly controlled. You’d heard tales of how he swept through battlefields like a whirlwind; slicing enemies down like they were paper; harnessing madness with the absolute precision. And this was like that. Except his battle was your pleasure – and gods, he was winning.

You’d begun to pant, and nonsensical words shaped your tongue as his movements became slower, massaging your cunt with slow, methodical licks. “Loki…” you pleaded, chest heaving, lips parted. And then, you came.

It was like nothing you’d ever known. Everything else had been a pebble of pleasure scattered on a beach – this was the cliff. It slammed into you, spine arching as he shifted to your thrashes; holding your hips fast to his lips as you spilled into him.

Somewhere, people were clapping – but all you could feel was him, guiding your sizzling pussy from its high with gentle, careful licks.

The binds at your wrists loosened and the moment they did, you sat up – audience be damned – and collided with his mouth.

The kiss was deep, wild: fingers digging into the tight hair at the base of his skull, his lips teased open by the demands of your tongue. The taste of you was thick: sweet, hot, dark with your deepest needs. It tasted like love - like trust.

Loki’s moan as you shifted onto his lap and dragged your pussy up his cock: scorching your insides with an unquenchable drive to have him buried inside you. “It’s done,” a creaking voice announced. You squinted through the curtain, panting. The old woman from before with red crusted on her face was standing, facing the crowd. “Loki Odinson has completed the Rite of Successional Pleasure.” A roar erupted through the darkness. Loki shook you by the shoulders, his face smeared with your cum a picture of fierce delight.

I did it, those eyes said.  

For a reason you couldn’t explain, your stomach dropped.

The curtain was torn aside and you toppled from Loki’s lap, pulling bundles of the robe’s length to cover your modesty. And then, you saw it. The train spilling down the steps and onto the aisle was almost completely green: a deep emerald, like it had been dipped in ink which soaked its material like the tide. As you watched, the stain grew closer, starting an ascent of the steps. “He has proven himself able to give pleasure to those who serve him,” the woman’s voice cut through the din. “He has proven himself able to earn their love, their allegiance.” Loki stood from the bed, his arms spread wide to the applause: robe open, cock still hard. You frowned, shuffling forwards and tugged the back of his robe. He glanced over his shoulder, expression faltering.

You loved him. He knew that now. Everyone did. So why did it feel like… A mob descended and suddenly Loki was absorbed into a mass of congratulatory back slaps and cheers. Thor stood at the side, clapping all-too-slowly. His eyes darted towards you, before falling to the ground.

‘A triumph,’ the voices in the crowd around Loki said as his smile widened. ‘Never seen anything like it…magnificent.’ They pulled him down the steps. 'One for the histories.'

“Loki." Your voice broke, and you shuffled forwards and stumbled over the tangle of your train. You thought you saw the flash of Loki’s profile; you thought you saw him trying to lurch back through the throng.

But fingers curled around your arms and pulled. The mossy perfume of the Asgardian nymphs stung your eyes and you wrenched against them, hearing a rip from below as someone tore the delicate robe with their feet.

More fingers fastened to your wrist and you yanked away before meeting a pair of piercing blue eyes. Sad eyes. “Let him go,” Frigga whispered firmly. “He has much to celebrate.” Everything else was white noise. Only the memory of Fandral’s smarmy voice loud in your head. ‘He’s trying to make you fall in love with him,’ he’d said. ‘And afterwards, he’ll discard you like the commoner you imagine yourself to be.’ You faltered at the scrunch of Frigga’s brow, strength leaving your limbs.

Her pitying gaze said more than platitudes ever could. Glancing at the door, shouts of jubilation faded in echoing wisps as the green spill completed its ascent up the enchanted fabric.

Loki’s colour: proof that he held your heart in the palm of his hand, proof that you were willing to give yourself to him body, and soul.

And Loki was gone.

A/N. Just trust me, okay? Please? 🙏❤️ Please please. Tags in comments x Next Chapter : Marked (Finale) The Rite Masterlist is here

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Its so funny to me when people behave similarly to their faves. How in character for a Leona enjoyer (🫵YOU) to be so casual about Malleus at best

Not sure if this comment is in reference to a particular a previous ask, but I did receive a description of myself that sounded vaguely like L*ona 😭

***PLEASE NOTE: Everything I express in this post is my own opinion and is in no way meant to disparage Malleus enjoyers.***

hcbsjsbwksks. To be fair 😅 I have disliked Malleus LONG before I ever liked L*ona (I disliked L*ona in the beginning as well) so things ending up this way is coincidental. I just don’t feel like Malleus should be heaped with praise for doing what is essentially the bare minimum that sounds like a L*onaism, I know. Genuinely do not understand the hype around him simply appearing and saying maybe a few lines for half of the main story or why every little thing must somehow relate back to him. (The latter point is more of a behavior from the fandom; I assume some of this comes from the Diasomnia content drought we experienced for some time and Malleus being a major yet mysterious part of the marketing… Even so, I find it the reactions to be overblown at times, especially when I can’t discuss certain story segments, events, or vignettes without someone coming in to aggressively defend Malleus’s honor.) L*ona voice) “You don’t impress me, lizard.”

I’ll give him credit where credit is due, but in most cases I think he hasn’t done enough to earn the copious amounts of love and respect he gets (both from the EN fandom and in-universe). When has he acted like a leader? When has he been humbled and accepted the consequences of his actions? It really is frustrating seeing someone who typically rests on his laurels get all the attention. He needs to be called out more for his missteps instead of those missteps largely being hand-waved away because of his power, status, age, race, or any other factor which separates him from his peers. I need to stop talking because the more I do it the more I sound like L*ona—

cbdksbkwkwkw So yeah, “casual” is the best it gets for Draconia until he can demonstrate to me otherwise. I of course don’t expect complete maturity from Malleus (or any Twst character), but it is still so unappealing to watch him remain stagnant, throwing temper tantrums, etc. I’m holding out for the end of book 7 to do something for his character, but I’m not super optimistic given his track record up to this point 😔 Malleus’s character development wouldn’t be that fast.

[buckrecs]

ur account is my absolute go to!!! any chance u could rec biker!bucky fics 🥺🥺🥺

Biker!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

ONESHOT

Wanted by @jadedvibes

You consider ending things with Bucky after seeing a girl come on to him, but it's not that easy, and you get a hard reminder about who he really wants in the clubhouse bathroom.

Best Friends? Nah. by @wicked-mind

Classic best friends don’t realize feelings for each other until someone points it out.

Business as Usual by @world-of-aus

Not My Babe by @avecra

After a nasty break up to a nearly two year relationship, you find yourself dragged to a bar by your best friend, though a familiar blue-eyed biker makes the best of your crappy situation.

rough around the edges by @wndalovebot

Let Me Love You Old School by @mysecretlittlelibrary

Bucky meets you at a diner and plans to sweep you completely off your feet.

The Bogeyman and Other Monstrosities by @pellucid-constellations

As the local biker club president, Bucky Barnes had a reputation for being tougher than nails and feared by many—he’d never be caught dead at a halloween street fair. Too bad his best girl always got what she wanted.

Waiting Game by @buckychrist

You knew being associated with one of the most notorious and dangerous biker gangs in the city was bad, let alone scandalously dating their kingpin in secret, but you never thought you’d have to face those consequences. Until now.

Home by @all1e23

Bucky runs into his ex at a winter carnival the MC is helping host, but she didn’t come alone.

Whatever It Takes by @sgtjbuccky

Bucky Barnes knows the way to drive you up the wall in frustration, fed up with it, you show him that you know how to play just the same.

deny me by @drewbarymore

In which you feel like Bucky’s ashamed of you.

Drunk, Dumped and Empty by @green-eyeddragonfanfiction

After a nasty breakup, you go out drinking. After an absolute creep hits on you, you’re saved from a concussion by a mysterious, kind man, who reveals himself to be Bucky Barnes. The bar you’re in is a bit suspect, but you never expected him to be head of a biker gang.

yayo by @sergeantxrogers

“I need you safe. I need you here, and I need you safe, and I need, God please, I need you to let me in, baby, just let me in and I promise I’ll make it all better,” his broken voice pleaded through the door.

Drabble by @fandoms-writings

Biker!Bucky x tattooed!reader

hot and cold by @bucksfucks

you & bucky had never gotten along, but when your ex-boyfriend ransom turns up at the same bar you’re at, bucky goes to every length to protect you.

How To Get Away With Murder by @empyreanwritings

Bucky was always good at helping you clean up your messes, which is why he doesn't bat an eye when you show up on his doorstep covered in your abusive boyfriend's blood.

Hush by @buckysknifecollection

Bucky finds a stray kitten but he doesn’t know anything about cats. A friendly librarian helps him out.

little favors by @onceuponastory

Since Bucky saved her from her shitty boss, Y/N hasn’t seen him again. For a while, she gets closer and closer to giving up hope. Until he comes back. And this time, he’s asking for her help.

SERIES

Swallow by @all1e23

Since he was fifteen years old, Bucky Barnes has only been sure of two things; the club should be the most essential thing in his life, and he’d burn it all down for you.

Delicate Edges by @wkemeup

Your family’s beloved flower shop was not the only thing you inherited when your parents passed. Trapped under a mountain of debt to the Hydra club, you bear the cost of your father’s desperate bargain. It’s only in moments when the charming Bucky Barnes walks into your shop that you can forget the cruelty of the biker clubs of this town. But a war is brewing. The border is crumbling. You're trapped in the middle. And Bucky will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

For The Best by @metalbuckaroo

Bucky is tired of waiting for you to realize what you're doing. He does the only thing he can think of to break the cycle.

White Horses by @whitewolfbumble

Kicked out of school and exiling yourself in a town time forgot, one little incident lands the sights of the locally infamous Avengers biker gang square on you. Wild horses run faster and there was no chance to turn back now.

Howlin’ For You by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

When Y/N gets an unreal deal on her first home, she wonders why her neighbor scared away all the other buyers. Despite being cautious, she wonders why the town has given Bucky Barnes a bad name.

Brotherhood & Bullets by @rookthorne

The 107th motorcycle club has been the protector of their collective hometown for many, many years - shouldering all the bloodshed and loss that came with it. Little did you know, you'd become the President's own twisted version of an angel on his shoulder; the tips of your angelic wings tinged red by your own demons.

Stars & Stripes, Studs & Spikes by @buckyismybicycle

The crew has always been tight, but you and Bucky are best of friends. When Bucky sees Brock's mark on you, he nearly loses it and wants to end Brock for good. But, there's something more important - keeping you safe.

call me baby by @cherryrogers

Returning to Brooklyn for the summer after a year of travelling from city to city, you hadn’t expected to find your best friend, Peggy Carter, hopelessly in love with a biker, and when she decided to introduce you to the rest of his club, you hadn’t expected to fall for one either — that was until you met one with pretty eyes and a habit of calling you baby.

Masterlist by @angrythingstarlight

Masterlist by @metalbuckaroo

[storm-angel989]

Valentino x Daughter reader where reader sneaks out and comes back in the middle of the night drunk and he catches us. What would happen? -Dont forgot to drink lots of water and get a lot of sleep love! 😁

As promised, another take on this request! Enjoy!

<3 Mandy

“You’re joking, right? She honestly thinks she’s slick?” Velvette asked as she watched the screen on her phone. 

The clock on her bedside stand flashed one am. Until moments ago, she had been curled up against her stain pillow, fast asleep, dreaming of her next big design. Unfortunately, her slumber was interrupted by Vox and Valentino on either side. She scowled and started to yell at them to get out of her bed. That is, until Vox pressed his phone into her hand.

“Valentino, your daughter is something fucking else,” she snorted.

Valentino looked annoyed. “My daughter? She’s your niece too.”

Vox snorted, “yeah, but look at that getup. That’s your kid, Valentino.”

Valentino groaned as he watched his scantily clad daughter slip out the back door of the V tower. “Where did her tracker say she was? Should we stage an intervention?”

Velvette rolled her eyes. “Nah. Let her think she’s so smart and catch her the second she walks in the door. That will scare her more than anything.” She settled herself back against the pillows. “Vox! Turn on the TV. You guys want to watch a movie while we wait for reader to come home?” 

The clock chimed three when reader finally stumbled into the lobby. Vox clicked the television over from the movie to the security cameras. 

