#where did all this characterization come from?

[yogirl-willow]

The Crimson Pact | Part 5

Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, hurt/comfort

A/N: Story is rolling along folks! I plan to flesh out each and every one of the boys + get the plot rolling a bit in this chapter and the next. Thank you for all your lovely comments! Unfortunately, Tumblr only allows a certain amount of tags so I sincerely apologize if I was not able to tag you on here (I tried adding everyone I could). 😭 But just know that I'm so grateful to everyone reading my story. 🥺 If you'd still like to be tagged and you weren't on here just comment and I can try adding you to the next update!

───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Part 5:

The Closer You Come

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. Galbi sizzles in the pan. Romance stirs the sauce for the bulgogi with a flick of his wrist, lips pursed, jaw tight. Baby’s lounging on the couch, flipping through channels absently—volume low. Mystery sits on the floor nearby, sketchpad in his lap, but the page hasn’t flipped in minutes.

And Jinu? Jinu is standing stock still, eyes unfocused, head tilted just slightly—like he’s hearing something the others can’t. 

Then it happens. A pulse.

A flare of heat through the bond—so sudden, so visceral it feels like it cracks through their spines and settles in their chests. Like lightning, but slow. Like breath hitching in someone else’s throat. Jinu exhales, long and low, the tension in his jaw deepening.

“She kissed him,” he mutters, voice dark with something ancient. Romance drops the spoon. The sound of it hitting the counter echoes too loud in the kitchen.

“She did what?” Baby straightens, head whipping toward the hallway. His eyes sharpen like a knife drawn slow from its sheath.

“They’re close,” Mystery whispers, eyes wide, hand still frozen over the paper. “Closer than before.” A breath. A heartbeat. Then—

Another pulse. Hotter. Slower. Deeper. This time it ripples. Like need. Like skin. Like hands where only air used to be. Romance presses both palms on the counter and hunches forward, exhaling like he’s in pain. “She’s letting him touch her.” he smiles wrily. “Lucky motherfucker-”

“Oh, fuck.” Baby hisses and scrubs a hand over his face, pacing now. “I swear, if he’s inside her right now I will burn this apartment down.”

“Shut up,” Jinu growls. “Don’t ruin it.”

“But—!”

“She’s choosing him,” Jinu says, quieter now. Not angry. Not jealous. Just… reverent. Like it hurts. Like it heals.

“Not that far, not yet.” Mystery whispers, his voice small. Hopeful.  “But she’s starting to want us,” “Really want us.”

Romance says nothing. His expression unreadable. He stares down into the bulgogi sauce like it’s the only thing holding him to earth.

“She’ll come to us too,” Baby mutters, sitting back down, hands twitching on his thighs. “Eventually.”

Another pulse hits—this one sweet. Soft. Settled. They all exhale like they’ve been holding their breath. Then—Romance smiles. A slow, dangerous thing. “Let her fall in love,” he says. “Let her remember what it feels like to be worshipped. To be ours.”

He finally looks up, eyes gleaming. “She’ll never escape us after this.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You wake to the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath your ear.

Warmth surrounds you—solid muscle, arms like a fortress around your waist, breath brushing your hair. You blink sleep from your lashes and lift your head slowly. The room is dim, painted in faint light from the setting sun bleeding through the curtains. Abby- no, Haneul’s arms tighten for just a moment, as if sensing your stirring.

His eyes crack open, slow and groggy, but the second he sees you awake, he smiles. Soft. Boyish. Unbelievably gentle for someone so sharp-edged and dangerous. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice still sleep-rough. "Sleep okay?"

You nod. "Yeah. Better than I have in a while." You don’t say why. But you both know.

Your body aches—not from pain, but from feeling. From finally letting something out, something ancient and caged and suffocating. Haneul’s story had shattered something in you, and you hadn’t realized how heavy it all was until he held it with you.

You rest your hand on his chest again, listening to the thud beneath your fingers. He exhales, like your touch soothes something deep in him.

Then a knock. Light and polite. “Dinner’s ready,” comes Mystery’s voice from the other side. “Abby, bring her down or I will.” You hear the smile in it. A threat. A promise.

You feel Haneul’s chest rumble with a low growl. “He’s getting too bold.” You laugh quietly and push off him, sitting up. “You promised not to kill your own bandmate.”

“Did I?”

You throw a pillow at him.

The dining table is already set—cozy and warm, lit with soft ambient lights and the faint smell of something savory and a little sweet. Galbi and Bulgogi, with tea and little folded napkins in the shape of hearts. You don’t ask who did that. You already know.

Mystery’s eyes light up the second he sees you. Not like they’re glowing (though they are faintly), but like you are. He takes your hand without asking, leads you to the table, and pulls out your chair with an elegant, shy little flourish. Then, before you can sit, he kisses your forehead.

You freeze. His lips linger longer than they should. Then he pulls back and simply stares at you. His fingers remain laced in yours as you sit.

You let him.

The others notice. They don’t speak on it, but you feel it—the way Jinu softens, the way Romance hums thoughtfully into his cup, the way Baby flicks his gaze from Mystery to you and back again, unreadable but watching.

Something’s shifted. Maybe it happened the moment Haneul touched your soul and showed you his scars. Maybe it happened long before that. You sip your tea in silence, letting Mystery’s hand remain curled gently over yours.

They keep glancing at you—each of them. Not out of suspicion, not even obsession this time. Something else. Affection. Maybe even awe. And for once… it doesn’t frighten you.

If Haneul’s story was that tragic, you think, tracing your fingertip over the lip of your mug, then how many other lifetimes have I lived inside their sorrow?

Your voice breaks the quiet. “I’m… sorry. For earlier. I know you guys mean well.”

Jinu shakes his head slowly. “You were scared. You had every right to be.”

“Still. I should… trust you.”

Romance leans his chin in his palm, watching you intently. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

You swallow once. “I need to know something.” Every head lifts at the shift in your tone. “Why are demons following me?”

They exchange glances. It’s Jinu who speaks, his voice calm but iron underneath. “Because word got out.”

“About me?”

“About The Pact.” Romance’s voice is silk over steel. “Some of them doubted it for years. Thought Gwi Ma was bluffing. But now that they’ve seen you… they know you’re real.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. Jinu nods once. “You’re a symbol. A myth. The key to everything.”

“To us,” Haneul adds from across the table. His gaze is steady, anchored to yours.

“And now they want you,” Romance finishes. “To marvel. To worship. Maybe even to steal. Depends on the demon.”

You stare down at your food. The sudden weight of it all feels like it could crush you. But then—warm fingers squeeze yours. Mystery. Unwavering. Devoted. 

“You are ours to protect,” Jinu says. “Whatever comes. That bond between us? It’s not just magic. It’s real. It’s what keeps you safe.”

You look up. They’re all staring at you now. And not a single one of them blinks. You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Okay,” you whisper. “I trust you.”

And the relief in their eyes is so pure, it nearly breaks you open all over again. You begin to eat the delicious food prepared and go to grab more of the Bulgogi across the table. 

“Haneul, could you pass the Bulgogi please-” There’s a beat of stillness so sharp it cuts the air.

He freezes.

Your voice had been soft—barely above a breath—but it might as well have echoed off the walls. Four pairs of eyes flick to him instantly. Abby—no, Haneul—doesn’t move for a full second. Jinu’s lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. Romance hums, pleased. Mystery beams openly. Even Baby’s lip quirks in that subtle way of his.

But it’s Haneul who looks undone. His eyes meet yours—dark, glittering, soft in a way that should be terrifying coming from someone who could end nations. And yet, the only thing they carry is adoration. Worship. Wonder. 

He swallows. “Say it again.”

You blink. “Haneul—”

He closes his eyes. “Again,” he whispers.

“Haneul.” His knuckles turn white against the table’s edge.

“You’re going to make him short-circuit,” Mystery says fondly. Haneul smiles and every boy at the table watches that moment—not with envy, but with a shared fondness. Because the bond did flare then. You felt it. So did they. Threading tighter. Warmer. More unbreakable than before. And none of them would say it aloud… But they knew. That name in your mouth was holy. And it belonged to him.

Haneul coughs, handing you the bowl of Bulgogi with a slight tinge to his cheeks that made you gush internally. Cute.

The clink of chopsticks against porcelain fills the air as you eat dinner. Mystery leans closer as he gently places another spoon of Galbi onto your plate. Jinu silently refills your tea. Abby watches you from across the table, his grip tightening every time you look away. Romance twirls his spoon like he’s thinking too hard. Baby doesn’t eat—he just stares.

Dinner tastes warm, comforting. You toy with your rice for a moment. “Can I ask you something again?”

Jinu looks up instantly. “Anything.”

You hesitate, then glance at each of them. “Why are you in a boyband?”

Everyone goes still for a moment. Romance’s spoon halts midair. Jinu doesn’t blink. Abby’s jaw ticks, hard. Mystery goes stiff. Only Baby doesn’t react—but his eyes narrow slightly.

“That’s a fair question,” Jinu says at last. Too smooth. Too calm. Romance flashes a smile. Too polished. “We needed a way to be seen.”

“We came up with the idea and Gwi Ma told us to go ahead with it,” Abby grumbles, tone clipped.

You blink. “The demon king?”

“Yeah,” Romance says, more gently now. “We thought if we were famous—if the world worshipped us—you’d find your way to us again. Hear our voices. Remember something in your soul.”

“And it worked,” Mystery whispers, squeezing your hand. “You’re here.”

You look down, stomach fluttering. “So… everything was just for me?”

Jinu nods. “Always.”

Romance leans forward, voice soft like velvet and lined with knives. “You were the only one who was ever supposed to hear the songs. The rest of the world? Just echoes.”

Abby’s voice is low. “We became everything they loved so you’d never miss us.”

It’s overwhelming. A little terrifying. But something about the way they look at you makes it feel… real. True.

You don’t notice how they exchange glances once you lower your gaze to take another bite of your meal. Don’t see how Jinu’s knuckles whiten around his cup. Or how Baby finally looks away—like even he can’t hold your gaze when you’re this trusting.

They’re lying. Not about the bond. Not about the fame. But about the purpose.

Because the truth—about the souls their voices seduce and collect for Gwi Ma, about the weight of every fan who screamed their name and unknowingly gave up a piece of themselves—that truth would shatter something still fragile between you.

They’ll tell you. One day. But not tonight.

Tonight, you smile at them with trust blooming behind your eyes. And none of them have the heart to destroy it. Not yet.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the air purifier and the occasional flip of a page. You’re curled into the far corner of the couch, reading the book Romance gave you. The velvet cover is worn, the margins marked with his elegant handwriting—tiny, circling certain lines, underlining others. As if he already knew which ones you’d love.

Mystery sits beside you. Your legs are tucked over his lap, a throw blanket draped across both of you. He hasn’t moved in ten minutes. Not really. Just subtle things—his fingers occasionally grazing your ankle like he needs the contact. Like he’s memorizing the weight of you. He watches you read with an expression so soft it feels like it shouldn’t belong on a demon’s face.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur, not looking up.

“I like when you read,” he replies. His voice is low. Breathless. “It feels safe.”

You glance at him. He’s not blushing—he never really does—but his eyes are wide, unblinking. Locked on you like a starving thing. He continues, voice barely a whisper. “I hear feelings. Yours are quiet. Not sharp. Not angry.”

You hesitate, your thumb pausing mid-turn on the page.

“Most people… when they feel something, it hurts my head. Makes me itch. Makes me want to run.”

His hand brushes against your calf, soft. “But your fear doesn’t push me away. It makes me want to stay. Makes me want to hold you tighter.”

You look at him, your heart heavy. He’s so gentle when you let him be. So emotionally loud even in silence. You shift slightly and reach up to brush the strands of hair from his face. His lashes flutter as your fingers graze his temple. He leans into your touch like a cat who’s been cold for centuries and has finally found the sun.

You both stay like that for a moment—your fingers in his hair, his palm resting gently over your shin. Then the door opens. Jinu walks in first, flanked by Romance, Baby, and Haneul. Their jackets are damp from evening mist, the faint scent of cologne and cold air clinging to their clothes. They’re speaking lowly among themselves until they notice you and Mystery curled together on the couch.