“I should have made popcorn, Val. I can’t wait to see you parent this,” Velvette cackled. “Seriously, it’s like watching you when you were her age.”

Valentino huffed as he watched his daughter start to stumble towards the elevator. “First off, when I was her age I didn’t exactly have anywhere to sneak out from, let alone someone waiting for me at home. Second of…I would have done it better.” He pushed himself up out of bed. 

“Done it better? How so? Val, if I remember right…” Vox began. 

Valentino cut him off with a look. “Listen. Not in front of my kid, alright? Save those stories for another time. Like when she’s of legal drinking age.” 

He stepped into the kitchen just as the back door to the stairwell opened. He had to give her credit for riding the elevator up to the floor just below theirs and sneaking up the back staircase. It was a good plan, but with her Uncle being who he was, it wasn’t the best plan she could have come up with. 

He flicked on the lights and she stopped dead in her tracks, frozen like a deer in the headlights. 

“Papi? Wh-what are you doing up?” She slurred. “You..you’re supposed to be in bed.”

“I was. Care to explain why you’re not?”

She stared at him with the same drunken stare his clients often had. He sighed and stepped towards her.

“Tell me bebita, how much have you had to drink?”

She crossed her arms and stumbled to the side.  “Why’d you care Daddy?”

He looked at her in amusement. “More than enough then. Come on, sweetheart, let’s put you to bed. We can talk about consequences in the morning.” 

“I don’t want a consequence!” She muttered. 

Valentino held back a grin. “I know you don’t.” 

He followed her to her room. Velvette gave him a knowing look and slipped in before closing the door.

“Don’t worry Val, she’ll get her into her pjs safely. And here, have her drink this,” Vox suggested. He handed Valentino a cold bottle of red gatorade. “If it doesn’t immediately come back up, she’s probably fine.” 

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll be babysitting tonight anyway. Just in case,” Valentino grumbled as the door open. 

Vox shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“Boys, you can come in,” Velvette called. 

Valentino glanced to Vox and pushed open the door. Both broke out in grins at the sight that greeted them. Reader, curled up, head against her pillow, half on Velvette, who was propped up next to her in bed. Across the room, the TV glowed softly. 

“I think I’ll be the one on babysitting duty,” Velvette grumbled. “I only got her in bed if I promised her I’d have a sleepover.”

“Oh. She’s gonna hate that in the morning,” Valentino grinned. He set the bottle of gatorade on the nightstand. “Good luck with that.”

“Oh fuck you. Both of you, shoo. Next time, Valentino, it’s on you,” Velvette warned. “And Vox? Maybe vamp up security so there won’t be a next time.”

“Noted,” Vox smirked as he and Valentino turned to leave the room. “Night Vel.”

“You sure you got her? She is my…” Valentino began.

“If you say ‘my daughter’ like I haven’t spent the last sixteen years of my life with her, I’ll shoot you myself. Go. Get on. Shoo.” Velvette snapped. 

Valentino grinned but he made his way back to his bedroom. Now to think of a creative consequence.

[raythegray]

Toritsuka HCs because I love him (+ a little ToriSai)

HC 1) Until he met Saiki, he was always unsure of whether or not his powers were real, since there was no way to prove he wasn’t just hallucinating. He tried not to think about it too much, though.

HC 2) Him constantly touching people actually did start as just wanting to check if they were real – the faces in his flashback were mostly like that because that’s how he sees himself. Like – he was a small child in those flashbacks 😭 his ass should NOT have known or been thinking about sex. Unless…

HC 3) He was exposed to porn at a young age. Due to being a little kid and having mostly interacted with ghosts (who are notoriously nice and trustworthy in this world) Toritsuka was an almost overly trustworthy person. So when the nice man in the hoodie asked him to follow him so he could see something cool, of course he’d say yes!

…

…

Toritsuka hates men.

HC 4) His ability drove a wedge in his and his fathers relationship, and was one of the things that caused his dad to send him away. When he was younger, his dad always thought he was joking or had imaginary friends, so he didn’t bother to correct or scold him, sometimes pretending to talk to the ghosts too. But as he got older, Toritsuka didn’t drop it, and it started to bother his father. They were both Buddhists, and one of the main parts of Buddhism is the idea of reincarnation and karma, both of which would be disproven by the existence of ghosts. His father thought that Toritsuka was either crazy or making fun of him, and he told him so. Eventually he got sick of it and sent Toritsuka away.

HC 5) Toritsuka doesn’t know how to feel about religion. He was raised religious, always told that his actions would have eternal consequences, but his power told him otherwise. He respects the monks and appreciates all they’ve done, and he admires their way of life. But he can’t believe in it, and he doesn’t know what to do.

HC 6) He hates the ghosts just as much as he loves them. He loves how kind they are, but he hates that their existence tricked him into thinking everyone else would be the same. He loves the constant company, but hates the never ending noise.

HC 7) He both craves and despises silence. He’s never truly had a quiet moment (“nothing attracts ghosts more than a psychic” or whatever) so silence feels… wrong. Because the only time it’s quiet is when there aren’t any ghosts, and the only time there aren’t ghosts is because something bad is nearby. But he oh-so wishes for a quiet moment. A quiet moment where he knows he’s safe, knows that nothing bad will happen. He’ll never have that moment, he thinks.

HC 8) Him not being able to differentiate between people and ghosts bothers him a lot more than he lets on. We see it briefly when he thinks Nendo is a ghost and then freaks out when he isn’t, but not a lot after that. But yeah, I think that it actually kind of scares him. Like– what if he makes really good friends with someone, but then tries to give them a hug and BOOM! Ghost! Or worse yet, what if someone is following him but he doesn’t try and escape them because he thinks they’re a ghost (that hasn’t happened before, what? I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s fine. He’s completely and totally fine). He also hates how hard it is for him to make friends because eventually he’ll slip up and they’ll think he’s crazy. The only people that don’t think he’s crazy are his fellow psy-kickers, but they all hate him.

HC 9) He masks all his bad thoughts about himself with perverted ones when he’s around Saiki. He doesn’t want Saiki to know those things. (‘Does it count as lying? I mean– it’s only fair, because I’m honest about everything else! And anyways, it’s only because it’s my personal thoughts. If he asked me directly instead of searching my brain, I’d be honest..! Probably… Maybe…)

HC 10) In contrast to the previous one, other than his insecurities and whatnot, he’s a very honest person. Maybe that’s why his eyes are so pure, because he doesn’t try to hide anything. He’s more likely to hide the good things about himself than the bad.

HC 11) Nothing he does is out of truly malicious intent, not even the perverted stuff. He genuinely just doesn’t see anything wrong with it. I think that in the (near) future, he’ll finally realize how shitty some of the stuff he does is and stop. Obviously I’m not trying to excuse or condone his actions, so please don’t say that. He’s clearly meant to be an over exaggeration of a horny teenage boy, so I think that like those teenage boys, he’ll be able to grow tf up and learn to be better (probably with the help of Aiura and Saiki).

HC 12) Aiura and Toritsuka are best friends. Not one sided best friends, best friends. You can rip this from my cold, dead hands, but you’ll have to cut my fingers off to do so.

HC 13) He low-key had a crush on Saiki when they first met and is now just a little teensy-weensy bit in love with him. That’s definitely not why he was jealous of Aiura or Akechi. Nope. (It’s okay, Saiki might be a itty-bitty bit in love with him too, but that’s for another time)

HC 14) He’s scared of being replaced. He thinks that nothing about him is special enough to really stand out or be irreplaceable. His power? Basic. His personality? Basic. His interests? Basic. That’s what he thinks, at least.

Guys I might like Toritsuka a little bit idk… (it’s becoming a problem this whole show is consuming my brain)

[cleo-fox]

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part VII

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which your patience is finally rewarded. Chapter Warnings: Sex, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink. Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Getting through the next day is a challenge, to say the very least.

Your day typically includes a fair number of mindless tasks–peeling pounds of potatoes, kneading bread dough, scrubbing pots and pans, and so on. Normally, you don’t mind it; normally, it’s an opportunity for your mind to wander, a way to distract yourself from the neverending drudgery.

Today is a different story. Today, the only destination for your wandering mind is what awaits you at the end of the day. And what awaits you at the end of the day, well…those sorts of thoughts tend to leave you flustered and checking the time.

The others, thankfully, are too preoccupied with their own tasks to pay you much mind, which feels like a small blessing—you couldn’t even begin to come up with a believable excuse for your inattention.

You’ve taken care to maintain a sort of playful distance from Loki as a matter of protection—the more detached you appear, the less likely you are to be hurt when this ends. Not that you’re having any feelings you need to protect yourself from, of course—this is just a precaution. The practical part of you knows that you should probably wait a little after dark before making your way to his chambers. Unfortunately, the part of you that has been anticipating this all day (to say nothing of the last three) is not particularly inclined to listen to practical advice; consequently it is barely dark when you arrive at his chamber doors.

He notices. Of course.

“You’re awfully early,” he says as he lets you in, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“Yesterday you scolded me for being late. Today I am too early,” you say, arching an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps the problem is that you are too particular, your highness.”

“An artful deflection,” he says, taking your hand and leading you to the bedroom. “There’s no shame in admitting you couldn’t wait for me to ravish you.”

A huff of a laugh escapes your lips and you give him a look. “That’s awfully bold of you.”

You say this largely to bait him and he gives you a catlike smile as you come to a stop in the bedroom. He looks you up and down and wets his lips. “I suspect I’ll find you slick and aching under your skirts.”

He’s right, though you don’t intend to admit it. You simply raise your eyebrow and he smiles like he knows exactly what you’re hiding. Bastard.

“And similarly—” his voice drops as he guides your hand to the front of his trousers, “I’ve been contending with this for much of the day.”

His cock is hard and straining against the material of his trousers, which only fans the ache between your thighs. 

“Oh.” You wish you had something clever to say, but lust has made your brain pleasantly foggy. You run your hand along the length of him and he watches you with hooded eyes, the slight intake of breath his only tell. You move to undo his trousers and his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he says. “I want to take my time with you.”

As much as you want him to finally, finally take you, the thought of him taking his time is also wildly appealing. His eyes remain hooded as he trails his fingertips down the curve of your jaw, across your lips, along the column of your throat and down to your collarbones. His touch is light and reverent, like he wants to know every part of you and commit it to memory. It’s entirely chaste, but still somehow erotic and you can’t hide the way that you tremble in the wake of his gentle caress.

His fingertips trail down your sternum, skimming along your ribcage, then down the sides of your waist to your hips. He pauses for a moment before reversing his course. He does this several times before your resolve begins to waver.

“Loki.” Your voice is a strained whisper.

He brushes his lips against your forehead, his fingertips still following that light and teasing path. You tilt your head up in the hope that he’ll kiss you; instead, his lips ghost against yours, pulling away before you can draw him deeper.

His light touches and barely there kisses are inspiring a specific sort of madness in you, one that feels particularly unbearable after three days of waiting. After another brief pass of your lips, it’s enough to override your remaining shred of pride and self-control.

“Kiss me,” you breathe.

The flash of a wicked smile makes you wonder if this was merely another ploy to make you admit to wanting him, but the thought is fleeting and dissipates completely when he finally brings his lips to yours.

This is different from the other times he’s kissed you—it’s deeper, more searching, hungry. You wind your arms around his neck, twining your fingers in his hair and pressing yourself against him. His hands slide along your hips to the buttons at the back of your dress, nimbly slipping them free, trailing his fingertips down your spine as he goes. You release your hold on his hair to help him pull your dress off, leaving it to pool on the floor at your feet. Your hands slide to his tunic, tugging insistently at the fabric until he obliges you and breaks away long enough to pull it up and over his head. Your shift and undergarments are next to go, joining the other clothes on the floor in quick succession.

He pulls you back to him and the heat of his bare chest pressing against yours feels so good that you almost don’t notice that he’s walking you backwards toward the bed until you feel the mattress brush against the backs of your legs.

“On the bed,” he says roughly. His voice is commanding and stern and it goes straight to your aching cunt.

You slide onto the bed, relishing the feel of silk against your bare skin, your eyes locked on Loki as he starts removing his trousers. He looks like something out of a figure drawing, all lean muscles and understated strength. Your eyes drop to his cock as he removes his trousers. He is achingly hard, the tip flushed. You can feel yourself tense in delicious anticipation of what he will feel like buried to the hilt inside of you.

Your gaze trails back up to his face and you find that he is looking at you with the same sort of appraising, lustful look. His gaze roams over your breasts and down to your hips and back again before he finally meets your eyes.

“You look so pretty in my bed,” he says. “Even better than I imagined.”

“Were you not paying attention? I’ve been in your bed these past few nights,” you say.

“Not like this,” he says. “Not bare and waiting for me to fuck you into the mattress.”

You shiver, but you manage a sardonic smile. “To be clear, I wanted that last night and the two nights before. You simply chose to be a tease about it.”

“Trust me, darling,” he says, his gaze dark and hungry, “I’m about to make it up to you.”

You lick your lips and smirk. “Prove it to me, then.”

He allows himself one wicked grin before he crawls up the bed on top of you, looking as intent and hungry as a caged panther stalking its next meal.

You inhale sharply at the first brush of his bare skin against yours. He lowers himself on top of you, his cock resting hard and heavy against your stomach. You’re fairly certain you’ve never wanted him as much as you do right now. He leans in and kisses you deeply, his fingertips stroking along the curve of your jaw and the column of your throat before wandering lower to cup and caress your breasts.

You wrap your legs around his waist, arching against him and trying to angle your hips so that his cock rubs against you. His right hand trails down your body, pausing briefly at your hip to hold you in place.

“So eager, so slick,” he purrs. He kisses you again and you feel him take his cock in his hand and drag it in a slow circuit from your clit to your entrance and back again. You moan into his mouth  and he chuckles. “It takes so little to soften that sharp tongue.”

You arch your back and press your breasts against his chest, your hands twining in his hair. He strokes his cock along you again, like he’s getting ready to fuck you properly and put an end to your aching need. You rock your hips forward, trying to encourage him.

But the moment you feel him smile against your mouth, you want to kick yourself. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

And indeed, he begins kissing a leisurely path down your neck mere seconds later.

“Loki,” you groan as he begins slowly easing his way down your body.

“I need to get you ready for me, darling,” he murmurs, sliding his tongue over the curve of your right breast.

“I’ve been ready for the last three d—”

You gasp as his teeth lightly graze your nipple, his tongue darting out to sweep over the sensitive skin before drawing it gently into his mouth and sucking as his hand cups your other breast, fingers gently rolling and pinching your nipple until it becomes pebbled and hard.

“I do so enjoy quieting that wicked tongue,” he murmurs.

You open your mouth to say something, but Loki is quicker, sucking your nipple back into his mouth, teasing it mercilessly with his teeth while his hand redoubles its efforts with your other breast. Your complaint fades away into a whimper that would be embarrassing if you had the capacity to care about anything beyond his mouth and hands. Your hands tangle in his hair, your hips rocking fruitlessly as you try to find friction that evades you as he lavishes attention on your breasts.

No amount of pleading seems to persuade him to go any faster, but eventually, he begins slowly kissing his way down your body, trailing his lips along your ribs, then down your stomach and to your hips. He looks up at you from in between your spread legs and you swear you can feel your arousal practically dripping out of you when he gives you that hungry smile.

He brings a single forefinger to the very top of your slit, his gaze locked on your face. Your breath hitches.

His finger skims but does not part your folds. It’s a soft, barely there touch that makes your aching cunt clench tightly around nothing. He takes his hand away and brings his face closer and for a moment, you think he’s finally going to give you some relief, but instead, he repeats that same feather light gesture with his lips, lightly pressing closed mouth kisses along the very edge of your slit.

He looks up at you, his eyes hooded and hazy with lust, though not so hazy that you think he’s lost any amount of control. He didn’t even really touch you, but you can still see a faint glint of moisture on his lips from how wet you are.

He licks his lips and your resolve breaks, abruptly and completely. 

“Loki, please.”

He draws back slightly, his fingertips grazing your folds as he parts you gently, staring greedily at your exposed cunt.

“Look at you,” he breathes, his voice a low, dark purr. “Absolutely soaked and begging for me.”

You whimper.

“Such a pretty, needy cunt.” He licks his lips again and looks back up at you. “Shall I taste you, or do you want my fingers?”

Whatever shred of pride you still possess has long since vanished, your entire focus zeroing in on the throbbing ache between your legs. “Both,” you say, without a thought.

He raises an eyebrow, but there’s a spark of delight in his eyes. “Greedy girl. Do you think you deserve it? You’ve been awfully pert.”

“Loki, please,” you whimper. “I need you.”

“You need me?” he says, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Darling, you have me, I’m right here.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you say.

“And what did you mean?” His voice is low, the warm exhale of his breath lightly brushing against your folds.

He’s played this game before, making you say exactly what it is that you want, no matter how filthy or indecent it may be. The prideful part of you isn’t fond of letting him win, but this is largely overshadowed by the desire that’s coiling like a snake in your belly and making you desperate.

You lick your lips. “I want you to put your mouth on me. I want to come for you.”

This particular turn of phrase seems to stir something in him—he gives you a wicked smile that is almost feral, his eyes darkening with lust. Slowly, he lowers his lips to just above your clit, pressing another chaste kiss against you, drawing forth another whimper from your lips.

“Say my name,” he breathes against your cunt.

“Loki, please.”

You can feel him smile just before the warm blade of his tongue presses forward, parting your folds in one long stroke.

You are so slick and sensitive and his mouth is so warm and perfect that for a moment, all you can do is moan as his tongue lightly brushes against your clit. He seems determined to continue things on his terms, working at a slow, leisurely pace that is enough to nudge you closer, but not quite enough to pull you over the edge. After a few minutes of just his tongue, he slides one finger inside of you, curling it so that it brushes ever so slightly against that soft, tender spot that can so easily unravel you. It’s not enough to make you see stars, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch and your hands tangle in his hair to pull him closer. He chuckles against you, but does not change his pace.

Just when you think you may start to go mad with wanting, a second finger joins the first, his fingers drawing sparks from where they graze against that spot inside you.

“Loki.”

His tongue flattens against your clit and his fingers curl just a little bit more.

You are panting, your heels digging into his back as he draws you closer to the starry oblivion that you’ve been thinking about all day. You are a mess of half whimpered pleas and breathy moans as he keeps you balanced on the edge, his fingers gradually curling more to rub that aching spot inside you as his tongue works your clit. The knot in your hips is impossibly tight, the heat in your belly smoldering. Distantly, you wonder how much more of this you can take.

He sucks your clit gently into his mouth as his fingers simultaneously hit that spot in just the right way and all at once, the heat and ache inside of you reaches its peak and breaks like a wave on the shore and you utterly unravel.

At first, you can’t even make a noise—all of your energy and focus is zeroed in on the way that your muscles are spasming and releasing and everything feels so good. But then that next wave pulls an obscene moan from deep in your chest and your fingers grip his hair so tightly that you think it might actually hurt, but he merely purrs against you as his tongue continues to stroke your clit.

You’re not sure how he manages to draw it out for so long, but it seems to last forever, every part of you fizzing like you’re filled with champagne and stardust. Eventually, the tingling pleasure of the aftershocks blurs into your second orgasm, stealing your breath and bending your body upwards like a bow pulled taut as you moan Loki’s name like a prayer.

He doesn’t stop, though—not until he draws a third one from you, making you cry out so loudly you almost expect half the palace to come running.

He finally lifts his head as you come down from your high, his lips and chin coated in the evidence of your arousal as he gives you a ravenous smile. “You taste so sweet when you come,” he says. “I could stay between your legs for days.”

Just the thought of that makes you shiver and his smile widens. You reach for him, arms trembling and you’re a little surprised when he obliges, crawling up your body and into your arms with little more than a pleased smirk. Your arms wind around him as he settles on top of you, his cock pressing enticingly against your stomach. He kisses you and you melt, your hands moving again to tangle in his hair.

“Please,” you breathe when he brings his lips to your earlobe, gently worrying it between his teeth, “don’t make me wait any longer. I need you so badly.”

His hand slides down your thigh, hitching your leg up over his hip. “You’ve had my mouth and my fingers and now you want my cock?” he says, pressing a kiss just behind your ear.

“Yes.” There’s no point in denying it, not when he’s felt how wet you are, not when he’s so close to finally taking you, not when you still want him so badly you ache.

“Hmm.” He shifts slightly so that his hips align with yours, dragging his cock along your sopping cunt until his full length is covered in your slickness. He frowns thoughtfully, like he’s genuinely weighing whether you want him, whether you’re ready, though that mischievous glint in his eye is a dead giveaway of his true intentions.

You decide to try flattery once more. “Please, Loki. I need you.”

You can feel him, hot and hard, poised at your entrance. When he doesn’t immediately push forward, you are not surprised to find him smirking down at you. And as much as you need him, as desperate as you feel, you can’t help but scowl at him.

“Must you always be an insufferable tease?” you say.

“I’m merely savoring the moment,” he says, though the spark in his eyes says otherwise.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure.”

“There’s a lot to savor.” He presses his hips forward ever so slightly and you gasp as the tip of his cock slides into you. “That right there,” he says huskily. “That lovely little sigh.”

You try and thrust your hips forward, but he’s got you pinned against the mattress. “Loki,” you whine.

“Be good.” He creeps forward another inch and his eyes close, his breath hitching. “Norns, you’re tight.”

This gives you an idea and you intentionally clench your muscles around him. He’s not expecting that and he groans, his teasing expression yielding for a moment to a pure, unguarded pleasure. His eyes refocus and he grins at you. “Vixen,” he says.

“Stop teasing and fuck me properly,” you say.

“Ah, but you make such pretty sounds for me when I tease you,” he says, pressing forward another inch. A breathy whine escapes from your lungs before you can stop it and he indulges in a catlike grin. “Just like that.”

“Loki.”

“Yes, darling?” He says this with a smirk, like he still has the upper hand.

“Fuck me. Please.”

“Such filth coming out of that pretty mouth,” he says, his hips pressing forward another inch. You tense your muscles again and his groan is delicious. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say.

“Filthy girl.” But at last there’s a crack in his impeccable composure and he slides forward those last few inches.

Your head tips back and you moan as his hips finally press flush against you. You knew he was big, but you still weren’t entirely prepared for how full you would feel, how he seems to press against every sensitive part of your cunt. His fingers and mouth were incredible but his cock may very well send you to another plane of existence entirely.

You are so distracted by how good he feels that you’re almost taken aback when he begins to move. He feels so good when he’s seated fully inside of you, but when he’s moving—when he’s moving, it steals your breath away and sends sparks shooting all over your body, even at the slow teasing pace that he’s currently employing to try and drive you wild.

It’s so good. It’s so good and you don’t want it to end, but after so many days of teasing and the three orgasms he’s drawn from you tonight, you can feel your end quickly approaching, inevitable as thunder after lightning. You try to fight it off, wanting to make this last as long as possible.

“You’re holding back,” he says as you struggle to keep yourself on the edge. “I want to feel you come.”

“Don’t want it to end,” you manage to gasp.

To your surprise, he gives a low chuckle. “If you think I’ll be done fucking your exquisite cunt so soon, you are quite mistaken.” His eyes darken as he gives a particularly sensual thrust that makes you keen. “Now be a good girl and come on my cock.”

You try to hold back even so, but it’s no use: his words speak to some hungry, feral part of you and your orgasm overtakes you, sudden and swift as a riptide pulling you under. His pace never falters, his hips continuing to move in steady, powerful thrusts as you shudder around him. You ache for him even as he fills you, his cock rubbing against all the sensitive places deep inside you and drawing out a raw, primal pleasure that makes you cling to him, your fingernails painting long scratches down his back.

You expect your orgasm to drive him quickly to his own end, despite his assertion otherwise. His eyes flutter shut when you come and he allows himself a soft groan, but his pace remains steady and even as he fucks you through your orgasm. As you tremble through the aftershocks, he offers you a rather wicked grin and leans in to kiss you.

“You’re going to do that again for me,” he says against your lips. His husky voice alone is enough to make you shiver.

“Do you think you can manage it, your highness?” The effect of this retort is immediately ruined by the obscene moan that falls unbidden from your lips as he pulls your right leg up higher and presses even deeper inside of you, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit.

“Your mouth says one thing, but your cunt—” He punctuates this with a rough thrust that makes you keen, “—says something else entirely. I can feel you fluttering around me.”