Romance's mouth lifts at one corner. “Hope he wasn’t being too clingy.”

“He was perfect,” you say, brushing your fingers through Mystery’s hair. He leans into it with a soft hum. Baby drops into an armchair and sprawls like a cat. “Hope we didn’t interrupt.”

“Not at all,” you say. “How was everything?”

“Fine,” Jinu says. “Promotions. Interviews.”

“You didn’t watch the broadcast?” Romance asks, raising a brow.

“I caught some of it,” you reply. “Congrats on the win, by the way. I saw you beat Huntrix for the number one spot.”

There’s a silence that engulfs the room. Utter and immediate. You blink. “What? That’s a good thing, right?”

The shift in the room is subtle—but palpable. Romance’s jaw clenches. Haneul straightens. Baby stops playing with the sleeve of his hoodie. Mystery’s hand tightens slightly over your leg.

You frown. “Is there… something I’m missing?”

Jinu sighs. “The Huntrix girls…they’re not just idols,” His voice is quiet. Calculated. 

“They’re hunters,” Haneul adds, eyes unreadable.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and you tilt your head to the side in the same adorable way that made Baby want to squish you the other day. “Hunters? What do they hunt?”

“Us.” Mystery utters.

You pause. “Like… demon hunters?”

A beat.

“Yes,” Baby says softly. “Exactly like that.”

The words hit like cold water. “But…” You sit up straighter. “I talked to one of them once… Zoey. She seemed really nice.”

“What?” Romance snaps. His voice is sharp, already halfway to furious.

“She—she asked for my Instagram. And I gave it. I didn’t know she was—”

“You what?” Haneul’s voice is low. Dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

You flinch. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“They’re not your friends,” Baby says, rising now, steps slow and deliberate. “They’re trained to destroy everything you’re starting to care about.”

“They don’t want your feed,” Mystery murmurs, brows furrowed. “They want leverage.”

You stare at them. At the fear disguised as anger on all their faces. The way they’re circling now. Closing in—not at you, but around you. Like a shield.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper.

Jinu moves closer. “Of course you didn’t.”

Romance exhales hard, running a hand through his hair. “That’s why we’re telling you now. So you don’t make that mistake again.”

“I didn’t think they were dangerous,” you say. “Zoey… she smiled. She even handed me some medicine.”

“Smiles don’t mean safety,” Haneul says.

“Some demons smile before they tear out your soul,” Mystery adds. “And some humans smile before they take a blade to your back.”

You look down at your hands, guilt pooling deep in your stomach.

“We’re not angry with you,” Jinu says after a pause, kneeling in front of you. His voice is low. Calming. “But you have to be careful.”

“They’re forming a barrier,” Romance says. “The Honmoon. A seal meant to lock demons out of the human world.”

“It’s been around since before we were demons,” Haneul adds, voice low. “They don’t just hunt. They exterminate.”

“But why?” you ask. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Silence stretches. One beat. Two.

“They don’t care about innocence,” Haneul says finally. “To them, a demon is a demon. No exceptions.”

“And the less we can touch this world,” Jinu murmurs, “the safer they feel.”

Baby’s jaw tenses. “And you… you’re close to us. Too close. That makes you a threat.”

You blink. “But they don’t even know what this is. They don’t know about the bond.”

“No,” Romance says, eyes unreadable. “But they see how we look at you. How we follow you. They know we’d burn everything to protect you.”

Mystery leans in, voice soft but sharp. “That makes you leverage.”

Your chest tightens.

“They’ll try to use you,” Haneul says. “To get to us. To break us. And they won’t care who you are.”

You press your fingers to your temples. The air feels heavier now. Like the weight of things you never asked to carry has settled on your shoulders. Still…

As you look at the boys—at their tension, their fear masked as fury, their tenderness wrapped in obsession—you don’t feel unsafe. You feel shielded. Even if their love is dangerous. Even if you’re only beginning to understand how far they’d go to keep you.

Baby steps forward and kneels beside you. He takes your hand gently and lifts it to his lips. “We’ll always be with you,” he says, breath barely brushing your skin. “Even if you don’t see us. Even if the whole world turns on you.” He presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Sleep safe tonight.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The next day Mystery insists on walking you to work. He doesn’t say it outright. Just appears beside you with his hoodie half-zipped, his fingers brushing yours like they belong there. And maybe, at this point, they do.

“You don’t have to come,” you murmur, adjusting your bag.

“I want to,” he says simply. His gaze doesn’t quite meet yours, but you feel the intensity behind it anyway. “You were upset yesterday. I didn’t like it.”

You smile, small. A little tired. “You’re all like this, you know.”

He shrugs. “Only with you.”

The walk is quiet. Easy. At least until you turn the corner onto the street where the café should be—and everything stills. Mystery’s hand tightens around yours. There’s yellow tape stretched across the door. A printed notice slapped onto the glass:

“CLOSED: PENDING INVESTIGATION.”

Your breath catches. You step forward like it might change something. “No,” you whisper. “What—?”

Mystery doesn’t move. You spot Mina, your coworker, nearby and jog over. “What happened?” 

Mina looks shaken. “They said someone reported us—health code stuff, really serious. Spoiled food, pest control, tampered beverages. They think someone’s been… messing with customer orders.”

“That’s insane,” you breathe. “No one’s ever gotten sick—”

“I know,” Mina says, voice hushed. “It doesn’t make sense.”

She frowns. “You should talk to the owner, though. He said you shouldn’t come back. For your own safety.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The second you walk back into the apartment, the atmosphere shifts. Mystery lingers at the door behind you, but the rest of the boys are already gathered—waiting. Like they knew. Like they planned this.

Romance raises a brow. “Back so soon?”

“Cut the act.” you jab. “You had the café shut down.”

Jinu doesn’t flinch. Neither does Baby. Only Haneul lowers his gaze, jaw tight. You look at Romance. He’s smiling faintly. Too sweet. Too calm.

“That place was a risk,” he says. “Too many unknowns. Too many people getting too close.”

“I worked there.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” he replies softly. “You have us.”

Your hands ball into fists. “You didn’t even ask me. You just—took it.”

“Well, we did ask you to quit… multiple times.” Romance steps forward, cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes under your eye. “We didn’t take anything,” he murmurs. “We removed what was hurting you. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

You pull back. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“But we will,” Baby cuts in, his voice like a warning purr. “If it means keeping you.”

You look at all of them—beautiful, terrifying, devoted—and feel the ground tilt beneath you. “I need air,” you mutter, pushing past them.

You shove open the sliding door and step out onto the balcony, the cool air cutting against your skin like glass. You grip the railing so tightly your knuckles pale, breath uneven from the fire still twisting in your chest.

They shut down your job. Your café. And maybe you weren’t in love with the place, but it was yours—your choice, your independence, your routine. And they just took it.

The door slides open behind you. You don’t turn. Of course it’s him. You’d know the steady footfalls of Baby anywhere. The calmest storm in the room.

“You knew,” you say, voice tight. “You all knew.”

He says nothing at first. Just steps up beside you, arms folded lazily over the balcony edge. “Romance was only trying to help.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “He has a funny way of showing it. That café was—”

“Beneath you,” Baby interrupts, turning to face you. “That café was full of men who stared too long. Of customers who asked for your name so they could whisper it later. Of noise. Of danger.”

You snap your gaze to him. “There were other people working there, too. People who needed that job. And now it’s shut down. Just so you could—what—feel better?”

He doesn’t blink. “I don’t care.”

The wind stills. “You—what?”

“I don’t care about them,” he repeats, voice soft but final. “You’re all I care about.” He steps closer, expression unreadable. “They’ll find something else. You? You’re not replaceable.”

You stare at him. Words jam in your throat, tangled with disbelief, frustration… something rawer, something too close to the chest. “I had a life,” you whisper. “A normal life.”

“You were haunted in it,” he says flatly. “And none of them knew.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off again—quietly this time. “You think you’re mad because you lost control,” he murmurs. “But it’s because we took what hurt you before you had to ask.”

He pauses, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek with more tenderness than you expect from someone whose words feel like a cage. And then, gently, with a voice full of conviction: “Let us be your monsters. We already are. The only difference is we’d kill for you.”

You exhale, shaky. The rage in your chest ebbs—but doesn’t vanish. You don’t know if it’s fear or relief or both. Because he’s not wrong. After what happened in the café yesterday, after the demon— You had been scared. And he knows that. They all do. And they’re doing what demons do: protecting what they think is theirs.

Even if it means burning everything else down.

You step back inside after a few minutes, arms folded tightly across your chest. All five boys are in the living room now, waiting. Watching. Jinu straightens first, and the others fall into line without speaking—like soldiers sensing their commander’s cue. But there’s no war here. Only the tension you dragged in with you.

You glance between them and sigh. “I’m still mad.”

Romance opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” you snap, holding up a hand. “Just—don’t.”

He closes it. Smiles. But there’s something smug tucked beneath it. You flop onto the couch with an exaggerated huff. “Well. Congrats. You’ve successfully ruined my only source of income. What now? I need to pay rent, I need to make a living—I have to find another job.”

Abby blinks. “No, you don’t.”

You throw a pillow at him. “I do! Unless you want me starving and sleeping in a park—wait, actually, I live here. So technically that’s your fault now.”

Romance hums, lounging against the arm of the couch. “We’ll give you whatever you need. How much do you want?”

You stare at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “What?”

“Money. Name your number.”

“I—what?! That’s not how this works!” You fling your arms in disbelief. “If anything, I should be paying you for letting me stay here!”

Jinu shrugs calmly. “Think of it as… us paying you to stay.”

Your jaw drops. “You’re renting me?”

“No,” Baby deadpans from the side, arms crossed. “More like… pay-to-own. Although—technically—we already own. So maybe it’s just… property tax?”

You gape at him. “Are you hearing yourselves?”

Mystery, perched beside you like a content shadow, takes your hand and kisses the back of it without a word. You stare at him. He stares right back. Shameless.

“You’re insane,” you mutter.

“Only for you,” Abby adds with a grin, ruffling your hair. You groan and sink further into the couch. “I seriously need to rethink every decision that brought me here.”

“You don’t have to work,” Jinu says, voice softer now. “Not if you don’t want to.”

You shoot him a tired glare. “And do what, exactly?”

“Whatever you couldn’t do before,” he says gently. “Sketch. Paint. Read all the books you used to dog-ear. Let the world slow down. Let us take care of the rest.”

You pause. There’s sincerity there, under the obsession. Love tangled with possessiveness. A future they’re building for you whether you asked for it or not.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I still feel like I’ve lost something.”

“Maybe,” Romance says, kneeling in front of you with a hand on your knee. “But you’ve gained everything else.”

His smile is too sweet. Too sharp. And in the quiet that follows, you feel all of them closing in—not physically, but emotionally. Wrapping around your life. Like a cage made of velvet and affection. You sigh again.

And no one dares point out that you didn’t stand up to leave.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

An hour later, the door clicks softly behind them.

They’re gone. Just for the day—practice, recording, meetings. You’d seen the schedule laid out neatly on the counter that morning. It felt strange… watching them move from obsessions to idols in a blink. Haneul’s soft kiss on your temple. Mystery brushing your hair with his fingers before pulling away last. Romance not saying anything, just looking at you like he’d already won.

You walk through the apartment barefoot. Too quiet. Too big…

It’s not long before you find it. A studio room. Sunlight filters in through gauzy curtains. Canvases leaned in a perfect row, a new sketchbook waiting, and a full set of paints—brushes already soaking in fresh water.

Your breath catches. They’d set this up.

Romance, maybe. Or Haneul. Or all of them together, orchestrated like everything else. As if giving you a toy better than the one they had just taken away.

Still—your fingers twitch. You walk towards the table and run your hands along the grain, the weight of the sketchpad like something sacred. You sit. When was the last time I did something for myself?