You whimper as his too clever fingers stroke your sensitive clit and slow, deep thrusts drive you closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes,” he breathes, his gaze intent on your face. “Give into it. Let me feel you.”

Your back arches and your nails dig into his shoulders. It’s only a matter of time, a few more thrusts. His eyes glitter like he knows this. His fingers press against your clit.

“Come for me,” he says and you do without hesitation, careening headfirst into another starry euphoria. Your cries mingle with a low groan from him, but his pace never falters as you tremble around the thick girth of his cock.

His cool facade is starting to falter, if the desperate way that he kisses you is any indication. His fingers leave your clit so he can shift his position above you, putting his weight on his elbows to drive himself even deeper inside of you. His pace is still slow and steady, but there’s a slight wildness in his movements that makes you arch up into him. His hands roam your body, gripping your hips, kneading and squeezing your breasts. His mouth covers yours, his teeth nipping at your lower lip, his tongue sliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm as his cock sliding in and out of your cunt. He overwhelms your senses in the best way possible and all you can do is wrap yourself around him and meet the maddening rock of his hips with your own.

He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes are slightly unfocused in a way that makes you ache because you immediately know he’s close—and the fact that he’s close because of you is incredibly arousing.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he says, his voice rough. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you breathe, tensing around him.

“You’re going to come with me,” he says, and despite the wanting in his voice and the desperate hunger in his eyes, his tone is still commanding and sure in a way that makes you shiver in anticipation.

And despite the fact that he’s already made you come so many times already, you know that he’s right.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he says, somehow managing another one of those wicked grins that goes straight to your cunt. “You’re going to come on my cock like a good girl while I spill myself in your tight, wet cunt.”

“Yes.” Your brain works in fits and starts now as he takes you higher and higher. Yes. Yes. More. Please. More. Please. Yes…

He grinds his hips into you, his pubic bone pressing against your clit in a way that makes you see stars.

“Come with me.”

Bliss overtakes you and you come hard, only this time, it’s different because this time Loki is cursing and moaning with you and shuddering through his own orgasm and that alone seems to extend yours as he spills himself deep inside you. His thrusts become erratic and slow until he finally stills, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

The weight of him is comforting and solid, anchoring you as you slowly regain control of your senses. You can’t help but feel a small flash of pride over the way his breath is still a little ragged against your neck, how he stays pressed inside you, how you can feel his heart pounding hard.

After a few minutes, he lifts his head. You expect him to set about the business of cleaning up, but instead, he kisses you. It’s surprisingly tender and slow, especially for a tryst that you fully expect he’ll end tonight. Now that he’s had you, surely there are others who will occupy his attention.

The thought makes you a little sad, though you don’t like admitting it.

He pulls back slightly after a moment. “I believe I’ve properly atoned for teasing you these last few days,” he says with a lazy smirk.

You raise an eyebrow. “There was an awful lot of teasing, your highness.”

He grins. “I suppose I’ll have to try harder tomorrow.”

It’s probably not a good idea to continue this, but it’s more difficult to keep yourself from smiling as he kisses you again.

Next chapter

[ilikekidsshows]

I know you’re more of an “Adrien centered” criticism/defense blog but I am curious about your opinion on this.

What is your opinion on the “Chloe deserves/doesn’t deserve redemption” situation or the “Chloe wasn’t meant to be redeemed and there for what happened to her is fair game” stance?

---

My thoughts on the Chloé situation are kinda complex. Back when the show only had three seasons, I did think Chloé’s character trajectory made sense. Sure, she’d saved people when she was acting as Queen Bee, but she still treated her classmates the same. In fact, she started treating Sabrina worse than before because she considered being anything other than Queen Bee hanging out with Ladybug was slumming it. For me, it really was a 50/50 on whether or not Chloé would be redeemed or fall into actual villainy.

Because, here’s how I saw it: I didn’t think Chloé was an actual villain-villain in seasons 1-3. She was Marinette’s school nemesis and a decidedly defanged one. Marinette was scared of her exactly once, in Origins, a flashback episode meant to showcase how much more confident being Ladybug has made Marinette that she views Chloé as small potatoes. The season 3 finale could have been the culmination of an arc where Marinette accidentally causes Chloé to become a villain and ally herself with Hawk Moth in the future.

And it would have been caused by Marinette, even if unintentionally. It would have shown how good intentions can have unforeseen consequences, especially when you don’t know what you’re helping someone with or what they want before you do so. Marinette doesn’t really understand what she’s trying to help people with whenever she does try to be helpful, because she assumes what they want and need instead of asking and listening (like in Reflekdoll, the latter part of Ikari Gozen and Quilt Trip). Many heroes create their own villains this way, and Marinette could have done so as well since she was the one to strengthen Chloé’s bond with the person who taught her to be an entitled bully and then she dragged her feet on whether or not she could use the Bee Miraculous.

The season 3 finale shows Chloé brought to a new low. The following New York Special gives us a glimpse of a Chloé who is withdrawn, like she’s reconsidering her life. This could have led to Chloé deciding that she would have revenge on Ladybug for leading her on and then dumping her (as a teammate). But, it could have also have led to Chloé realizing that, while Ladybug wasn’t her friend, Sabrina was, and she pushed the latter away in pursuit of being the Bee Miraculous holder. Chloé could have gained new insight that would have led her to start working on how she treats those closest to her, finally starting to treat her schoolmates with decency and, maybe, with time, kindness.

Then season 4 came along and all that foreshadowed introspection was dumped out the window in favor of having Chloé do cartoonishly stupid school antagonist character things. In season 4, where this kind of hijinks are so incredibly low-stakes that it’s both laughable to see, and laughable to realize the writers think this is good television.

I think the writers realized this too, because then comes season 5 with the retcon that, actually, Chloé is an evil mastermind who is so heinous that she orchestrated a traumatic event that led to Marintette’s character flaws and therefore Marinette should be forgiven for her flaws and Chloé blamed for them. Never mind the damage this episode does to Kim’s character, turning him from an oblivious to jock to a total creep, it also tries to convince us that Chloé is this big threat despite that it happened at least a year ago in-universe and that she had never done anything even close to this bad since. It just makes no sense when contrasting with the early seasons, where Marinette treats Kim as just one classmate among many and Chloé as a low-threat nuisance.

The problem was that they decided that they didn’t want Marinette to hold any responsibility for anything she does anymore. This is why they wrote the episode ‘Derision’, to absolve Marinette of all responsibility in her stalking of Adrien, even though them making it a serious trauma response instead of a cartoon-logic joke means that now she absolutely should take responsibility for her behavior and get therapy. Because they wanted to give Marinette a retroactive justification, the episode just doesn’t mesh with the rest of the show. But, like, the writing in Miraculous seasons 4-5 is so bad it’s of course never just about a single episode, it’s all about how the Miraculous writers don’t know how to build up arcs that then come to a logical conclusion, which is why all their story arcs’ endings fall flat and leave viewers thinking “where’s the rest of it?” when they’re not considered one of the worst finales for a show.

Basically, making Chloé a villain could have worked, but it would have required her getting built up into such a status. The Chloé of seasons 1-3 isn’t a monster, she’s a brat. But the writers didn’t want to do that work despite wanting that story, thinking some repetitive episodes of Chloé being a brat some more will accomplish the same thing. So, Chloé just keeps performing petty bullying until the writers think the viewers forgot that she’s like this because of her mother, who Marinette reunited her with, all the while pretending the woman who calls her by the wrong name to her face on purpose has done nothing wrong as a parent other than “leave”, before she randomly turns on Miss Bustier and starts working with Hawk Moth for supposedly no reason in Collusion.

And, like, the thing that really grinds my gears is that it worked. So many people forgot that Chloé’s bullying was modeled to her by her mother, who Marinette reunited her with. Marinette repeatedly tries to fix abused kids’ relationships to their parents with no regard for how that could harm them in the long run (Adrien, Chloé and Kagami). It’s a pattern, but the show thinks Marinette’s missteps shouldn’t be pointed out because she “had good intentions” when her intentions in the instances of The Bubbler, Style Queen and Ikari Gozen were nothing more than: “Well, my parents are great, so these kids are obviously safe with the parents I just saw make them miserable!” The accusing finger for Chloé’s behavior should be pointed at Audrey. Marinette being “triumphant” over Chloé because Chloé is now stuck with the abuser who made her is already iffy without the added grossness of Marinette being the one who reunited them in the first place.

[dragonwitch77]

Tiny

Chapter 15: The Toad

“And then Banban said ‘You’re right, that doesn’t sound fair at all! How are we going to fix this problem, Banbaleena?’ Banbaleena thought for a moment. Then she smiled a bright smile and opened her mouth to say–Scylla!”

“Eh?” Scylla cooed, pulling on the page from the storybook Bittergiggle was reading aloud from.

“No no no no don’t tug the–!” The paper in Scylla’s hand produced a tear in the page as the young child tugged on it. “… page.” Bittergiggle sighed bitterly, taking the torn page out of Scylla’s grasp. “And that’s the fifth page you’ve torn this week.”

Scylla let out a small giggle, oblivious to Bittergiggle’s frustration. She looked about the room, looking around the hideout with an odd amount of energy Bittergiggle hadn’t seen before.

“What’s with you lately, kiddo? You’re usually not this energetic.” Scylla blew a small raspberry at him. “… I knew I’d regret teaching you that.”

Scylla giggled, grabbing one of her feet and trying to proceed sticking it in her mouth.

“Annnd you’re resorting back to cannibalism.” The jester rolled his eyes, pulling the foot away from Scylla’s mouth.

“She’s been getting quite restless these last couple of days.” Allen spoke up, watching Scylla grab Bittergiggle’s hand and proceed to try and climb it. “I think she might want to try walking soon.”

“Walking? Are you crazy? She hasn’t even learned how to crawl yet.” Houdini huffed.

“Oh god, don’t mention crawling.” Bittergiggle shivered. He was NOT ready for Scylla to be moving around on her own. That could only spell disaster.

A tiny jester running around the place? That was sure to make Scylla’s existence a hundred times harder. He needed her to be kept hidden, not prorade around the facility for the humans to find her!

“Oo! Oo!” Scylla reached one of her little hands out, wiggling her fingers at a book that laid in the pile on the floor.

“Oooh no. You’re not getting your hands on that.” The jester pushed away the pile. “You’ve already torn out plenty of pages for today.” He motioned to another pile of torn pages next to the books. Pages that Scylla had gleefully pulled out. “I should think that you have something against books if this is how you treat them.” He gave Scylla’s cheek a small poke. “I went to great lengths to get them for you and you just destroy them like–Ow!” 

Bittergiggle yanked his finger away, staring at Scylla in surprise. “Did you just bite me?” The tiny jester had a big grin on her face, sticking her tongue out and blowing another raspberry. Bittergiggle narrowed his eyes at her, feeling slightly frustrated at the young Mutant. “Alright, I think you need to go in your box.”

“Uh oh, someone’s in trouble.” Houdini snickered, earning a small glare from Allen as Bittergiggle pulled out a box from under the table and placed Scylla inside. The young jester looked about her new environment, looking up at Bittergiggle and pouted. She lifted her little arms up, making grabbing motions at the larger jester.

“You can come out when you learn to stop tearing pages out of books.”

Scylla let out a small whine, pressing her face against the rim of the box and gave a sad pout at the jester.

“Don’t give me that look. You know what you did was wrong, so you have to deal with the consequences.” Getting up, Bittergiggle looked at the damaged books with a sigh. “And that was the last good book too.”

Which meant he’d need to go out and get more. Shouldn’t be too difficult. He’d just need to swing on by the Exercise Sector and look through the boxes. If none of those had any books, he’d just swipe one from a human. They would hardly notice!

“Well I know what I’m doing today.” He looked at the clones, glaring at them. “Make sure she stays in time out by the time I get back.”

“What do you take us for? Wimps?” Houdini huffed, crossing his arms. “We’re not going to take her out of the box.”

“You better not. Otherwise, she’ll never learn.” Giving the toddler a pat on the head, Bittergiggle left the hideout.

🧪

Scylla let out a whine as the doors closed, leaving her here with the two not-Big Ones, who she dubbed as ‘Meanie’ and ‘Shouty’.

She didn’t like Meanie and Shouty. They were always loud and weren’t any fun like the Big One. And she really didn’t like them when she was left alone with them when Big One went away.

She wanted the Big One.

“Aaaawwww. Look who’s being all pouty.” Meanie said, looking down at her from way up high. She babbled up at Meanie, slapping her hand on the prison Big One meanly put her in. “Sorry, Scylla. But you heard the boss. You’re not allowed out until he gets back.”

But that would take forever!

“Ababab ba na!”

“You make a solid argument. But I can’t comply with your wishes.”

“Don’t let her out.” Shouty spoke up, and Meanie gave them a mean look.

“I’m not gonna let her out!”

“You were about to.”

“No I wasn’t!”

“Well you looked like you might!”

“I wasn’t going to! Why are you accusing me?!” 

“Accusing?! I’m not accusing! I’m just stating that you looked like you wanted to take her out of the box!”

“I wasn’t going to take her out of the box! Why would I take her out?!”

“Well you’re the one with the arms!”

“Oh so you immediately assumed that since I have arms I should let her out?”

“That’s not what I said!”

“You implied it!”

“You’re the only one to take her out so–”

Meanie and Shouty were loud again.

She didn’t like them.

With a small huff, she tried to get out of her no-no time.

She didn’t like no-no time. No-no time is when Big One put her in when Big One thought she did something bad, which she didn’t!

Shaking her body in no-no time, Scylla whined as she tried to escape, not noticing that when she hit her body against the side of the box, it began to tilt. Scylla shuffled and huffed as she squirmed about, moving about so much that when she threw her body at the box, it tilted over, and the small jester rolled out onto the floor dizzy.

The tiny jester found herself staring up at the ceiling, blinking in confusion as to how she got here. Meanie and Shouty were still being loud, so Scylla decided that it was time to find Big One. She looked about until she found the door that Big One had gone through.

It was big.

And far.

It was a good thing she knew how to roll!

Big One had taught her how to roll around when she felt extra happy, and he often rolled her about on the floor before bed time.

It took a few twists and a lot of rolling, but Scylla managed to get to the door. And fortune seemed to be on her side as it slid open, allowing the young Mutant to roll out of the room. She rolled and rolled and rolled and rolled straight into a wall.

Scylla gazed up at the wall, looking at the strange two-headed being depicted on it, wondering if it was food before remembering she had to get to Big One.

Who still wasn’t here.

Scylla let out a little huff, grumpy that the Big One would dare to leave her behind and not be where she expected them to be. She’ll show him! She was going to babble and whine at him forever for this!

She rolled around, trying to find where the Big One had gone off to. He couldn’t have gotten far and Scylla was sure she could get to him if she rolled enough!

It never occurred to the young Mutant that rolling wouldn’t get her anywhere, nor that the Big One was already on the other side of the floor. All she knew was rolling about and trying to get to Big One while rolling straight into walls that were leading her to nowhere.

It was frustratingly aggravating, and little Scylla was getting plenty grumpy enough from being put in no-no time and the Big One leaving her with Meanie and Shouty. She was just about to throw a tantrum when she rolled into something that wasn’t a wall.

Ugh! How not fun! She just wanted the Big One and–O! Feet! She liked feet!

“Abbga!” Scylla proclaimed proudly, gripping the foot with her tiny hands. “Alabga!” She then proceeded to try and eat the foot.

While Scylla happily gnawed on the foot, she didn’t take into account that the foot wasn’t green. Or purple. Or her own feet. No, Scylla, being forgiven as she was still young and her brain hadn’t quite developed enough to notice color differences, was blissfully unaware that she was currently trying to eat the foot of a new person.

Someone she had never formally met before, and only had a brief glance at prior.

And this someone had only seen her once days ago while he had been out on unscheduled patrol, hoping to clear his worries and make up his mind about a certain trouble-making jester he hadn’t seen in a long while and had stumbled across him at the Exercise Sector.

“… oh god. I really hadn’t been imaginin’ you.” The figure mumbled as Scylla continued to try and eat his foot, oblivious to the horror she was causing right now.

🧪

Fresh, hot tears were rolling down.

Heart pounding so fast that it almost hurt.

Limbs strapped tightly to the table with no chance of escape.

Eyes darted over to the figure shrouded in darkness, who was messing with something on the tables.

“Quite troublesome. Very troublesome indeed.” The figure muttered, shifting from one end of the room to the other. Something glinted in the dim light. “I must admit, it took far longer than I initially thought it would take to track you down. I was almost beginnin’ to think you got away with it, but here we are.” The figure stepped into the light, glaring down at them with his cold brown eyes. “And what trouble ya gave me.”

“Please! Father! I’m sorry!” The Givanium Citizen wept openly. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“Little too late fer apologies.” Syringeon growled, holding his scissors up threateningly to their face. “Far too late. To think, I almost considered you competent to let ya live this long. But then I figure out ya did the unthinkable!” He dragged the tip of his tool across their face, narrowing his eyes to the point that his eyes appeared like deep, dark spheres. “Three whole months it took me to find ya, and now, I’m goin’ to make you pay fer what you’ve–!”

(Father?) The lights flicked on, and another Givanium Citizen stuck her head in. (I’m sorry to interrupt–)

“Damn it, Tiffany! How many times do I hafta tell ya to KNOCK before enterin’ and interruptin’ procedures?!” Syringeon growled, turning his ire on another of his children.

(Apologies Father. But I had knocked. Multiple times in fact. But it seemed you were too preoccupied to hear me. And this is rather urgent.)

“Well what do you want?! Can’t ya see I’m in the middle of somethin’ important here?!” Syringeon motioned to the tied-up Citizen on the table. “It had better be feckin’ important to interrupt me less ya want to join yer brother here!”

(The Sheriff is here to see you.) Tiffany said, hardly batting an eye at the threat nor even showing any concern to see one of her brethren tied up on the operation table. (He claims that it’s urgent and no matter how many times we tell him, he won’t wait for you to be done with your work and wishes to speak with you as soon as possible.)

“And it can’t wait till I’m done?”

(I’ve told him multiple times, but he insists to talk to you and refuses to be patient.)

Syringeon sighed heavily, pinching the area between his eyes. Of course it had to be the one person he had some respect towards that he couldn’t turn away so easily. “Tell him I’ll be there in a moment and to wait fer me in operation room 7.”

(Understood.) Tiffany left, leaving Syringeon alone with his other child.

He turned his cold gaze on the weeping Citizen, glaring down at the pitiful thing. “Don’t think I haven’t fergotten about you.” He hissed quietly. “Enjoy what little time ya have left, because as soon as I get back.” He snapped his claws together, rolling his eyes as the Citizen began brawling like a baby.

“Unbelievable.” The surgeon grumbled under his breath as he left the room. “And to think he put up such a brave face before. Whimp.” He huffed under his breath, stepping into room seven.

Toadster was already there waiting for him. There was an anxious look across his face, looking borderline panic that quickly filled with semi-relief when the sheriff’s eyes landed on the surgeon.

“Syringeon.” Toadster held out a hand, and while Syringeon glanced at it with disgruntled grumpiness, he politely grabbed it to give a shake. “Been a while since we’ve last seen each other.”

“Indeed.” The last time they spoke face to face, alone, was before the failed rebellion. “Quite a surprise to see you down here. I would say it’s a pleasant one, but you’ve caught me in a bad moment right now, and I would very much appreciate it if you just say what ya need to say and leave. I’ve got someone who’s waitin’ to be cut up by me tools.”

“Cut up–? No, not important right now.” Toadster shook his head, motioning to the table, which Syringeon now curiously noted had a small box sitting on top of it. “Look, Doc. I need your help. Or rather, I need some advice. Bittergiggle–”

“What did that jokeless idiot do now?” The surgeon growled, his irritation spiking at the mere mention of the jester’s name.

“Well, he… um… you see I–uh… there was a… so um…” The sheriff fidgeted with his words, motioning to the box several times. “I well, I don’t really know what to make of it and it’s kinda hard to describe–”

“Oh fer goodness–OUT WITH IT ALREADY! I haven’t got all day and me patience is wearin’ thin enough!”

Toadster reached out and grabbed the box, lifting it off the table.

The tiny jester came tumbling out from underneath.

Sapphire and amethyst eyes stared up at the pair, one foot being chewed on absentmindedly in the small Mutant’s mouth.

Syringeon did a double take, a vein in his head pulsing with rage as he turned his glare on the sheriff. “WHAT! IS THAT THIN’! DOIN’ BACK HERE?!” He pointed one of his tools at the tiny jester, the sharp end almost poking one of the younger Mutant’s eyes.

“Back h–? Wait, they were down here before?” Toadster asked in bewilderment.

“It was made here!” Syringeon growled, his tools springing to life in response to his rage. “Frem ME machine! The feckin’ jester used it to make a clone of himself to mess with me! And here you are bringin’ this abomination back in me presence?!”

“Whoa whoa whoa! Hold on now a moment! Time out! Made here? Machine? What do you mean by that?”

The surgeon took a deep breath, trying to quell some of his rage. Taking his anger out on the sheriff wasn’t a good idea. It would be an assault on someone who was firmly with the law, and possibly one of the strongest Cases in the facility. Taking him on in a fight would result in his bones being broken or, in a likely worst-case scenario, death.

So, he figured it was best to inform the toad of the events that went down about three months ago. From finding the small clone in his machine that helped create his Infants to the moment when he dumped the horrid thing into the jester’s arms. He explained every detail of the events as best he could, growling at the memory of finding the wretched creature that stole his limited Givanium.

“And I hadn’t seen it before now.” He shot a glare at the offending Mascot, who was currently getting far too close to the edge of the table. “I told Bittergiggle to keep her hidden, but it seems that–”

“Wait. Her?”

“Female chromosomes. Wanted more daughters instead of sons.”

“Oh. Oooh. Ooooooh. Dear god, Bittergiggle must have thrown a fit hearin’ that.”

“Not really. A little more surprised than angry.” The surgeon shrugged. “Though I’m not surprised that he didn’t bother to keep her hidden like I told him to. Gave him a strict warnin’, and he still goes and dumps the thin’ into yer–”

“O-Oh no. He didn’t.” Toadster looked away nervously, fiddling with the star on his vest. “I mean, he didn’t do anythin’ like that, I uh… I might have found her alone at his ‘hideout’ and taken her with me on a whim.”

“A whim?” Syringeon narrowed his eyes at the bipedal toad. “A whim? Are you tryin’ to say that ya… took her? As in stealin’?”

“I didn’t steal her!” Toadster said, glaring at the surgeon before noticing the tiny Mutant almost rolling off the table and nabbed her before she fell. “I found her alone. There’s a mighty fine difference between stealin’ and findin’, Doc.”

“Oh? How so?” Syringeon said with a huff.

“I found her rollin’ ‘bout on the floor jus’ outside of Bittergiggle’s so-called secret hideout.” Toadster looked down at the tiny jester, who was looking back up at him with curious eyes. “I… saw her before. When I was out on patrol. The Jester… I hadn’t seen him in a while and I was worried he was up to somethin’. Or worse. And I was debatin’ whether or not I should check up on him. To my surprise, I happened to stumble across him at Kittysaurus’ area.”

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to him or see anythin’ clearly. He knew he was bein’ watched and was already headin’ out jus’ as I managed to hide. That’s when I caught sight of tiny here against his shoulder’s cryin’ her heart out.” The tiny jester had shifted her focus to the star on the sheriff’s vest, reaching her hands above her head to try and grab at it. “I wasn’t too sure at what I saw and then… well… I decided to confront Bittergiggle ‘bout it and found her there!”

“And the Jester wasn’t anywhere in sight?”

“I’m pretty good at knowin’ when he’s nearby or not, and he certainly wasn’t ‘round when I was there. He could of stepped out for a moment or gone off somewhere. I don’t know.”

“And you all say my parentin’ skills are far frem prime example.” Syringeon scoffed. “And why did you decide to brin’ it back here? As much as I would like to get me Givanium back, I’m already busy with other thin’s right now.”

“I-I-I don’t know. I panicked! I thought I should have taken her to the Queen first, but then I figured it would be too dangerous since she’s like Bittergiggle and could be a danger to make her laugh!”

“Speakin’ of the Queen, shouldn’t you be guardin’ her frem the jester?”