You open the book, pencil hovering. The first line is shaky. But the second is steadier. Soon, shapes form. Flowers. A hand. An eye. Hours pass. Paint clings to your fingertips. Your world shrinks to canvas and color.

And yet… it doesn't feel free. You look around at the soft studio light, the way everything’s been made to please you.

They say it’s freedom. But it feels like a beautifully decorated cage.

A gilded sanctuary. One they carved for you with devotion sharp enough to bleed. You sigh and glance at the piece you made—a half-formed portrait of someone smiling. You don't even remember choosing the smile. It just… happened.

Your lips twitch. Haneul. The way he looked at you when you whispered his name. When you touched his skin and felt him tremble like you were salvation.

Mystery—how he held your hand like it was glass and pressed a kiss to your forehead like he’d never known tenderness until then.

You smile. But it fades. Because then there’s Romance. Romance who always speaks last. Who always speaks right. Who makes you think it’s your idea to stay, to trust, to choose him—when you know, deep down, he’s been choosing for you since the moment you met.

Romance loves like a chess master—every word, every pause, calculated.

You remember his voice that morning—smooth, unapologetic. He made you feel unreasonable for being mad. He makes you feel like you’re choosing him… even when he’s already chosen for you.

You dip your brush in red. You drag the stroke across the page. Maybe it’s not even about what they do anymore. Maybe it’s about what you’re becoming.

Is this real love? Or just the kind that demons can offer?

You stare out the window for a long time. The sun’s dipped lower now, painting the sky in shades of peach. You used to have things—schedules, coworkers, rent. Now you have five boys, a luxury apartment, a sketchbook you didn’t buy… I want to stay, you think. But it’s hard to want something… when it’s already been decided for you. 

You lean your head against the wall, paint drying on your palms. Your chest aches. You want to believe their love is enough. But maybe it’s not about enough. Maybe it’s about control. And what’s left of you if you give it away.

───────���── ⚘ ──────────

The sound of the front door clicking shut echoes through the apartment. “We’re back,” Jinu calls. No response.

Baby’s brow furrows. “Where is she?”

“Maybe her room?” Abby—Haneul—starts to move, but Mystery shakes his head. “She’s in the studio,” he says quietly. “She needed quiet.”

The boys file down the hall and stop at the doorway. The studio light glows warm and low. And there you are—curled up on the little couch, a blanket half-draped over you, a half-finished painting of red and twilight left on the easel nearby. A brush rests loosely in your hand.

Romance exhales softly. “Of course she paints when she’s sad.”

Haneul steps forward but stops when Romance moves past him. “I’ve got her.”

Carefully, reverently, Romance scoops you into his arms. The others don’t argue. They only watch—some with envy, some with longing—as he carries you through the apartment like you’re made of glass. But they understood he probably wanted a moment with you alone today.

He lays you down on the bed and slips in beside you, one arm curled beneath your neck, the other splayed across your waist like a vow. You stir slightly at the shift in warmth.

He gazes down at you in adoration, dipping his nose into your hair to breathe in and savour your scent. “I just want what’s best for you,” he whispers into your hair. “Even if you don’t know what that is. Even if it means you’ll hate me.”

Your brow twitches. Your breath shifts. Minutes pass before you squirm in his hold. “Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, brushing your hair off your face.

Your eyes crack open, just enough to catch the shadows of his lashes. “I’m not tired,” you mumble.

A soft, amused noise vibrates in his chest. “Tsk. You shouldn’t lie.”

You nuzzle closer, eyes still fluttering shut, and whisper faintly, “You should take your own advice.”

Romance goes still. Then he smiles, crooked and heartbroken all at once. “You’re clever even when you’re half-asleep,” he mutters, lips against your temple.

You shift again, now more awake, but still safe in his hold. “Romance…”

He exhales like your voice is a drug. And then he says it—quiet and trembling. “I was scared you hated me.”

You meet his gaze. “I don’t.”

His smile is faint. “Even if you did… Hate me, love me… I’m not leaving. Not in this lifetime. Not in any other.”

There’s something dangerous in the softness of his voice. Something that grips your ribs from the inside and refuses to let go. And yet, you ask—quietly, carefully, “But…Why?”

His hand rises, fingers brushing your lower lip, thumb lingering like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth. “Do you really want to know?” he murmurs.

You nod.

He leans his head back against the pillows, gaze dragging up to the ceiling—but you know he’s not seeing this room. He’s seeing a world long gone. A memory still bleeding.

“I was born the son of a courtesan. A secret whispered behind painted screens. A mistake never meant to speak above a whisper. I learned early that love doesn’t come freely. People love you for what you give them—what you show them. Not for what you are.”

You stay still, heart beginning to pound.

“They taught me to survive. To smile like I meant it. To lie like it was devotion. I could make anyone believe they were the only person in the world to me. I… I never had a name worth keeping. Just looks and lies and the ability to make people want me… for a night. Never longer. And I never believed in love… not really. Until you.”

His jaw tenses.

“I met you when you were everything I wasn’t. You were a noble. Engaged to a man who didn’t even look at you the way I did. And I—God—I wasn’t supposed to touch you. I wasn’t even supposed to breathe the same air.” 

He scoffs lightly, eyes pained. “You were a softness I couldn’t corrupt. But I tried. God, I tried. I lured you in like I was taught to. Sweet words. Secret meetings. Lies that sounded like dreams. But you saw me. Past the charm. Past the mask. You chose me.”

Your throat tightens.

“I fell in love with you. For real. For the first time. I asked you to run away. You refused. Not because you didn’t want me—but because you loved your family more than you loved yourself. You were protecting them.”

His voice lowers. Breaks. “They found out and they said I ruined you. That I spoiled something pure. They had you killed to keep your name clean.”

Silence. Dead, aching silence. You released a shaky breath and a tear trailed down your cheek at the pure ache in his voice. 

“I didn’t last long after that,” he says. “Not with a shattered soul and nothing left to lose. And I—” His voice breaks. “I died knowing it was my fault. That if I’d never touched you, you’d still be alive. I died. But not before whispering your name to the darkness and begging—begging—to see you again. I gave up everything for that one wish. And Gwi Ma listened.”

You press your forehead to his chest, the thud of his heart steady and real beneath your ear. His shirt takes your tear stains. “So that’s how it happened…” you whisper. Your heart ached at his pain. Not just how he lost you, but his life leading up to that. The longing he had for you- someone he thought he could never have. 

“I didn’t think I deserved to have you again,” he breathes into your hair. “But fate disagreed.” He kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then lower, over your jaw.

“So this time…” he murmurs against your skin, “I won’t let go. You can run. You can yell. You can curse me.” His hand slides up your back, trembling with restraint. “But I’ll still follow. I’ll still want. I’ll still love you until it breaks me.”

You don’t answer. You just look at him—really look at him. At the boy who once had nothing. The man who once begged for your love and paid for it with your life. The demon who clawed through centuries just to see you again. And he’s here. Broken. Beautiful. Yours.

Your lips hover near his—close, trembling, not touching. He waits. He always does. Like he’s terrified you’ll vanish again if he moves too soon.

Then, at last, you lean in. Your mouth finds his like a sob. Like surrender. Like an apology across lifetimes. And he shatters.

His hands fly to your waist, yanking you into his lap like it’s instinct—like every part of him has waited for this moment with a hunger no mortal could endure. He kisses you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, like he can breathe through your mouth and nothing else. He’s rough, then gentle, then rough again. Kisses that taste like desperation. Like regret. Like devotion sharpened into something feral.

You gasp into him, and he swallows the sound greedily.

But then—you break.

A sob catches in your throat. Your eyes flood. You pull back, barely, lips brushing his, and whisper through the ache, “You must’ve been in so much pain…”

He stiffens. Then stills. You’re crying. For him. His gaze darkens with something ancient and raw. And then—he moves. He leans in, eyes locked on yours, and licks the tear as it slips down your cheek. Slow. Reverent. Like your sadness is sacred.

Then he kisses it. And the next one. And the next.

“I was in agony,” he murmurs between soft, trembling kisses. “When they took you. When you wouldn’t run. When I couldn’t save you. I burned every night with your name in my mouth. But this—” his voice breaks as he kisses your jaw, your cheek, your eyelids— “this is worse. Watching you cry for me. Knowing I did this to you again.”

You try to speak, but he cuts you off with a kiss. Tender. Then deeper. Deeper still. His hands slide beneath your shirt, not to take—just to feel. Just to touch the skin he lost so long ago. His fingers tremble as they trace the curve of your spine.

“You were too good for me then,” he says into your neck. “And you’re too good for me now.”

“Stop it,” you whisper, hands fisting into his shirt. “Don’t say that.” 

There’s a silence that washes over the room, a silent understanding, like he’s savoring your presence in his arms like this, in a way he never got to have you before. In a way that he thought only existed in dreams. 

You lean your forehead against his, and with a whisper you ask: “…What’s your real name?”

He stills. Then leans close—his lips brushing yours with infinite gentleness. “Seoha.”

You whisper it back, trembling: “Seoha…”

He exhales, like you’ve just undone him completely. “Say it again.”

You do. He lets out a sound between a sigh and a moan. He presses his forehead to yours like a prayer. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

You kiss him again. Longer this time. Deeper. And he kisses you back with every century in his bones. With every nightmare. With every echo of your name whispered in the dark, across lifetimes he thought he’d never escape.

“I’ll never lose you again,” he breathes. “Even if you hate me. Even if you run. I’ll burn the world before I let anyone take you.”

You curl against him, his skin hot against yours, his arms locking around you like chains spun from longing. Your tears finally stop. And just before you fall asleep in his arms, you whisper one last time into the quiet of his chest—

“Seoha…”

His grip tightens. And in the dark, he breathes against your temple:

“This time… I’ll keep you forever.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: Wahh I hope you guys enjoyed this one! I wanted to focus on Romance's actions and understanding his character and why he is the way he is. Given his backstory, it explains why he's more controlling and manipulative- because you didn't listen to him once before and it cost you your life. Which explains his need to control you and your decisions. I also chose the name Seoha to fit his character - it means “dawn river” — and it evokes something calm, seductive, poetic… but also inevitable. Like a current pulling you in, and feels like someone born of the night world who dreams of the sun: aka you!

Let me know if you liked this chapter! Every comment, reblog, like, I see it all and really appreciate it! <3 And as always, thank you for reading!

Willa x

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[bottledfool]

I don't see any point to you getting pedantic over the word "galaxy," since you used it in the post I was replying to, but yes, you're right, Union doesn't actually control an entire galaxy, not that it actually matters for the sake of the discussion. There also isn't a frame called the Infant Immolater, either, but you didn't seem to care as much about that one.

Anyway, to clarify, when I said "despite what the lore insists," I was referring to the fact that the lore's extremely whitewashed description of Union's actions post Sec-com is ridiculous to the point that it can easily be interpreted as in-universe propaganda. Despite verbally renouncing Sec-Comm's actions, Third Comm still benefits from and continues many of their colonialist projects from that era.

The fact that they have a really good reason for why they definitely need to keep working with slavers does not make integrating slavery into their economy any less evil. Sec-Comm undoubtedly had just as many reasons for why they had to do the same thing, and those reasons would have been just as valid. Instead of just accepting that it's a necessary evil, it might be more productive to consider what sort of government considers slavery to be acceptable as long as it doesn't have to look at it very often. In fact, I'm willing to bet the average Union official personally despises slavery (or at least they'd say they do), but they're not losing any sleep over the fact that Third Committee is allowing it to happen as long as it benefits the economy.

This is what I mean when I say they're Sec-Comm "with the visible edges sanded off:" They still do most of the awful things Sec-Comm did - they're still a neoliberal government entity who rules through the use of a corpo state, so unless one were to throw absolutely all logic out of the setting, it's undeniable that they do - but they no longer have the appearance of an overtly-fascistic government. They're palatable to the average citizen and maybe even to some of the people outside Union. But the long arm of Union colonization still very much exists, and the moment someone doesn't fall in line, it'll reach out and crush them.