“The staff have her under their surveillance.” Toadster scoffed, glaring somewhat. “I don’t trust humans, but they know to keep Bittergiggle away from her majesty. They all know the risks locked inside her pouch, and I know Bittergiggle isn’t insane ‘nough to try and mess with any of ‘em to get to her.”

“Yet he’s insane enough to go and make this.”

The sheriff looked down at the tiny jester, finding her still reaching for his star. “… I don’t think so.” He shook his head after a while. “I think… I don’t think Bittergiggle is that off from the deep end. Sure he’s a little crazy–” Syringeon gave a scoff. “But it don’t seem like something he would do, even for a laugh. He knows well ‘nough to leave yer stuff alone, and I highly doubt he would try to do somethin’ like this.”

“Well he did. And now he’s skimpin’ out on his own mistake.”

“Hey, she’s not a mistake. You can’t blame her for someone else’s actions.”

“I can still blame the person of the action of the mistake.”

Toadster rolled his eyes. There was no getting through to the surgeon.

“Ag ba!” Attention turned on the little jester, who was still trying to get the star that was barely out of her reach. “Bu ba. Ab ab gb.”

Syringeon narrowed his eyes. “… is she seriously talkin’ like that? Gibberish?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothin’. Or at least, it should be nothin’.” The surgeon tilted his head. “It’s just that me own kids can form words and speak sentences right not long after their birth.” He gazed at the little jester curiously, moving closer to the sheriff. “That can’t be all that she can say. Oi! Short stack!” He made a small whistle sound.

The tiny jester turned her eyes on him, staring at him with her big eyes.

“Hm. Seems you inherited Bittergiggle’s heterochromia.” Syringeon muttered, leaning down to examine the younger Mutant. “Repeat after me. Jokes suck.”

“Syringeon!”

“What? They do. Especially if they’re told by Bittergiggle.” The sheriff glared at the surgeon.

The little jester only stared, blinking her eyes once or twice before losing interest in the four-armed Mutant and went back to trying to get her hands on the star.

“… hmm. Quite the lack of response there. The Jester must not be teachin’ her anythin’. That or there’s somethin’ wrong with her brain. I should probably look into that.”

“It’s not normal?” Toadster asked, sounding genuinely worried at Syringeon’s statement.

The surgeon shrugged. “Possibly. Then again, I don’t really know Bittergiggle’s biology that well. He was always finicky and elusive. I could never quite pin down his autonomy like the rest of ‘em. Never let me get close ‘nough of his insides to see what made him tick. Could never get him fer a full body health check either. A pain in my rear, but an understandable one considerin’ how much he despises ‘em.”

“Don’t I know that too well.” Toadster let out a deep sigh, remembering none too fondly of the times he had to hunt down Bittergiggle for a routine yearly checkup. He could remember the times Bittergiggle would run and squirm and cry and literally bite each time the sheriff dragged him down to see the surgeon, and he could also remember the frustration he felt each time the jester managed to escape and hide somewhere where he couldn’t find him till he gave up.

Not even the human staff were able to get him on a normal health schedule. Not after the incident when Bittergiggle had somehow gotten stuck on the ceiling and refused to come down till they all gave up.

It had been such a pain for everyone. And it didn’t help how stubborn Bittergiggle could be sometimes.

“Hopefully you won’t be a problem.” Syringeon said to the tiny jester, who was still trying to get the star, and seemed very unaware of what was going on around her.

A soft smile crossed Toadster’s face, taking the star off his vest and giving it to the younger Mutant. “Here you go, sugar.”

“Ya shouldn’t give a kid sharp objects to play with.” Syringeon warned.

“I know. But I also know that it’s not really a sharp object.” Toaster smiled as the tiny jester started to gnaw on the star. “She’s in good hands now. She won’t be in any danger with me ‘round.”

Syringeon rolled his eyes. “Whatever. At least you might be a better option than…” He paused a moment before shaking his head. “What am I sayin’? You’re obviously a better option that Bittergiggle. Feck, you’re probably the only Case who would qualify a hundred times better than the Jester. Bloody fool, he probably hasn’t even noticed that she’s gone and just walkin’ around without a care in the world!”

🧪

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST MY BABY?!!!”

<Previous/Next>

[royalsweetteaa]

I absolutely love your character HCs and would like your opinion on another: CE Characters reacting to random physical affection. For example, they're reading something and you caress their cheek, run your fingers through their hair, start scratching their back, or even a quick kiss on the cheek?

I’ve been sparing this for when I’m in a certain mood and I’m so ready to write out this HC now. 😌♥️

Steve Rogers

Steve is sitting at the edge of your shared bed, getting ready to take a nap as he’s tired after days of hard work at S.H.I.E.L.D. You decide while he’s sitting there that you should get behind him and give him a back rub. He’s surprised as he looks behind, and that’s when you continue to do a back massage.

“Oh that feels really good, doll. Thank you…is there anything you would like me to do?”

He always wants to service you back, but this time you deny him other than have him stay where he is so you can show care to him. He appreciates it a lot and from then it becomes a frequent occurrence.

Ransom Drysdale

Ransom is sitting on the couch, reading through a magazine about the nominated mystery novels, among those being Harlan’s newest book. He’s so into the reading of reviews that he doesn’t notice you getting behind him, and his head goes blank when your fingers run through the root of his hair. It’s unexpected but it feels heavenly to him, - but of course Ransom being Ransom ruins it as he gets defensive.

“What are you doing that for?” He asks, and you respond how you simply want to take care of him. He laughs as if he finds the idea is amusing to him, and dodges his head away from your touch, “I’m fine, I don’t need you to do that.”

Ransom later groans in frustration when you’re not there, realizing how much of a mistake it was to deny you because he knows he won’t have you touching him like that now unless he asks for it. He hates asking for things like that, but he has to learn from his consequences after all.

Andy Barber

Andy is standing by the kitchen island, sipping on his hot coffee while reading the news on the news paper. It’s a morning routine, and that’s why he doesn’t expect anything other than a kiss as a usual morning greeting from you when you come downstairs. However, as he puts the paper aside and meets your lips, you hold his cheeks with the palm of your hands for a deep kiss.

His eyes widens a bit, not expecting something so intimate from you first thing in the morning, and he speaks when you break away, “Woah, honey. Does it happen that I have done something in particular to receive that kind of greeting? Because if I have I’ll have to do it more often.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you respond something in the lines of you doing it because you love him.

Johnny Storm

Slight NSFW

Johnny is in the living room couch eating his ham sandwich while watching WWE, unaware you’re right behind him. With the both of you being playful comes with shenanigans, and now you are given the opportunity to do something to take him by surprise. You give his hunched shoulder a kiss, and as he leans back to see your face with a dopey smile you grab a handful of his pecs for a squeeze, making him burst out laughing from the ticking sensation.

He puts the plate of food on the table before jumping over the couch, attacking you with physical affection and being grabby with your breasts as you laugh and push him away playfully. “Baby, you started it, it’s only fair I get to do it back.” He says, not letting you get away. You eventually give in to his embrace.

He loves surprises, especially of those being from you where you touch him in the most interesting places.

Jake Jensen

Jake spends time playing video games mid afternoon on his time off, hoping to reach high levels before he inevitably has to go weeks without playing as he goes on missions again. You check on him, chuckling to yourself as you overhear his series of roasts to the team through the headphone microphone as he gets ahead of them. You decide you don’t want to disturb him, and walk over to place a quick kiss on his cheek which makes him stiffen from the sudden affection but he welcomes it.

“Aw thanks, babe…lemme give you one too.” He requests softly, and you get closer giving access to your cheek, receiving a gentle kiss from him.

He decides he hasn’t had enough and leads out to spend time with his girl, not caring that he’s loosing scores as the game carries on.

Bryce Langley

Bryce has been watching tribe documentaries for hours at his place, to the point of having to lay down on the couch with his eyes getting tired. While he naps his eyes, you come by, placing yourself on the empty space beside Bryce’s head on the couch. You sigh, turning off the documentary and Bryce furrows his eyebrows in protest, but before he can say anything, he is given a massage on his scalp, making him relax again.

“Oh fuck, that feels nice, baby. Keep going…” he requests with no shame, the feeling too good to deny.

Ending the evening with a head massage was certainly not in his plans, but Bryce can’t say he minds it at all. Your affections comes above his obsessions.

A/N: Ari will be added when I have an original idea for him. T.T

Hearts & Reblogs are very appreciated! <3

[fuckthisshitimin]

THAT DAMNED SPREADSHEET

DOES ANYONE TO HEAR ABOUT MY ADVENTURE IN THE SPREADSHEET?

Cause I'm pretty damned sure I know what getting "High" on Milgram means.

Talking about his being rejected by the Magnus Institute, Samama said:

[That definitely feels like when it all started. […] Well, after that it all just went downhill. Didn’t get into Oxford, so I went to Nottingham.]

And that does not sound like what one would say about something that happened when they were, like, eight. So I went to take another look at the spreadsheet. Of course I was wrong, because The Magnus Institute burned in 1999, so he couldn’t have been more than nine, but I found out other stuff.

A thing that bugs me in how I’ve read some discussing the spreadsheet is that Sam has the highest empathy score, and that it made him “too nice/good” for the Institute’s purposes (not necessarily this directly but it has been implied, including in the “recruiting future avatar theories, and… well, implying that low empathy makes you more likely to become a literal monster is quite disgusting, actually).

First, I think we got one thing wrong on the Kohlberg column. Since they are kids, it doesn’t seem shocking that they’d be around stages 1 to 3 of his “Six stages of moral development”; but it doesn’t say Stage 1, 2 or 3 it says Level 1, 2 or 3, and I don’t think it’s a mistake.

His six stages are divided into three levels: Pre-Conventional (1,2), Conventional (3,4) and Post-Conventional (5,6).

People in stages 1 and 2 (Level 1) have a sense of morality that is linked to the direct consequences of their actions on themself — stage 1 is “don’t hit the dog because you’ll be punished” and stage 2 “give her half your banana and you’ll get half her chocolate bar” (very simplified).

People on stages 3 and 4 (Level 2) have internalized their surrounding’s sense of morality and act accordingly — stage 3 being “I’ll get a good grade in being a person by following the rules” and stage 4 “the rules I learnt are true and real, failing to follow them is Wrong and upholding them is Right” (idem).

People on stages 5 and 6 (Level 3) have a personal sense of morality that is critical of societal norms — stage 5 being “there are rules, and those rules can and should be changed through compromise to be fair to the greatest number”, and stage 6 “unfair rules should not be followed, direct consequences like punishment are irrelevant when it comes to deciding to do what it right” (very, very, very simplified).

If I’m right, the spreadsheet is so much more understandable.

First thing I wanted to do was put numbers on how singular Sam’s results are:

He gets “High” on both Milgram and Asch when the overwhelming tendency is that the higher your other scores are, the more likely you are to get “Low”, and the numbers were, indeed, that among the 49 children who scored “High” on both, 33 were in Piaget’s stage 1, 15 were in stage 2 and only Sam was in stage 3.

The 33 kids who were in stage 1 are the opposite of Sam:

(Abbreviating so it’s easier to compare values but P=Piaget, K=Kohlberg, Ps=Prosocial, S-A=Sally-Anne, U=Ultimatum, EI=Empathy Index)

33K: (P) Stage 1 :: (K) Level 1 :: (Ps) Low :: (S-A) Fail :: (U) Unfair :: (EI) ≥62%

Sam: (P) Stage 3 :: (K) Level 3 :: (Ps) High :: (S-A) Pass :: (U) Fair :: (EI) 98%

So that’s weird. And when I went to filter by Kohlberg levels… absolutely no kid that was on “Level 2” scored High on Milgram and Asche.

In fact, among the 99 kids on Kohlberg Level 2, none got “Low” for prosocial, none got “High” on Milgram, only 2 got “High” on Asch.

And when we read “Level 2 (Conventional Morality) instead of “Stage 2 (Pre-Conventional Morality, what benefits me directly)” we can make sense of this: 

“To reason in a conventional way is to judge the morality of actions by comparing them to society's views and expectations. […] Conventional morality is characterized by an acceptance of society's conventions concerning right and wrong. At this level an individual obeys rules and follows society's norms even when there are no consequences for obedience or disobedience. Adherence to rules and conventions is somewhat rigid, however, and a rule's appropriateness or fairness is seldom questioned.” (by Kohlberg himself, from Wikipedia)

Adults can be Level 2, by the way. Adults can even be Level 1. Subjects of the Milgram experiment are displaying peak Level 2 behavior.