The core issue with arguing that Third-Comm are good is that they have an extremely clear real-world equivalent: The EU. On the surface, the EU does a very good job of appearing reasonable and good, but anyone who has paid attention to the history of European politics understands that the EU was formed largely by colonial powers, and despite (frustratingly) gradual efforts at decolonization across the world, the EU's laws were still originally drafted with a colonialist mindset and designed to benefit the countries that formed it. Even setting all that aside, the EU has done some pretty reprehensible things over its lifespan, largely by funding and enabling smaller world powers to conduct these atrocities for them, thereby exporting political violence to a place where they can benefit from it but don't have to look at it.

When I say the lore insists otherwise, I mean that it lists multiple examples of exactly this sort of thing happening under Third-Comm, but just sort of handwaves it away as necessary and tragic. Despite the lore's insistence that these are unimportant when characterizing Union, I would argue that the actions of a government are, in fact, the most important thing to consider when characterizing a government.

And to your final point, yes, my point was that the government owns one of the four corpo states that rule just about everything in the setting. So, like I said, whether you prefer to think of the power structure in Lancer being four corpo states or one corpo states that three others rely on, it doesn't actually matter, because neither is good.

At the end of the day, you can come up with whatever interpretation you would like to use. But if you're planning on discussing the political messaging in a setting, you may want to take a look at what others have said about government entities that function very similarly to the one we're talking about. Look beyond the words the author wrote about their future utopia, especially when their idea of a future utopia is the EU. It might annoy you when some people characterize Lancer that way, but there are a lot of very good reasons for why they do that.

Armored Core: you're a cog in the death machine of capitalism and freedom lies in the hands of those strong enough jam the gears and break the apparatus. you should def use the Baby Flayer 9000 to achieve that goal btw

Gundam: war is fucked man, so much senselss death and killing all in the name of lofty ideals. anyway we'll be rolling out the orphan thresher as soon as next quarter

[conron]

knight! wolf x princess! reader

description: wolf is a boy who walks away from his village for something more. he finds a knight program, nice! too bad the princess is a stuck up bitch….

tags: knight wolf!, princess reader!, first meetings, language barrier but not that important, jake and jimmy also here, i just added them bc i like characterizing them as friends, wont get another chapter unless people like it and i give in, sorry about all the aus 😭😭😭, it’s fun okay…, fantasy inaccuracy, i do not care guys…., not beta read can you tell (obviously.)

…

It’s a wonder he became a knight at all.

He didn’t really have a true calling in life. Wolf liked fighting and that’s about it. Sometimes he smoked a pipe with his fellow knights in training.

He thinks it’s kinda funny how life plays out how it does. The streets gave him fuck shit, no point in staying there. He was born there though, fighting and falling on the cobblestone roads made sense. He was used to being dirty, bloody, and his bones aching.

It came as no surprise to him that he found a pull to that paper on the side of the wall. Of a bakery he didn’t mind going to, it was a place that trained men to fight with swords and shields. Of soldiers who could be promoted to knights.

It wasn’t the fact of being a knight that caught his eye, he didn’t really give a shit how much money he could make. This is the usual reason that most people did join the program after all. Being able to knight for someone gave you extra money and if you were good enough to knight for royalty was even better.

Sure, he could care but why would he? He just needed that little inkling of adrenaline to get his heart pumping. He ran out of people to hit that gave him a rush within his small town so he decided to pack his shit and leave.

(Not like he had much to his name anyway besides dead parents and a shack he slept in.)

He gave the rest of his money to some old people who ran the bakery he frequented and said one more fuck you to the boys who used to pick fights with him.

paying a very very special visit to a certain boy with darker magenta hair that curled around his face. fuckin’ soft bitch. thinking he can get away with talking big.

he hated people who talked big but couldn’t stand to him. him of all people, who was also skin and bones but at least he didn’t act like that. crying and sniveling not to be hit.

god.

There, 15 year old Wolf Keum left and traveled without a care.

He killed for survival as he traveled and stole when it was appropriate. He didn’t need a lot to survive truth be told. Just his fists, the clothes on his back, and a knife for when he was desperate.

When he finally reached the town that held the program, he stepped on smooth stone carved into roads. The surrounding was filled with white buildings and he stuck out like a sore thumb. His bored face looked around as he stared at palaces with as much interest as you would look at drying paint.

Right now, he was in the middle of the downtown area. obviously where the peasants lived but leagues more liveable than the village he came from. carriages coming in and out and street vendors calling out prices.

it’s loud and fucking degrees hotter than his hometown. he was used to wearing jackets and the desolate quiet of the forest. not whatever this is.

so wolf stood in the street of this fancy looking place where he didn’t belong. chaotic and bustling around him and the air stinging his dirty and bloody skin. he had haphazardly cleaned and bandaged his wounds. the white strips hanging off his skin as he squinted his eyes. bore his potato sack shirt, black pants, and shitty shoes that lady at the bakery threw at him before saying not to die on her.

ah shit.

where was he supposed to go?

“Are you lost?”

He turns his head from the disgustingly decorated establishment to a girl on his right. A hood on her head as she wore a simple dress. The bottom of it dirtied and her face looked up at him. A scowl appeared on his face as he sized her up.

Her face seemed soft, not like the faces of girls back in the shithole he called a hometown. Faces that have seen hunger, hardship, and starvation. No, this girl seemed to be fed well but her eyes darted around as if she was being followed.

Hm.

he actually can’t understand what she’s saying. the people in his village spoke with a lot more aggressive words in a language that was comforting to him.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out the beat up and faded paper advertising the service. Knights in training and soldiers if you weren’t good enough. It wasn’t advertised like that but it’s what he got when he made that lady in the bakery to translate it for him.

“Ah! Oh well it’s over there!”

A short manicured nail points in the direction of another fucking palace.

My god.

She can hear the exasperated sigh that leaves his lips as he scratches his head. The sun is really bright, and it’s making him sweat. God, fuck his messed up eyes. He can’t even see that far ahead and he can’t understand anything she’s even saying. this new land annoying and foreign to his ears.

Then he hears a laugh.

It’s annoying and loud and comes from the girl standing to his side. different than how people sounded in his village.

“I’ll show you the way.”

He moves out of the way where she tries to grabs his hand. He doesn’t understand why someone with such clean hands would try to grab his. Plus, he’s not interested in some stuck up city girl.

He thinks he’d get in trouble for looking so disgusted at the girl but she laughs again. A noise that’s starting to grate on his ears. a hand pointing to him then pointing to her, beckoning him along like a dog. gesturing to the paper in his hand.

oh.

Whatever.

So he follows and watches as she guides him to somewhere with big gates. Before he can turn to nod at her, his version of a thanks i guess, she’s gone. it’s still hot and he turns to go in the gates before he’s questioned by some snobby looking straight nosed bastard.

Where is he heading?

he doesn’t bother with trying his luck at knowing if the man can speak this language, only holding up the paper.

He is immediately dragged by the arm and shoved into an arena with a dozen or so other men.

This is when he’s immediately started training for this stupid ass kingdom in a place he gives no fucks about. he can’t even understand the people who are speaking around him. But he’s allowed to spar and he’s itching to wipe that stupid smirk off the lanky bastard in front of him.

So months go by, then a few years and suddenly he’s 18. he learns the language over time, a boy named jake helping him read the newspaper. because hell, he won’t survive here if he doesn’t learn.

another boy named jimmy wont stop making fun of how his rough voice lets words leave his lips all jagged and ugly. its then he cusses in his own language and stares at him with wide eyes. it makes the peach haired boy roll his eyes before correcting his accent.

he learns the language with an obvious accent, unlike the others who came from different languages. softer than his. more masking of the accent. he doesn’t care enough to change every inch of himself.

he also learns his name, which is the only name he was ever called, is actually an animal. an animal that is named a completely different word in his language. so his name is apparently really fucking weird and makes guys poke fun at him.

he tests out how strong his knuckles are when he beats them up the first week he’s there.

He’s not clean cut like Jake and he doesn’t mouth off after every five seconds like Jimmy. he didn’t care much for anything at all to be honest. indifferent and bored half the time.

No, the only thing he ever gotten in trouble was for fighting and getting in scraps. He liked baring his teeth and beating his fists without shields or swords. Nothing to hold him back from whaling on the piece of shit in front of him.

Armor was a hassle and gloves removed the satisfaction of the burn on his knuckles. Swords were annoying and shields made him think.

He enjoyed using his head but most times, he liked just pummeling the person in font of him with no regard for anything else.

It came time for his ceremony since he was one of the few to be chosen to be knights from his sector. Along with Jake, Jimmy, and some other people he didn’t bother remembering.

The royal palace was extravagant, beautiful, and stuffy. He couldn’t care less about the things he saw or the glamorous colors that graced his eyes. But he walked with his back straight and holding the handle of his sword.

He wore some stuffy suit that was required before going into the palace. shackled with jewels and gems. shoulder pads making him feel ridiculous but he’s glad everyone else looks stupid too. must be what royalty is stroking their dicks about in fashion. not like he’d know. he wore training clothes the program provided him with for the last three years.

Jake and Jimmy both laugh when they made him slick his hair back. It made him itch to slam his elbow into each of their mouths respectively and he thinks he should go to heaven because he didnt. the gel they put in his hair didn’t help though when he just shook it out like a wet dog.

When him and 6 of the men he’s trained alongside with for the past few years kneel next to an aisle, he hears footsteps. They all bow their heads as they were trained to do.

And out walks the royal family.

A pretentious looking king, a haughty queen, and three daughters that are probably arrogant to a fault. He wrinkles his nose, smelling the privilege from years away.

Good god.

Maybe it would’ve been better for him to just stick to being a foot soldier.

Too late now he guesses.

There’s an announcer from his sector, his leader that is stronger than any of them so he was granted the title. he’d know. he once mouthed off after feeling like shit to the man named donald. the guy sucker punched him in the throat before he even finished the sentence.

“Here we have contenders that would be good for your daughters to pick, Sir.”

Donald’s voice is smooth and persuading and kinda makes Wolf wanna move and walk out of the palace. a finger behind his back that means something disrespectful in this land. he didn’t know he was knighting for these girls.

but he signed his life away with a bloody thumb print because god knows he never went to school. never had that privilege. so whatever.

said three girls walk around the men kneeled at their very will. Wolf keeps his head down and watches as shoes that cost more than his entire life worth walk around him. Clicking softly.

“What’s your name?”

A head of orange next to him opens his eyes and looks to Wolf. He gives an indifferent stare back. Jake looks almost as miserable as he does, bastard can’t hide it either.

“Jake Ji, dear princess.”

The woman squeals and giggles. Another thing that makes Wolf roll his eyes. Jake had a pretty soft looking face, eyes that stared at those stupid newspaper clipping stories like his life depended on it. If only these girls know how much the idiot sobs over said stupid characters in the newspaper.

There are two distinct voices that are cooing at the attractive men and giggling at their responses that most crafted during lunch. betting on which ones will make the girls swoon more. wolf was not present for this, more occupied sharpening his sword in the barracks. while jimmy lied in his bed and grumbled about the noise and jake rambling about the new issue.

The girls don’t seem to have an interest in him. gravitating towards his more slick looking comrades. ones who cared to shine their swords and ones who maybe didn’t have blood on the cuffs of their suits.

Thank god. Keep him off the royal leash.

he decides he’d be fine with being a foot soldier. just need to get out of this hell made of gold and quartz. he hasn’t even had to say anything this entire time.

“Hey you.”

it’s a new voice standing in front of him. must be the third one. not like he cares, he’s close to falling asleep. she must be talking to jimmy or jake.

He keeps his head down before Jake nudges his elbow. he feels a wave of irritation at the prospect of being touched when everything is so overstimulating but Jake’s voice is soft under the noise of the other men sugaring up the princesses.

“She’s talking to you, Wolf.”

“Wolf?”

twitch to his eyebrow at the emphasized sound of his name.

he has no idea how the girl heard jake but she does under the noise. the third princess who hadn’t said anything in the past 10 minutes suddenly bursts out in the most annoying and maddening laugh he’d ever heard in his fucking life.

“Wolf? That’s your NAME?”

There’s a figure crouched in front of him and he bites his cheek. he catches a glimpse of manicured nails and glittery fabric as he carefully keeps his head bowed. so she doesn’t see the way he’s biting his lip.

he can hear the way other chatter has stopped at her laugh. overpowering with a high pitch. eyes on him and the princess. eyes from jimmy and jake on both sides of him, seemingly trying to stare some more brain cells into wolf.

too bad for them. he has enough and he still grunts out a singular response. rough and no sweetness coating his voice.

“Yes.”

He feels scrutinizing eyes on him at the sound of no smooth delivery or a nice title following the word. a thick accent on the word as he almost spits it out. A mean scowl starts tugging at his lips but he tries desperately to smooth it down before he’s killed execution style.

“Raise your head, Wolf.”

And because on his knees isn’t a good place to attack someone, he does. he can see a young and feminine face looking down at him. the girl seems the youngest from her sisters. he honestly didn’t know much about them, he didn’t stare at the newspaper like jake did.

her eyes bright and smiling at him. as if there’s a joke he doesn’t understand and her crown sits a bit too forward atop her head. bending her knees under her dress, she reaches his level.

Being crouched isn’t a very good look on a princess, her face very close to his as his fellow knights in training stare in shock. Terrified that Wolf might swing at royalty. knowing the boy is a firecracker who has no qualms to fight almost anyone.

the royalty in question staring with shocked and disgusted faces. there’s a reason the other two stood tall over the men. a reason why they kept a distance.

The woman who’s in front of him smiles a big grin before taking a strand of his hair in her finger. jake’s eyes close in peaceful ignorance, deciding to not worry about the man next to him. waves of anger pulsating off of him.

the girl looks at the wavy purple hair through the sunlight in the window. examining something before standing and pointing at him, childish and happy.

“I want this one!”

her finger pointed from above him and her voice rings out, loud and happy. much to the jawed drops of his associates and the disapproval of her family. pointing at him like he’s a literal dog and he feels his eye twitch.

Aw hell.

Her father and mother are saying no to her decision but the princess number three is set on her decision. Smiling down at him but not demeaning. Not smug and not vain.

He can’t see the way Jimmy has a shit eating smirk and Jake is staring at him as if he’s gonna kill the youngest princess of the royal family.

Well he’s not that stupid is he?

so much to dismay of her family, she is set on her decision. and the soon to be knights leave the estate. before they immediately hound wolf, laughing that he got chosen soon so early. usually it took a little more visits but she chose him very easily.

he can’t help but glare at everyone until they all but jimmy still backtalks him. almost crying from laughing about how wolf looked as if he was gonna pounce on that girl.

well, fuck his life.

[thattimdrakeguy]

I Really Don't Take Joy In Saying This, But This Isn't Post-Crisis Jason...Not REALLY.

All rightie then, one more post about it before I get farther into it.

(I'm on a journey to figure out why I keep seeing all these panels of supposedly Post-Crisis Jason acting very unlike himself. I've read all of his Robin run in 'BATMAN' as in the series, and the panels I was seeing where very different from even just his origin.

And I'm a knowledge nut. So I been wanting to make sure I wasn't missing something, because I can't stand missing something when I want to know as much as I possibly can.)

EDIT: I'll put this up here, because I found this out after I first made the post.

Apparently it's at best, not fully Post-Crisis, it's at worst, possibly not even canon at all.

Because I had a moment where I was like "Huh, okay, maybe I am the one that's wrong", because I don't mind being wrong, I just wanna learn what's right in the end.

Then I saw this:

And then I knew, pretty dang quickly, this person wasn't writing Post-Crisis Jason Todd because this does not correlate with what Jason was now characterized to be post-crisis.

Also, I'm fully aware Jim Starlin had a hate boner for Jason Todd. But he didn't write his Post-Crisis origin. And Jason was still really different there than what he's shown as here.

And this is still clearly in that period where they made both Jason and Dick look pretty much identical, at least golden and silver age Dick-Robin, before later on giving Jason his own look, still during his Robin run. The one he ended up keeping overall.

This is just, what to people at the time, would consider, a generic Robin writing wise. Which would make more since in the Pre-Crisis timeline, because that Jason was pretty much identical to a younger Dick to a creative fault.

But still, I don't wanna be a dillweed and act like I'm the highest authority on everything. Where's the satisfaction in that? Satisfaction comes from the learning.

Plus, in total fairness, even early on in Post-Crisis Batman they were still drawing Jason Todd like silver and golden age Dick Grayson. I think the overly cutesy Jason seen more so here is still really out of place given his new origin clearly showing him to be very different from that though. Even when he was a scrawny kid on the streets, before Robin, he had a very confident, and sort or rough around the edges presentation--He definitely was not meant to be cutesy.

Again, the origin NOT written by Jim Starlin.

So I tried to look into it, because I will not willingly contribute to misinformation as much as I can help it. I wanna avoid just saying stuff because I assumed something as much as I possibly can, because I feel like I would then become really hypocritical, and I'd hate myself. So I'm not perfect, but you'll never catch me WILLINGLY spreading misinformation. I'm an info nut on these characters. I'm constantly on a journey to learn what the most quote unquote "accurate" version of these characters are. Which is an impossible task, but ayy, it's what keeps me invested. So, please, please, understand me on that.

I'm on the spectrum like that. It's a total hyperfixation.

Turns out it's just early reboot weirdness.

These stories so far don't feel like Post-Crisis Batman at all. It doesn't even really feel like they're connected to any of Denny O' Neil's work and his work did start Pre-Crisis.

There's so many pre-crisis Batman tropes. It feels like a slightly less wacky version of the silver age honestly.

So, hey, they are technically Post-Crisis. They're just really bad examples to use when examining Post-Crisis, 'cause they were still working it out.

Though, let me say, because there are some very rabid people in this fandom, that I am NOT trying to take away your enjoyment of these stories and panels. They are enjoyable, and it is really cute. The appeal to it is really obvious.

I am genuinely from the bottom of my heart, trying to learn here, and figure out what's going on to satisfy my intense interest in Jason Todd, as I'm sure a lot of you have an intense interest in him too, and anybody else that's an info-nut about these guys like I am.

I super freaking love Jason Todd. He's my second favorite Bat-Family member. And I really don't wanna do my man Jason Todd wrong, even if it's at the expense of finding out I am the one that's wrong. So that's why I'm doing this research to begin with. I don't like misinformation, it irks my brain.

So please don't give me a hard time lmao I'm just trying to learn here. I am begging you.

Besides, I do this more to my own favorite than any other character. You can trust me on that majorly. You know how often I trash a lot of Tim Drake comics? More than some haters because it doesn't do my boy right.

I'm that kind of a man.

(I will admit Pre-Crisis Jason is pretty cute though...It's just not who Post-Crisis Jason is meant to be. It's just not. I can't use these in good faith knowing what I do and pretend like it's a good representation of Post-Crisis Jason. I can't do my man dirty like that.)

[crab-people-overlord]

dumbass headcanons, stan & kyle edition

✦ NOTE: All of these are my personal headcanons, so totally fine if you disagree! I change things depending on the AU, but when it comes to canon-adjacent characterizations, this is where my brain goes (and there’s way more where this came from):

Kyle: 

Height: tallest in the group, def over 6 feet. And lean in his young adult life - not necessarily twig skinny, but skinny with some muscle definition.

Sports: Played basketball in high school and loved it, though he didn't care to pursue it past that. It was one of the healthiest routes for his bottled-up frustrations. Still plays in local community leagues past high school for fun and stress relief.

Also did track in middle school, but hated it. Was decent at long distance, but found it repetitive and dull. Despite this, he will still go on long runs in adulthood when he’s especially pent-up

Bisexual

School/career: Thought he might go into law, but after majoring in pre-law realized that he hated it -- found it boring, but worst of all, super bureaucratic. So for grad school pivots into a field he knows needs help, but one he thinks he can realistically make an impact in. The canon way would be psychology (he had a lot of friends, especially Stan with his depression and Kenny with his poverty upbringing, where he watched the system repeatedly fail them and wanted to make a difference), or my other HC where he goes into something in medicine because he saw it repeatedly fail others and himself repeatedly. Personally, I most often HC that realistically he would combine these two and go into psychiatry. And I just know he is a major advocate for trying to change the systems, even the healthcare system itself. He is not afraid to fight the big lobbyists here. 

Ike went through an angsty teen phase and pretended to hate Kyle for a couple of years. Kyle was less than patient in this phase of his, but they laugh about it when they’re older, and they’re both each other’s best men at their weddings.

 Ike is very good at reading Kyle's moods and knows exactly when to give him space vs. when to bug him. Which mostly means he knows when to bug him. 

Kyle teaches Ike to drive and is way more patient with him than anyone expected. Both their parents kinda sucked ass at teaching how to drive despite their best intentions, so Kyle took it upon him to teach Ike. 

Still hates bananas. And by hate, I mean this viscerally. Everyone knows not to give him banana-flavored anything, though Cartman taunts him with it to a disturbing extent. 

Music: Has a pretty wide music taste. I know some HC stan and kyle as having pretty different music tastes and I HC that to a small extent (stan likes hiphop and metal more than kyle, though kyle doesn’t hate those genres, and kyle likes alt/indie stuff a bit more and stan doesn’t hate that either), but i see them both as having more similarities here than differences due to their large tastes in music

Honestly I HC that stan and Kyle at their core love old rock etc and make fun of new pop together, whereas Kenny and Cartman are more appreciative of pop than they are. S&K once drunkenly cried over how much they both love Nirvana and The Cure. Actually, they drunkenly cry about lots of really stupid stuff together when they're teens, like how much they hate new disney and star wars. everyone else tells them to shut the fuck up about how pretentious they are when it comes to this shit lol 

He and Kenny go through similar timelines in their college careers and really help each other out, particularly in grad school. Kyle especially is a huge rock to Kenny during this time, as Kenny never had parents who had higher education. 

Gets irrationally angry at people who don’t return shopping carts -- picked this up from Gerald, who’s petty about weird things (just like Kyle, though he won’t admit it).

Develops a coffee addiction in college that borders on concerning. Drinks it black and judges people who add sugar

Plays the piano and guitar a bit (he was forced to take piano for years and won’t admit but was glad he did so he could learn how to read music even though he didn’t find it fun at the time). Learns the drums later in life, which is more his speed, and another outlet to let out frustrations. stan tries to more seriously teach him the guitar past 3-string songs but kyle genuinely doesn't find it as fun

Has the worst poker face imaginable - literally cannot lie convincingly. One of the many reasons he doesn’t like board and card games to the same level as his other friends, even though he’s smart enough to beat them (also he finds some of the games stan likes incredibly dorky. In a loving way.)

Has strong feelings about the Oxford comma and will die on that hill despite loving math + computer sci much more than English in school.

Dates the most in high school, yet somehow also has the worst luck with girls. No one understands how that works, least of all Kyle.

Gets unreasonably competitive about mini golf and arcade games. Actually, gets unreasonably competitive about most things

Loves angry female singer-songwriters (Alanis Morissette, Fiona Apple) but won’t admit it

Secretly practices arguments in the mirror and has imaginary debates in the shower (he wins every one, obviously). 

Style: Color palette is pretty safe - lots of white, gray, forest green, orange. Finds a comfortable yet socially/casually stylish outfit and sticks with it like a cartoon character. I know some see Stan as the plaid shirt wearer, but S&K are equally likely to wear plaid -- and in fact, one time accidentally show up to the same function with similar plaid shirts; stan in blue and kyle in orange. Everyone made fun of them relentlessly, so they both stopped wearing plaid in their friend group. Kyle has strong feelings about sock quality and will pay more money for good socks. his real homies know to get him good socks as gifts.

accidentally went viral and popular on TikTok for witty/passionate political rants (stan secretly downloads tiktok just to watch him there). still is unreasonably attached to social media.

loves playing all types of video games like the rest of his friends, but especially loves mindless ones like lawn mowing simulator, powerwash sim, animal crossing, etc (think like that one FB farming game). those types of games are one of the things that helps him to unwind.