“High” on Milgram is “Did not electrocute/Disobeyed”

“High” on Asch is “Did not conform”

GOSH THAT IS SATISFYING

Bonus: the average empathy index is 79,1%, the median is 82% with 116 kids below 82%, 13 kids at 82% and 120 kids above. Of the 116 kids below the median, 11 got “Low” on Milgram. Of the 13 median kids, 3 got “Low” on Milgram. Of the 120 kids above, 91 got “Low”.

If we take the average instead, of the 163 kids more empathetic than the average, 100 got “Low” on Milgram, and 2 got “High”, of the 86 less empathetic than the average, 5 got “Low” and 59 for “High” on Milgram.

So actually here, low empathy is inversely correlated to willingness to hurt if ordered to.

And it makes sense. Low empathy is often associated with anti-social personality disorder, autism, depression — and you know what’s very associated with anti-social personality disorder? Disobedience.

Now I have to make another post about the weird kids in red's names.

[boundbyeclipse]

hii!!! hope ur doing well <3

js wanted to req sm rlly cute nd sweet for kirk or jason (up to u to pick which u wanna write for) i thought prompt 4 (fluff) would be so cute w virgin!reader and their first time w the band member ? maybe they’re rlly shy nd don’t know what to do or whateverrrr 🙈 (cute nd soft plz!!)

. thanks luv xx

cinnamon summer

genre : fluff

word count : 1111 what a nice number

tags : soft!jason, gentle!jason, shy!reader, virgin!reader not THAT kinda way, reassurance, very cute and soft 🥺

a/n : hi sweetheart! i’m doing better alreadyyy! 🫶🏼 i picked jason since kirk has been literally the main one for the requests i’ve been getting! thank you for requesting, i hope i fulfilled your wish and that you like this! 🤍

from the prompt list : 4. “i'm scared because i have never kissed anyone before"

With a fair share of giggles you and Jason sat in his dad’s car, a getaway from reality as he drove through the field to the windmill. He was a little bit of a risk taker, stealing the pickup truck in the middle of the night just so he could take you on a little bit of a different kinda date. No matter how much you worried about the possible consequences, Jason insisted on sneaking out ; quite rebellious of a boy he was.

On your way, he told you a story about the very first time he grabbed the keys from the nightstand that was right beside his father, him asleep.

“I almost got grounded,” he chuckled, “dad found me by the abandoned farm with my friends, and I had just turned eighteen”

“What the hell were you doing there?”

“Well, we basically wanted to have a little birthday party for me. I know, it sounds crazy. I mean, who would ever want to celebrate their birthday next to an empty, dark wooden farm?” he asked, pulling up near the windmill.

“A freak like you” with a smile on your face you replied, clicking the button to undo the belt.

“Why did I even ask?” Jason laughed, getting out of the car, the wind hitting his face in an instant, his curls flowing beautifully.

About to open the door to get out, you stop, seeing Jason on the other side pulling the handle to open them for you. He was such a gentleman, and you felt grateful for it, a happy smile curving on your lips.

“Thank you” you said, his hand reaching out to grab yours.

Walking to the back of the windmill, you sat on the green grass, a pretty landscape in front of you with the sun setting far away down the horizon. Golden rays of sunshine hit your faces, birds chirping in the trees, white cotton clouds above your heads.

You could talk for hours. There was never a moment where you had to stop and think what to say next - it came naturally. It felt like you knew each other forever, being around each other’s presence ensured safety and comfort. With Jason, you felt at peace. And it has been like this since the very first day you two met. The moment he laid eyes on you he knew that he had to get to know you better, as much as your beauty made his heart tremble. Jason thought at the back of his head “how can someone be so precious?” because everything about you, he found magical.

After what seemed like a few hours had passed, you two sat shoulder to shoulder, as he gently reached for your hand to hold. It made your heart flutter, cheeks burning with redness. He made you so shy, despite the fact that you already were like that. This gorgeous boy being your very first boyfriend, first love, first everything ; you wished for this feeling to never fade.

He turned his head your way, looking at your side profile that he adored. He observed it. From your forehead, to your eyes, thick eyelashes, perfectly curved nose, and those lips that he wanted to kiss so bad.

He knew you were new to all of this. You’ve never been held close, never been taken care of, never been loved, never been kissed. And Jason wanted to make sure that he was the one to change it. Of course he doubted whether he should do this now, or wait a bit longer to make the move. But he wanted it so much, that he decided to not waste any more time, clearing his throat before he spoke.

“How would you feel if I told you that I really want to kiss you right now?”

You shrugged, feeling his large hand squeeze your smaller one.

"I don’t know… I’m scared because I have never kissed anyone before. I don’t know what to really do"

His eyes then softened, darting over at your lips for a moment, then giving you a reassuring smile.

“Don’t be. I promise you that I’ll be gentle with you, and if you want to pull away - do it. I’ll understand. I know how scary first times can be”

You beamed, thinking to yourself about how you weren’t sure how to kiss, how to move, you only knew to keep your eyes closed based on the movies you’ve seen. Even though they make it look perfect in the movies, you knew it would be way harder in real life to do it. But something deep inside you kept repeating the words “do it”. So you stared into his eyes full of stars and love, grinning as you nodded slowly as a yes.

“It’s okay” he whispered underneath his breath, his hand cupping your cheek as he slowly leaned in, fingers getting lost in your silky hair as your lips connected.

You would have never thought it would feel so good to kiss anybody. You felt like you were on top of the world, millions of butterflies dancing in your stomach as you quivered with anxiety. He could sense your fear, along with the uncontrollable shaking of each part of your body.

He pulled away for a moment, thinking that maybe he should stop to not overdo it. Jason wanted things to go right and right only.

“You alright?” he asked, receiving a quiet “yes” from you, calming him down and letting him know that everything was going the good way.

“We can… Can we do it again?” you stumbled over your words, taken aback by the feeling the kiss gave you. Jason bit his lower lip, repositioning himself so that he could sit with his body facing yours. You mirrored him, not so afraid anymore, waiting for him to kiss you again.

As your lips met again, you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, your hands finding their way into his hair that you loved so much. It was so voluminous and fluffy, Jason was like a cute puppy. You kind of envied him for having such bouncy and full hair.

When you pulled away, your face fell into his chest, giggles erupting from the both of you, feeling shy like young kids.

“You know, I actually wanted to ask you something” he suddenly brought up, making curiosity within you grow big.

“What is it?”

“Well, by any chance, would you like to be my girlfriend?

Your heartbeat quickened hearing the question. And you could sense the hesitation in his words, but you weren’t hesitant at all with the answer you were about to give.

“Yes, I would”

[fanfic-obsessed]

Mediation...?

This one I came up with as I walked to work, and so we will all explore it. It is a Post Empire AU. I know, I do not usually go for post-empire, but the horror and humor of this idea spoke to me.  

Let’s take a look, yeah?

The AU part is that both Obi Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker survived through the end of the Empire. So we don’t have to deal with too many changes too early, Obi Wan was severely injured and in Bacta for the entire time of the OT (or he got injured again just before the events of each movie, whichever works better). 

After Vader comes back to the light, he is fitted with prosthetics that actually fit (including being the correct height). He is still required to wear a mask ,but it is more like Plo Koons than Vader (covering his mouth and nose but not his entire face). The burns he got from Mufastar meant that he had no hair, and the suit he wore for those years meant that he was unnaturally pale. As a consequence he no longer looks like Vader (not just because he lost 5 inches in height with the correct legs).  

Most of the galaxy does not know that Vader and Anakin Skywalker are the same person. Anakin was also largely forgotten, and the few who did remember him (without knowing the Vader connection) would quietly muse about how much Vader seemed to hate Anakin Skywalker, the Hero without Fear (there is no doubt in my head that the person Vader hated the most was Anakin). 

The Rebels do know that Anakin and Vader are the same person. Even as they are working to build the New Republic, no one is quite sure what, if anything, Anakin Skywalker should be charged with (War crimes. So many war crimes, they would need to invent new war crimes specifically for Vader-Though to be fair he is not the only living member of the Empire’s ruling body for this to be true). If he does need to be charged, and they could figure out what with, does his fall to the dark side constitute a mitigating factor (some kind of diminished capacity) or an enhancement (like a hate crime)? Where does killing the Emperor fit into any sentence he would have to serve? Is there even a way to enforce any sentence that a court could impose?

All of these questions and more would have to be answered before any trials could commence (including: how far does “following orders” mitigate actions, and how far up the chain of command can that excuse be used?). In the meanwhile Anakin hangs awkwardly around with his son when he is able. 

Luke wants, deeply, to help his father become comfortable around people again. He also does not quite…understand is probably the best term…understand the depth of the horrors that Vader/Anakin created in his 20 years in the suit.  In his mind he knows, and has been told, most of what Vader has done, but to a certain extent he separated Anakin and Vader in his mind so there is a bit of disconnect (Some understandable cognitive dissonance). 

He is at least aware enough that he is not looking to find Anakin friends among the rebels, who would naturally think of Vader first (and thus it would be uncomfortable for all involved). He understands that asking someone like Leia to try and befriend the being that tortured her then blew up her planet is not a good idea. 

But there is one person he knows thinks of Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader as two different people. Obi Wan Kenobi.  Who is decidedly avoiding Anakin (in this Anakin can not blame him, the return to the light means that he does actually need to face everything he has done), but is also low key avoiding most people. Mostly Obi Wan is staying around the clones that still live (both to help those clones with their own guilt over their actions while chipped, the fact that their aging has finally been brought to human normal,  and frankly because he likes them more than most people these days-I imagine at least Cody-CodyWan for the win-, Rex, Gregor, Appo, and Wolffe but there are a good crowd), and the few Force users that survived the Purge. Also spending time with Leia.

Now a few things need to be made abundantly clear at this point. Luke does not know of the horrors Anakin perpetrated, as opposed to Vader (For all that Palpatine labeled him Vader before the march on the temple, I always headcanon that his last act as purely Anakin was the slaughter of the children in the council chamber but even then he did not truly become Vader until after he finds out that Padme died), not really. Few enough who live remember the march on the temple, what it meant that the temple (the home of the Jedi) was pillaged and burned. Fewer still ever knew that it was Anakin that led the march and slaughtered the children.  

Oddly enough, Anakin Skywalker is the only person in the galaxy who knows the true horrific extent of his own crimes. 

So Luke, with all the best of intentions, notices that Obi Wan is avoiding Anakin, and decides he will help his father and his teacher/mentor/uncle/that weird dude that lived in the desert makeup. Luke is attributing the awkwardness to Anakin’s 20 years as Vader (which, if we are being completely honest, is the least of the issues between Anakin and Obi Wan).

Luke decides he is going to hold something like a mediation to bridge those 20 years. Anakin is, at this point, incapable of denying Luke anything and agrees (in spite of the fact that even he can tell this will go poorly). Obi Wan does not actually agree as Luke does not tell him what they are meeting for, but once he arrives is semi blackmailed by Luke (leveraging the whole ‘you told me my father was dead thing/you lied to me my whole life’) which really only works because Obi Wan is also fairly vulnerable to young Skywalker children who remind him of the people who Obi Wan has lost (Satine would have done something similar, Obi Wan think nostalgically). Thinking that an audience would help create a more neutral location, Luke makes sure that Obi Wan is accompanied by a few of the clones (Appo in particular), and that Leia, Han, and Mon Mothma (as one of the few people who remember Padme and Anakin) are in the room. There are others. 

Now Luke has all the best intentions with this, but he is, at best, missing some very critical information. At worst he is taking after one of his father’s worst traits (so sure he can fix a relationship that is not his, and is probably better left broken). 

Both Anakin and Obi Wan silently agree to humor the sunshine boy.  At first they try to keep it to lighter disagreements and misunderstandings  (who saved who and who made the situation worse kind of thing). Anakin brings up at one point being unhappy that Obi Wan hid his children from him for almost 20 years, Obi Wan corrects that he hid them for almost 10 years from Vader, since he believed Anakin actually dead for the first 10, during which Vader maintained that Anakin was dead. Anakin withdraws his objection.