Stan:

Height: Tall as well - I HC him around the same height as Kyle. Tbh, I view them as pretty close in height (sometimes one is like, an inch taller than the other; I don’t have a set HC here). They constantly argue over who is actually taller. I see him as showing more muscle (Stan is more into strength sports and Kyle more into stamina sports; Kyle better at long distance in track but Stan better at sprinting), but also see him carrying a bit more weight. Not fat by any means, though he does get more of a dad bod particularly when he reaches his 40s. 

Doesn’t go through another goth phase past Raisin’s, but starts to care less about how others view him (partially cuz of nihilism lol). Gets simple black earrings he wears throughout HS, but for the most part dresses pretty averagely in T-Shirts and jeans. Tried bleaching his hair exactly once (1 time and one time only) after his final breakup with wendy, but didn’t care to tone or maintain it, so it grew out pretty quickly. He looked like a scrambled egg for 2 months. His friends never let him live it down.

Bi

Speaking of getting broken up with in high school -- the last time Wendy breaks up with him in their sophomore year, he doesn’t date exclusively again for the rest of high school. Despite this, Stan and Wendy stay close friends starting their Senior year of HS and throughout adulthood. They really respect each other. Stan eventually realizes their relationship was following the same path of his own parents, a cycle he wants to break. They both always show up for big events in each other’s lives. 

Pressured to join the football team, but couldn’t care less about it (though he does genuinely love following the broncos more than anyone else in the friend group). Constantly threatened to be kicked off the team due to bad grades. 

School: Decent test taker, but never does homework. He has bad executive dysfunction, and I think shows signs of ADHD, though in the more stereotypically girl way rather than boy way (more on the inattentive side rather than hyperactive). Occasionally has Butters (who I HC has autism, again, totally fine if you disagree) tutor him when he needs to catch up, because Butters learns in a similar way to him and is the best at tutoring him because of this

Someone once told him he looked like randy when he tried growing facial hair for the first time, and he promptly shaved and never stopped shaving after that, though his hair grows fast and dark, so he usually has a 5’o o'clock shadow as an adult

Speaking of randy, his parents get divorced in middle school, and after that, his mom tries to get help for Stan and Shelley’s mental states. She becomes stricter with stan and alcohol and gets him the help he needs. Stan’s relationship with his dad improves when he only has to deal with him on the weekends. Is embarrassed at his dad’s behavior at his football games (he cares way more than Stan does), but Randy never misses a game. Stan learns these are the ways his dad shows his love and knows how to better deal with him from a distance as he grows older. 

Speaking of Randy and Sharon - they still occasionally hook up, but get along much better after the divorce. Sharon eventually gets together with Nelson, Randy’s coworker lmao. Randy pretends to hate it, but secretly loves it

And speaking of Shelley, Stan learns to appreciate her brutal honesty - she's the only person who calls him out on his BS without judgment. They also learn that they’re a lot more alike than they’d care to admit as they get older. 

They have a tradition of watching terrible movies together and competing to make the best sarcastic commentary. They can go months without communicating in their adult life, but every few years take solo trips together where it feels like no time at all has passed. 

Tries college out (though doesn’t get any good scholarships for it) - first tries music major, then engineering. He hates how theoretical classes can get and just wants something hands-on and real, and becomes super depressed. He doesn’t learn in a neurotypical way, and college doesn’t serve him well because of this. He goes through another bout of pretty bad nihilism about the state of the world and ties his self-worth to being shitty at college, but his sister (and eventually, his friend group) helps get him through this and convinces him he’s not a worthless person for dropping out and not going the college route

Stan still is successful despite dropping out of college, and my HC for this changes. Going off canon, it’s he goes the military (Space Force) route because he knows he needs structure and is good at strategizing. Rises in rank but hates the bureaucracy. My fave HC though is that he becomes a music producer just for the money -- nothing fancy, just good at what he does, working this so he can live his hobbies outside of work 

Stan and Kenny often spend solo time together when they just need fucking peace and quiet. all their other friends tend to find silence awkward, but they never do. they often go fishing together and either have the most deep, existential conversations or no conversation at all, but the silence is never awkward -- just relieving

Gets carsick as a passenger but is fine when driving, so by default everyone usually just has him drive if they’re in a group

Collects vinyls and is super pretentious about sound setups

Still hates snakes. Like, irrationally.

Knows every line to hamilton 

[uwuverisntsilver]

Why IDW didn't develop Silver's character

The go-to defense for Silver's IDW characterization is that he's "developing" because he has friends now. This, like IDW's initial presentation of Silver's backstory, is false.

Question: If no life existed in Silver’s future before he returned to the past to help fight against the Virus, then how was he born? Does changing the future mean that he is instead creating an alternate future and traveling to that new one and ultimately leaving his original doomed future behind somewhere to remain doomed? And regardless, when he returned to his future to see no life and sparse metallic plant life, I find it hard that he didn’t touch anything at all. Was he super duper cautious and didn’t touch anything, not even the ground, or was the Metal Virus no longer contagious at that point in time? Why would animal life deteriorate but not plant life? Ian: In issue 25, Dr. Eggman explains that because botanical cell structure is more rigid in nature and can withstand the degradation of the metal virus much better than animal tissue, but it would still take like 200 years for it to completely degrade so that's why there plant life left behind but no people. It has also been noted that the virus has mutated so it could have become less virulent 200 years later. That's why also his TK powers have been known to mess with electronics. How Silver time travels is a mess. What I have been able to put together from my correspondence with Sega over the years is that the blue sky scene we see at the end of 06 is the future, it's rebuilding and okay. But at the same time it has to be affected by past events since they have him come back to the past in the Forces tie-in comic, but that doesn't make sense since it's suppose to be a static future. The answer is there is no answer, it's not applied with any consistency. I have seen interesting theories from fans who try to come up with a reasoning behind all this, but sadly there is none.

As you can see from that answer. For the first few years of IDW Sonic the writers were under the impression that Silver was still living in the ruined future from the end of his story in Sonic 06.

This is wrong. The ending of 06 where Sonic and Elise blow out Solaris undid Silver's apocalyptic future and created the peaceful one of Sonic Rivals which Silver also mentions in Sonic Colors DS.

But for years IDW thought that Silver’s future was always ruined, that Iblis's devastation was never undone. Silver has not actually lived in a ruined future since 06 but Sonic Team evidently failed to explain this to the IDW staff.

Silver was NOT alone before or after 06. Before 06 Silver’s apocalyptic future had people that lived without hope and Silver did interact with as he questioned them about how the world was destroyed(No one will answer me directly. But they always point… to the flames) and after 06 Silver lives in a peaceful future with happy people. The entire point of his mission in 06 is to save the people of the future. It's also an important part of his backstory that Silver was exposed to constant suffering in his future because Silver cares about smiles. Silver IS still poorly socialized and doesn’t understand things but he was never alone before IDW.

IDW and English Team Sonic Racing perpetuated the idea that Silver was alone for most of his life which is easily disproven by his opening monologue in 06. Ian “Silver doesn’t act rude in any media ever” Flynn most likely missed this since he demonstrably does not research Silver.

This is why in Victory Garden, Silver says there is no lush plant life in his future. He acts like he’s never seen any in his own time before.

This is because the Sonic Rivals games were not considered canon during the first few years of IDW(and the last few years of Archie) and were only re-canonized a couple of years ago.

Which is important because Sonic Rivals 1 has the only explored location we have ever seen of Silver’s post-06 future, Onyx Island(the future version of Angel Island) which is lush and green.

So both Silver’s loneliness and his gardening hobby, the two biggest sources of supposed "development", were based on false pretenses.

Silver’s character in IDW is not different because of “development”. He was different because the comic writers didn’t know what they were working with in the first place because Sonic Team doesn’t tell them.

[two-entire-bits]

I have a confession. I do not care for the soc boys. I'm sure they have very interesting character traits and lore the actors and fandom have come up with and that is so fun and great and I know none of it and I am perfectly content with that. Shout out to all my mutuals who love the soc boys I hope you are having fun with your Ken dolls but I will not be joining you. keep slaying.

[mamawasatesttube]

action comics #677

gonna be real mae just really frustrates me sometimes. like. there are some times when i just want to reach into a story and shake a character like GET OVER YOURSELFFFF and unfortunately this happens just about every single time mae is on page. clark (and lois) are so sympathetic to her in this issue but they are both so much nicer than me bc i just wanna smack her. like getting super offended that someone might ask "hey are you clear on how extremely important keeping this secret is" and then going "well its YOUR fault that that guy died!!!!!" is so out of pocket. girl you are so righteous im so tired of you and i Know this never ends

[jerichogender]

thinking about the time they actually gave joey dialogue in the new teen titans: games…

“He could be role-playing with us. Art represents civilization. Maybe he’s showing us his end game?”

this says sooo much about him: his deductive reasoning skills, his appreciation for art, his understanding of other people’s psychology. i need more stories where joey gets to play detective, especially in an art or music history context, and i NEED him to have proper dialogue

[moe-broey]

Snippets. Makes you look at them.

[bitegore]

Got to dream about being Erica last night, which was cool. Specifically in like, a no-Haven AU but when I finally got to break out all of the poisons, dose literally all the food, and start smashing people's heads in with crochet mallets, my GOD that shit was satisfying.

[cluescorner]

There's no feeling stranger than knowing that something is bad but liking it anyways. Not in a 'it's so bad it's good' way. Because that implies that it has become good. I'm talking like this thing is just kinda bad in the normal ways things are bad, but i like it anyways.

[dangoulains-devotion]

every time I have to wade through inane ship wars where people are willfully ignorant to the depth and facets of cloud strife's character, circumstance, and story just so I can find some cool screenshots or fanart my 'cloud is ace' agenda simply grows more potent out of spite

[st4rbwrry]

𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠  ୨୧ ˖ ࣪ . . . 5.4k. black fem!reader ◞ countryside setting◞ lowercase intended ◞ soon to be married◞ rough sex ◞ unprotected ◞ age difference ꒰ 36 + 25 ꒱ ◞ praise ◞ oral ꒰  f. ꒱ ◞ fingering + finger sucking◞ hair pulling ◞ creampie ◞ pet name usage ꒰ darling, baby , sweetheart, old man ꒱ ◞ manhandling ◞ choking + spanking ◞ overstimulation ◞ minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs & comments are appreciated <3 𓊇ྀི

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜��𝑒 ꒱ . . . my first rick fic soo i’m hoping i did his characterization well ! here’s some visuals for theme . <3 ‘n here’s the smut linkies > > ( ❤︎. ❤︎.)

the black 1967 chevy impala quietly pulled into the gravelly driveway of a small cottage nestled within a tiny town. the neighborhood’s always silent around these hours, only semi-peaceful disturbance of cicadas bellowing in the freshly mowed grass. the worn out cowboy boots on rick’s tired feet stumble up the main entrance of the home, keys jangling from the loop he had his finger secured in. when entering his house, it’s nearly pitch dark had it not been for the kitchen light being lit. an old white, floral printed couch that was usually wrapped in plastic was now pulled out to reveal a bed where two women slept peacefully in silk pajamas. your best friends, and bridesmaids. 

tomorrow was a special day. a wedding was to be held at a cathedral not too far out of town. something small, something memorable. he was never one big on attention, though family was sacred. he’d already planned to have a separate gathering for either side of your families to celebrate the marriage. the thought of being wed to you tomorrow brought joy to his heart. he’s waited so long to fully make you all his. he would’ve married you from day one had you not been difficult to lock down. however, he loved the chase. 

heavy feet thud up the old wooden staircase, nowhere near as quiet as he seemed courtesy to the alcohol running rampant in his veins. pushing forth the bedroom door, rick’s instantly soothed when he catches sight of you. sitting on the floors that bear the gentle patina of age by your side of the bed, a plush area rug in earthy tones providing a cozy contrast to the cold hardwood beneath. the large four-poster bed dominates one wall, its rich, arched mahogany frame polished to a warm sheen. soft, billowy curtains in a subtle floral pattern hang from the windows, filtering the moonlight into a cool glow. 

in the corner, there’s an antique sewing machine that sits atop an oak nightstand. you’re surrounded by spools of thread, sequins, and scissors. occasionally, you’d sip on your mug, or his since it read ‘daddy of the year’ — containing raspberry leaf tea. the fluff of your curly ponytail swings as you turn to face your fiancé, a smile beaming bright from his presence. there’s two long tendrils of hair that frame both sides of your pretty face. lashes still curled and brushed with mascara, and lips pigmented with liner and gloss. a natural beauty. 

rick notices you’ve got on a shirt of his. it’s nothing out of the ordinary, but it gets him out of character suddenly. he’s got a deep grin on his face, smile lines puncturing and blue eyes twinkling. you let him greet you with a hand patting at the top of your head, his hand easing down to cup your face before he’s plopping down on the floors before you. 

“hey there, darlin'," he slurred, his speech slightly slowed from the alcohol. 

calloused hands brush along your knee, your hands intricately stitching final touches to your wedding gown. his thumb absentmindedly rubs circles on your thigh, resting on his elbow as his gaze lazy drifts over your features. you always knew when he had a good time with the guys because he’d come home smiling like a lovebird just because he missed you. they were nice to be around, but nothing compared to coming home to you. 

“hi, baby. how was your night?” the delicate tone of your voice instantly brings peace, rick humming elatedly. 

“night was good. knocked back a few cold ones. even caught the falcons game. a damn tragedy,” rick says with a suck of his teeth at the end. 

“yeah? you bet money?” 

“only ‘bout twenty.” 

“mm, good thing it wasn’t nothin’ too drastic,” you go to cup the underneath of his jaw, holding the needle and thread in your other. you shift his jaw from side to side, the cap on his head hiding his eyes that haze over. you caught a whiff of beer and cigs on his breath and clothing mixed with his cologne. “can smell it on you for sure. got some tea on the stove if you want.”

rick pulls back slightly, chuckling. “sorry ‘bout that. i’ll take some in a minute.” 

his eyes drift along your figure, his baby blue button-up you wore hugs every curve of your body tight. a few buttons undone that shows your cleavage, a silver necklace or two swinging. the high pony on your head that’s curled at the ends sway around you heavenly. 

“played pool and stuff?” 

he blinks, humming, “yeah, shot a few rounds. daryl cheated though, swears he didn’t but y’know i can catch me a liar like nothin’ . — this shirt looks good on you.” 

rick’s voice is a low purr, fixating on the softness of your thighs he continues to rub on, a decadent scent resembling tiramisu casting over his nose. eyes even catching some glitter on your skin. “think you could show me what’s underneath this garment, sweetheart?” 

smiling, you continue sewing. “don’t try to turn this about me. you’re an hour late.” 

a contrite expression overtakes as he knocks his head back to look up at the clock on the wall, now realizing it’s way past the hour he promised to be home. rick sighs, lifting the brown cap on his head to run a hand back, curly ringlets sitting at the nape of his neck. “shit, i’m sorry, sweetheart. you know i always stick to my word.” 

a giggle escapes. “don’t beat yourself down, old man. it’s alright. i’m glad you had a good time with the boys.” 

“you a ‘lil jealous?” he tosses his hat aside, bringing himself closer to you to kiss your knee. 

rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “i was with my girls. we had a good time, too. couldn’t sleep, though. got an idea to add some embroidery to the dress.” 

it didn’t occur to rick that you’d let him see the dress this early on. honestly, you didn’t care too much for old traditions. they say it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress, but superstitions didn’t bother you none. it was already untraditional that you were being wed without family. it was a plan you had for a long time. for your first wedding, you just wanted it to be something small with each of your close friends. run away together after. come back in two weeks and have a family gathering, then a couple years in, possibly five — you’d renew your vows with a bigger setting. and by then, hopefully, a big family of your own. 

“it’s lookin’ gorgeous, you did a good job.” 

“thank you, baby.” 

his touch maps the contours of your body through the fabric of the shirt. you’re sitting on your bottom but your left leg is folded in, foot resting on your other thigh. rick leans back a bit to adjust where he laid, catching sight of white lace underneath. he hinders himself. 

“i saw a few new homes they’ve been building in the newspaper. i figured we could go view them, you know, after we find some time.” 

rick nodded thoughtfully, now tracing patterns over your arm with his fingers. “yeah, that’s soundin’ good anything in particular you're looking for? big backyard for a garden? a nice kitchen so you can bake your famous pies?” 

“hmm, i’ve been wanting something really vintage, something built in the 70s. ‘bout forty acres, enough to have a garden and an area for you to grill with the boys . . and the kids to play,” you smile dreamily at the thought. “i love our home here, but a bigger space would be nice. that’s always been the plan, right?” 

rick nods assuredly. “right, we always talked about that. we can make that happen. i w’na make you happy. you deserve the big house with the wraparound porch, and the giant kitchen so you can bake me pies.” 

“you hungry or somethin’? you keep talking about these pies,” you joke. 

“i repeated myself? whoops,” rick palms his forehead, the both of you laughing. “guess i am. i need to sober up. c’mere.”

rick remains rested on his elbow, fingers trailing closer under your shirt, grazing your tummy and inching his face closer to your thighs. your back rests against the bed, biting your lip with a giggle as you clamp your legs shut.

“no, no, mister. save your energy. we gotta be up bright and early.” 

“gimme one of those sweet kisses, it’ll wake me right on up,” he’s playfully biting at your hips now, the dress you held in your hands now displayed on the floor. 

the quickness of heat encasing your face makes you shift back, stirring your waist unwittingly. full bearded face that grows like nothing, giving him a trim just a few days ago, patched with stubborn grays tickle your inner thighs the further he spreads them and the harder you clench them to stop him.

“nuh-uh, not when you’re like this. one kiss will lead to ‘em sneaking somewhere else. and you know it.” 

“mhm,” it’s like he’s not listening. “one little kiss, huh sweetheart?” his voice was a low rumble, body practically thrumming with tension and need.

pushing away your dress and tools so neither of you would get hurt, or your dress ruined, you nod for his approval, “just one, rick.” 

he couldn’t help the cocky smirk displaying as you relented, eyes glinting with triumph. “that’s my girl.” 

hands roaming your body possessively, each touch inflames you both, gasping as his rough hands grope your waist and leads up to your tits he kneads in his palms. rick loves to touch you, even if it’s for a simple kiss. they encapsulate yours with hunger, whimpering into his mouth when his tongue touches yours, tasting liquor and tobacco. tea tree scent of beard butter on his facial hair still strong and it weakens you. the kiss gets messier, rick grabbing at your neck as you lean your head back and accept every rough suck of your lips he takes. the two of you are eating at each others faces like it’s the first time you’d gotten to. 

he could feel the heat building between you, his restraint slowly ebbing away. he had broken the kiss to catch his breath, eyes darkening with raw pleasure, "damn, ꒰ ♥︎ ꒱',” he rasped, his voice rough. “i want you so goddamn bad right now.”

pawing at his chest, black shirt enveloping his muscles, you gnaw at your lips. “said one kiss. gettin’ greedy, rick.” 

rick’s lips trailed a path from the pulse points on your neck to just below your ear, his breath giving you goosebumps. “i said i need you.” 

as he sits on his knees before you, his big hands are tugging at your panties, face stern as he pulls them down your ass as you lift, the pads of his fingers digging into the plump of your ass. looking up at him in a daze, your mouth drops in submission once he’s tearing them off your skin, gasping from the air your slick folds are exposed to. without being aware, you’re full on soaked. lips between your teeth, you study the way rick lowers himself before you, crouching at your pussy’s level.

“let me see you, baby,” he whispered, lifting your legs and pressing them up to your chest. “hold ‘em f’me.” 

your face is in a pout, gyrating your pelvis forward, fingers hanging in your mouth with the gleaming, princess cut diamond ring stunning in view. raising your legs, you keep them straight, high, and pressed to your chest. opening yourself up for him, head resting on the edge of the bed. rick felt the way his dick twitched from the sight, indenting his fingers into your plush skin, guiding his thumb up and down your wet slit, knuckle delicately pinching at your clit, pulling back a bit to see the string of cum follow. you always kept her trimmed clean and smooth, shiny under the lamps light.  

“look at that, s’fuckin’ precious,” he grunts, your frustrated whines catching his full attention. sounding like a fragile little puppy. “oh, i get it. want me to shut up and get t’the good stuff, yeah?” 

you’re staring down at him in a haze, eyelids lowered and nibbling at your nails with your mouth hung, nodding with a pant. 

“don’t chew your nails like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice close to a growl. “givin’ me all kinds of ideas.” 

“mmm, like what?” you tease back.

“like having that pretty little mouth occupied. but it’s not ‘bout me right now.” rick’s teasing, landing a soft smack on your inner thigh close to your pussy. you jump, leaking down to your ass cheeks. it’s a sticky mess he created. “she needs it bad?” 

“y-yes, rick. need it now,” you admit. 

rick’s huffing out a chuckle, sucking on his thumb to get a quick taste before he’s groaning, ducking his head down to give your pussy a full, sloppy, open mouthed kiss. it sounds like water, his saliva leaking onto you.  “always taste so good, can’t wait till tomorrow baby.” 

“yeah?” it comes out in a nasally whimper, delving your manicured nails into the backs of your thighs. “a-are you happy?” 

“it’s g’na be the best goddamn day of my life, sweetheart.”

his admission makes your face heat up even more, grinding towards his in a desperate, silent plea. it gets rick off, honestly. seeing how fueled you are for touch now. the desire to eat at you is threatening to overwhelm him, so he engulfs you into his mouth without another thought. a small sob crawls in your throat, rick’s eyes primal as he catches yours while a guttural growl rumbles in his chest. teeth sinking into your lip, you whimper and continue holding yourself open for him, jaw dropping and panting heavy from every gentle lick he gives your clit. you gasp when his mouth trails up your inner thighs, spanking them on either side as he shifts his head to catch your bud into his mouth once again, pulling it between his lips gently before releasing and swallowing you up wholly. 

the method of his tongue starts off soft, then transitions to teasing laps followed by firmer, more demanding sucks, determined to wring every last drop of cum from you. with your stomach caving in, a high-pitched whine escapes your lips as he devours you, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you try to escape the intense sensations crashing over you. using your strength to keep your legs in the air, your fingers thread through his hair, tugging harshly as you grind down onto his face, chasing the pleasure building in your core. losing balance when your knees bend, rick guiding his face all over your pussy, allowing you to use his face. the disgusting noise of rick slurping you up and matted beard scraping at your skin makes you lose your mind. 

“rickkk,” you’re crying softly, hiccuping and melting into his touch the more he molds at your flesh with his rough hands and sucks on your pussy. 

“y’cummin’, sweetheart?” his tongue continues to work, steadily sloshing it after pulling back the hood, tears welling in your sockets and feeble, whiny sobs surpass the lewd sound of spit swapping with cum. 

“mm—h-hmm. y-yes.” 

“c’mon, then. fuckin’ gushin’ all over my tongue. gimme somethin’ sweet to slide into.” 

with eyes rolled back, you mindlessly move your waist that stutters from every lick, sitting in a puddle of mess. frantically, your palms slam on to the backs of your thighs to hold them still as they tremble, smacking at them yourself to coax vibration towards your sensitive pussy all the while urging your fiancé to land a hit where you needed it. and he hits hard in repetitions on either side again like you love. the tickles of his beard makes you incredibly wetter as it scratches all the right parts. it’s getting creamier, and rick knows because there’s a sweeter taste on his palate, and when he goes to curl his fingers into you — pushing and pulling, and because the angle in which you sit is adding pressure to your tummy, it’s all on his hand. gooey and delicious. rick grunts, rubbing your clit with his thumb adjacent to fucking you with his fingers. 