Then Anakin brings up the limb removal on Mustafar (which causes most of the room to go still, no one but the clones-whom Obi Wan had told- knew about the Mustafar fight). Obi Wan shoots back with an slightly irate rejoinder that it was a really measured response considering that Anakin had just: led a group of brainwashed soldiers into their home and slaughtered as many men, women, and children that he could; choked his very pregnant wife; ignored repeated attempts Obi Wan made to end the fight without further violence. 

It was at this point that Appo started to have a panic attack (being one of the few surviving Clones who was actually there in the temple).  Obi Wan looked over at Luke, apologized and said this was not a good idea.  Then left with the clones, all trying to calm Appo back down. 

The entire room is just…dead silence. Like Luke everyone, barring Anakin who did know this was going to go so badly, had sort of forgotten that Obi Wan was more than the weird desert guy who hung around with the clones, and sometimes Leia.  Luke is sitting there, really pale (He did have good intentions).

Like the people who realized the Jedi suffered a genocide when the Empire came into power had mostly died, the few that had survived all these years had buried that knowledge under the subsequent horrors of the Empire (They also largely forgot, or didn’t understand the horror of the chips both in the context of Order 66 and following orders in the Empire). It was not done out of maliciousness, or even ignorance, because the Jedi and the Clones (in that they lost everything of themselves and their culture in a moment) may have been the first genocide of the Empire but it was not the last. 

I’m not sure where it would go from there, other than Anakin is charged with so many war crimes and accepts whatever punishment is determined.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I don't know if it's just me, but do some of the events seem... I don't know... Lacking? It might just be me having high standards, but more than once it seems like there was a build up for something that didn't meet the hype, or the event simply didn't go the way I thought it should. Do you mind sharing your thoughts on this? Of course, you don't have to if you don't want to.

I don’t know how hot of a take this is, but I think most TWST events are mediocre. I'm looking for a certain type of story (ones with clear set up and pay off + actual stakes), and more often than not TWST decides to focus its events on the total opposite (being silly). I love the events where we get to visit, explore, and experience other countries, but I also fully acknowledge how dull they can be because those events are mostly eating local foods and shopping for souvenirs. Nothing wrong with stories like that, it's all just a matter of person taste. The unseriousness of events helps to balance out the meatiness of the main story, and it's nice to have that contrast.

That being said, the quality of the events is still all over the place and I think that's a natural consequence of the frequency of them. We get a new story event like every 1-2 months whereas we get a single chunk of the main story maybe once in that timeframe (or sometimes in an even longer timeframe; I still remember going more than half a year without a book 5 update). The devs may not be able to keep up the pace while also providing top tier content every single time. That's no fault of their own, it's just how the gacha model works. You need to keep pumping out new content to retain the player base and make money. We should have higher standards for the media we consume, so it's fine to critique the events and say, "it's not as good as it could have been", "this felt rushed and/or incomplete", "there was definitely a missed opportunity here", etc. What's NOT okay to do is to insult the people who worked hard on bringing the events to us. So long as you keep that mind, you're fine to express your thoughts. I'm afraid I can't really go into further detail since your initial ask was vague and did not cite any particular events you take issue with. As for myself, I know I've certainly had my fair share of complaining about how... meh... some events are. To this day, I still salt about the weird pacing and plot holes of Stage in Playful Land, the lack of satisfying payoff in Tamashina Mina, and the lack of accountability in Endless Halloween Night. I'm sure there are other events I haven't liked very much, but those are the main offenders for me.

[codfanficedits]

Before the mask - Part thirteen

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Because Simon wasn’t born as Ghost.

Wordcount: 2050| Rating: E! (18+ only!)

Warnings: mentioning of childhood abuse, an attempt at a decent conversation

A/N: As a true fanfic writer, I have been scheduled to a surgery and I'll be most likely to go MIA for a few weeks while I recover, I'm sorry!

Simon knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on you. He knew it wasn’t your fault, he knew you didn’t raise him to be like this. But in that split second, he couldn’t stop it, his mind was so overwhelmed that he had lashed out.

‘I’m not a violent dog, I don’t know why I bite.’ The quote he had once heard fills his mind, Simon didn’t want to be a violent dog, never wanted to be one, he saw what had happened to violent dogs. But if you mistreat a dog long enough, if you beat a dog long enough. It will only know violence.

His mind is running wild and once more Simon doesn’t know what to do, he could feel you freeze up in his lap, and he doesn’t know if he should wrap his arms around you, beg you for forgiveness, tell you he didn’t mean to, but that he panicked? Or should he keep true to his word, really kick you out and deal with the consequences, he could always make it up to you later.

And oh God. Dear fucking God.

What if you get tired of this? What if he is more broken than you though he would be and what if you grow sick of it? What if you see him for who he really is? A broken boy, with no clue who he really is, just trying to mend his personality to the people he deemed special, so they won’t leave him? A broken boy, who has been hurt so many times before, that he felt as if he wasn’t worthy of attention ever again, especially yours.

A broken boy, who is so angry at the world, because everybody saw what was happening, and nobody tried to stop it.

And those boys live together, making Simon who he is in this moment. All of them together are trying to fight to keep him as safe as they can. And you. You’re dangerously close, you can make him feel vulnerable and that is something Simon struggles with. It goes against who he thought he was.

But maybe, just maybe, he could allow himself to tear those walls down a little bit, to let you in a little bit. Maybe he could allow you to be the guiding moon in the darkness of his mind.

For Simon, this feels like an eternity, while in reality, his little snapping wasn’t more than a few seconds ago.

You blink, once, twice. What the fuck just happened? How did he go from being so.. so.. happy to whatever the fuck this was?

You’re stunned, the way he switched up so fast wasn’t something you were used to.

And his eyes betrayed him. They betrayed how he really felt, they betrayed the turmoil of emotions within. They couldn’t hide the storm that he felt, and you noticed, you could see right through those eyes.

But you weren’t put on this earth to change him, to fix him, to pick up the pieces others had caused and glued them back on. That wasn’t what you were made for, no matter what you had been told.

Of course you felt sympathy for what had happened, of course no one should’ve been raised the way he had been raised, but it was a reason for his behaviour, not an excuse.

“What the fuck, Simon.”

And Simon winces from your harsh words, a sinking feeling in his gut when he realizes he might not get away with this type of behaviour. He wants to open his mouth, to come up with a thousand different excuses as to why he had acted the way he did. But he gets shushed by you.

“No, you listen.” You say, warning him. “We just agreed we have to communicate more, we just agreed to let each other in, and here you are, shutting me out again. You can’t demand that I share my feelings with you, that I share my thoughts with you when things get me overwhelmed, only for you to shut me out.” You get off his lap, feeling that your words don’t have as much power when you’re sitting down. And maybe going for the attack wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but you were only human too.

“You don’t know how it is.” Simon muttered.

“Then tell me how it is!” You didn’t want to raise your voice, but it happened anyway, the frustration getting the best of you.

Simon shuts down again, how could he possible explain what is going on inside of him, when he himself doesn’t fully understand what is happening? And on top of that, how is he supposed to share his feelings. He is a man, and men are not supposed to be soft, to be caring, to be sweet, that is not what he has been taught. And how could one man go against the generational trauma that has bestowed upon him?

“Simon.” You sigh his name and it sounds so sweet to him. “I will never be able to fully understand what you went through, I will never be able to say that I get how you feel, because my upbringing has been so different than yours. But, if you shut me out completely, I will never understand even the slightest part of you, and we can’t have that, not if we want to make us work. So please, for the love of God, don’t shut me out.”

His mind is running, and he is unable to fully comprehend what is happening, his mind is screaming one thing, to brush this off, to snap at you again, to tell you to shut up, but the other part, the part that wants to heal, is begging him to let you in.

The difficult thing about healing, is that it takes place outside of someone’s comfort zone.

And being abused means that Simon has been out of his comfort zone for most of his life, and it’s a battle, a struggle, to give up that comfort zone again, now that he has finally found it. His throat feels dry, no matter how often he swallows, he has to make a choice and he hates that he can’t have a little preview about the outcome of his choice would be, and that alone makes him doubt it all even more.

“I..” His voice drowns out, how should he phrase this? Hell, he doesn’t even know what he wants to say himself. “Scared.”

It seems like you would have to lead this conversation.

You lean against his dresser, trying to let your rational side speak and not your heart. “What are you scared of?”

What was he scared of? Losing you, losing himself, being himself, not being himself. Existing while others had made sure he was broken.

“I.. It’s a conflict.” He eventually managed to say, and he is silently pleading for you to be content with this information.

“A conflict between what?” You try not to let your patience wear thin, you know he can’t help it, you know it isn’t his fault, although you still feel as if his reaction is his responsibility.

Simon fidgets with his hands, cursing himself that a simple morning of crafting, of making the mask he wanted to wear for Halloween had ended up with this. If only he had behaved himself better, if only he had just shut up when he got overwhelmed.

“I have been taught to be violent.” He admitted quietly. “And doing this.” He pauses to gesture to the paper mâché. “This is not violent.”

That was something you could work with, that was something a conversation could be build on.

“What is it about violence, that brings you peace?”

His blood runs cold, his stomach churns and he has to swallow the lump in his throat. He hadn’t told you he found peace in the violence, yet you hit the hammer on the head while you looked right through him.

“It’s all I’ve known.” He muttered. “It’s what I’ve been raised with. It’s what comes naturally.”

It’s saddening to see, really. He hides it so well during the day, when he is out with others, yet right now his childhood takes over, the trauma fronting, taking over his personality, and he could be so much more than just his trauma.

“Is it what makes you happy?” You ask, maintaining eye contact, no matter how invasive it might feel.

Simon shakes his head, while it brought him a sense of peace, a sense of comfort, a sense of familiarity, it didn’t make him happy, he had tasted life without violence, and he craved the sweetness of it.

See, your first reaction was to ask him why he did it anyway, but you knew he didn’t know, it was a habit, reacting out of anger, reacting in a violent matter, it is what his father had taught him was right, and it was what the army had praised him for.

“What did you feel when we were done mask making?” A new question to snap him out of it.

Should he tell you? What if you find him to be weird? What if you think he shouldn’t feel like this? But the gentle look in your eyes makes him believe that you won’t judge him, that you would at least try to understand him.

“At first I was proud.” He admitted with a sheepish smile. “I never really did this type of stuff growing up. And then I felt fear. Fear that I was becoming too soft, and all of the sudden I feel this random wave of sadness coming over me. And that was too much.”

Oh, his words tug on your heart string, he sounds so sweet, so vulnerable, so human.

“What’s wrong with feeling sad, with feeling fear or pride?” It is a genuine question, as you really try to understand what he is going through.

“I am not supposed to feel these things!”

“Why not? You’re only human.”

Only human.

Only human.

He was allowed to be only human.

You could see it in his face, his eyes getting a little bloodshot, a little bit of moisture starting to collect at the bottom lid of his eyes, the soft trembling of his bottom lip, the sharp intake of air when he tries to fight it. A little sniffle, and finally a tear.

Simon Riley was allowed to be human.

Your first instinct would be to hug him, coddle him. Tell him everything will be alright. But you also know that not everyone feels the same way, and the last thing you want to do, is to push his boundaries, especially at times like these.

“What do you need from me?” You ask, your voice soft. “Do you want a hug? Do you want to be left alone? Do I need to get you some water?”

Simon just looks up at you, the tears in his eyelashes makes it hard to see, and while he opens his mouth to talk, no sound comes out, instead he holds out his arms, an universal sign that he needed you.

The moment you’re within his reach, his arms wrap around your waist and he buries himself into you, years of build up rage, build up frustration, build up fear, and sadness, they all leave him through his sobs. His shoulders shake after each cry, and all you can do is stroke his hair, murmur sweet nothings, so he knows it is okay to let go like this.

Although for Simon, it does feel pathetic, it feels wrong to let go like this. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t cry like he is, he should hold it in.

But fuck does it feel amazing to let go, to let the floodgates open and just let everything out.

Your nails gently scratch the skin on his scalp. “You’re only human, Si.” You whisper, barely being heard over his sobs. “And I’m really proud of you for not shutting me out.”

He looks up at you, red, puffy eyes, wet cheeks, but the sobs had stopped. “Fuck.” Was all he could muster. “I have no idea how to feel, what to feel, how to describe it.”

“Then just feel.”