“awee, fuck! g-god, baby,” your heartbeat picks up quicker, gasps flowing in the air as you grab his wrist and clamp your legs together creating more tension as you cum. 

it takes you quite a while to ease, arching your back off the side of the bed as your stomach presses into his face, rick smelling your lotion and kissing your belly. your eyes can’t help but stare in a daze, every rise and fall of your chest is followed by wheezily pants. legs shaking and skin getting sweaty. the shape of your eyes are daunting. biting your lip as you scratch at his semi-soaked beard to pull him in for a kiss, staring him down with blown sepia pupils and low lids mimicking feline. 

rick takes the way you look at him as a threat. 

“keep staring at me like that ‘n i’m liable to fuck you right now,” his voice is hoarse. 

“g’na keep staring ‘cause i love you,” grinning, you continue to play with him. you liked making him mad. 

“mhm, you love your old man?” he muttered gruffly, his grip on your hips getting tighter. 

your heart skips a beat, chest tightening with emotion. eyes fluttering closed briefly, then snapping back open to stare at him intensely. “yes, i love you.” 

it’s swift when rick goes to lift you up. scooping you up by the column of your underarms as if you were a small pet and placing you down onto the mattress that your body bounces onto gently. giggling in your state, you hum drunkenly as rick’s hands roam over your hot skin, turning you so you’re laying on your stomach with one of your knees raised by your side. the button-up you wear is well over hiked up your full ass, clenching your fist holding the material with visceral appetite, wiggling your butt and hearing your slick that’s glued to your inner thighs. 

rick’s got his neck bent slightly to the side, eyes squinting, your act of seduction only worsening his need to roughen you up a bit. he stays silent, unbuckling the hefty black leather belt on his waist and dragging down the zipper ever-so slowly. the lust in the room rises, the alcohol still thrumming in his system as he pulls out his cock. it’s . .  fat. pulsing visibly with a swollen head and dense veins — could be a replica of his forearm, really. it’s hanging halfway out of teal boxers, pubic hairs dark and unruly. pulling them further down his crotch so his balls fall out and jolt for your joy. loving the feel of them plopping against your sticky clit from behind. 

the sound of him patting the heftiness of it along the plump of your butt ricocheted in the small room. rick’s palming the arch of your back, pushing it deeper so he’d get you in the angle he wanted. bent just enough so he could catch a glimpse of your cunt soddened and open. 

“s' thing real pretty, ain’t it?” rick wets his lips, curls falling in front of the frame of his face as he gets a closer look like he’s never seen her before. or, like his face didn’t reside there only five minutes ago. “g’na get fucked real nice.” 

being under his monitor always felt nerve-racking. he’d take his time observing your body to see what makes you react to what, or simply get a kick out of the squirming and mewling you act out when peevish. stepping out of his boots and bottoms, he’s allowing you to feel just how scorching his skin was on yours. 

“rick.” there’s that crankiness he was talking about. it comes out as a solid groan, continuously swaying your legs side to side even though he’s got your waist locked. 

rick lowers his chin, spitting directly on his dick before wrapping his veiny hand around and pumping over the length of it, stroking over the sensitive head before he’s aligning the tip with your dripping entrance. the pink of it showing a tight ring after careful back and forth insertions. a sharp cry ripples from your throat as he fills you completely, walls stretching to pull in his size. you can feel every throbbing inch of him buried deep, the sensation bordering on yummy in its intensity. your nails dig into the sheets as you adjust to the sudden intrusion, body trembling with the effort of relaxing around him. unable to make a noise, you bite down on the sleeve of your shirt as your eyes falter shut. after a few moments, a dull ache of fullness only serves to heighten your arousal, breathless in his possession. 

“g’na fuck you so dumb, make you s’full,” rick hisses, sliding halfway out before plunging forward again. 

you push back against him, encouraging him to start moving as your pussy clenches greedily around his shaft. turning your head to look at him over your shoulder,

you keep your eyes on his, lashes kissing your cheekbones delicately while you see rick shuffle his black t-shirt up his midsection a bit more, drooling at the sight of his tanned chest and hard stomach. a stripe of hair leading down from the navel, strong arms with light brown frizzy hair, and deepset eyes that lure you in to danger. you fucking loved this man. 

“those eyes of yours, darling,” he announces almost with warning, wrapping his fist around your ponytail to pull your neck back for a quick, harsh peck to your full lips. 

letting go, his hand finds a new place to grip, and that was your neck. holding you in place while grinding his dick into you. your vision starts to blur as his hand compresses tight around your throat, clawing at his wrist as the pressure exceeds. the weight of your ass claps back onto his groin as the two of you rock together. rick’s thrusts rough and steady, pounding his cock into your pussy depravedly. 

“atta girl. take it all.” 

unexpectedly, your mind goes blank from the intensity of it all, and just a few thrusts sends you hurtling towards another orgasm, eyes scrolling back and sobs ensuing. rick’s hold on your throat loosens just enough to allow you a precious breath, but the momentary reprieve only fuels his own lust. he watches, transfixed, as your face contorts in pleasure. gasps coming out in ragged breaths, the sudden influx of oxygen only serves to amplify the sensations, and you stutter out his name as you gush and cum hard. pleasure ripping through you, pussy clamping down on his dick tightly. 

“ungh, f-fuck — ooh fuck.” 

you go to cover your mouth to muffle the sounds, not wanting to wake your friends sleeping in the living room, almost forgetting they were here. 

rick’s eyes narrow at your attempt to be silent. “ uh-uh, darling. i don’t give a fuck about waking your friends. don’t cover your mouth.” 

whining once again, your favorite, rick gropes your neck to keep you fully still as he fucks harder into you. “eyes on me. look me in the face.” 

doing as he says, you maintain eye contact as best you can, screwing your face up the deeper his dick hits inside of you, moaning when he goes to slap your cheek gently and clawing at the sheets in response desperately. every pound gets greedier, a sheen of sweat on rick’s forehead as he prolongs groans and grits his teeth while his hips slam against your ass. a particular noise you make full of broken moans ruins him. 

“yesss, good girl,” his brows are knitted, voice getting gruff and guiding your body to bounce back on his dick. 

“s’s-so — deep,” the broken tone of your voice emits, crawling your way forward for a sense of relief. just needing it a bit. 

“you ain’t goin’ nowhere, girl,” rick grumbles, pulling you back so both of your legs are straight now, grinding his dick into you before removing his hand from your throat to capture your ponytail to yank your head back. 

“p—lease, baby,” you beg. 

“just a lil’ more. just a little more,” rick nearly pleads, voice softening and turning into whimpers as he grounds his dick into you, lifting his weight off a little before crashing his hips back down again and again. “ugh, shit.” 

there’s specks in both of your visions, finding yourself sucking on your fingers as rick licks and nips at your neck, relishing the moment. the moonlight that was once outside began to disappear, clouds settling slowly into dawn. you don’t know how long it’s been since he’s stepped foot into the room, but you knew for sure that you’d both be ridiculously tired by morning. 

rick builds up the strength to let you go, for now that is. pulling out tenderly, he’s bringing you up off the bed and lifting your frame in his arms. with your arms draped over his shoulders, you nuzzle your face within the crook of his neck as he goes to sit on a wide wooden chaise facing the opposite side of the room. getting comfy for you both, rick’s got two of his palms on either side of your face to give you a few more sweet smooches. joining in soon was raw, wet kisses. descending his hands to smooth down your backside before kneading the doughy flesh of your butt. manspreading, he’s making sure you’ve got enough room to move, balancing yourself above him using the throw pillows as leverage for your knees. 

“drop down slow, baby — slow. listen to your cum coatin’ my dick,” rick whispers, hips stuttering, trying to find his own willpower in not fucking up into you. 

the moment narrows down to the pressure of splitting yourself open on him, the musky scent of his skin filling your nostrils, and the steady pulse of his heartbeat against your palms. arousal sticky and loud all over you both. weak whimpers spew as you sink further and further down to the hilt, taking your time and grinding your hips. a soft moan escapes your parted lips as you revel in the warmth and stiffness of him inside you, your pussy clinging to every throbbing inch like a second skin.

“baby, you’re in my tummyyy. you’re so deep. feels so good.” 

"you’re stuffed full, baby?”

“mmmhmm,” you murmur, eyelids drooping as you let yourself melt into the feeling of being so deeply filled by his dick. your hips continue to undulate slowly, grinding against him in a hypnotic rhythm that seems to draw him further under your spell.

switching up, you arch your chest towards his and keep your hands on his chest, driving your ass up and down on him to keep the tip of his dick nudging at your spot. it made you both feel good, rick’s touch back on your ass as you gyrate and fuck him. 

“get it,” rick grunts in your ear, guiding you up and down while easing his way into thrusting his hips upward, fingers sinking into your supple hips to urge you on.

the way you fuck him is steady and mildly rough, every pop of your ass onto his muscular thighs resounds in the room along with rick fucking up into you to match rhythm. the fat of your ass claps on his skin just as loud, rick raising two hands and slamming them down together before helping you fuck him. up and down, harder. he keeps you where you want to stay, but couldn’t fight the urge to grope your brown skin ravenously before pivoting his groin and beating his dick up each time you plummet. 

“r-rick, fuck babyy — mmmgh.” 

rick’s gaze is riveted to your face, breathing heavily into each others mouths as your bodies connect lewdly in the quiet confinement of your shared bedroom. birds began to chirp on the outside, and the light hitting your bodies felt poetic. his hand takes your ponytail and pulls your head back, your arch getting sharper and your mewls never ending. 

“w’na marry you right now,” you whisper out of high, giggling when his mouth laps at your collarbone. 

“you’re silly, sweetheart. you’d w’na get married while i’m fuckin’ you like t-this — fuck.”

“yess, with your dick in me. i love ittt!” 

rick gives your ass a playful spank, voice husky as he chuckles and keeps you grounding on his dick. his eyes blaze with unbridled lust and love as he watched you succumb and go dumb, body writhing. 

“you can marry me again with my dick in you later, yeah?” 

“yess, promise, baby?” you pout.

fuck, you really had a way with making him submit to your every wish. “long as you let me fill you up. c’mon, milk it baby. it feels so good. be a good girl. you’re doing such a good job.” 

the more he praises you, the weaker your body grows. you wanted to make him happy, and you wanted your promise granted, so you do what he needs you to and that’s bounce on it faster. rick chokes, jaw lowering as you lift and clench your pussy tighter, fucking him good. 

“mmm, fuck yeahh, just like that," rick growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "ride it nice ‘n good, darling. show me how much you want it."

he leans forward, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss as he continues to guide your movements, his tongue delving to tangle with yours. the chaise creaks beneath you, the wooden frame somewhat creaking and scraping against the tile floor with each frenzied bounce.

“i fucking love you,” you cry out, thighs trembling and close to giving out. that bubble ready to burst. 

“i love you too, darling.” 

rick delivers loving kisses to your lips, sucking and pulling at your lower lip and rushing tongues. he feels close to cumming as well, shoving your chest to his and planting his feet flat while leaning his back fully against the chair for sturdiness before he’s rutting up into your pussy as you claw at his skin. it wasn’t intentional for you to scream the way you did, certainly needing to apologize to the girls once they wake up — but he felt so, so fucking good. fucking you just the right way. 

spurts of cum trickle down his groin and thighs as you mindlessly find yourself squirting, biting at his shoulder with tears in your eyes. from the mirror nestled in a corner across the room, he could see you dripping down his dick along with your cream. 

“ooo, give it to me. give it to me.” 

every spoken word is aggressive with despair, rick fucking every ounce of cum out of you that he could get you to produce before he’s nutting warmly into you. jaw clenching, fingers embedding into your skin harder as if scared to let you go. thick ropes spurting and pussy sloshing over wetly mingled. 

he’s got his forearm thrown around you, cradling you into his arms warmly, and it’s comforting. resting his chin on your shoulder, he’s intaking your scent — a scent he’d have forever being married to you starting today. he had such a soft spot for you. you run circles on his back, staying put in the embrace, smiling stupidly. 

rick pulls back to see your face. “are you okay, baby?” 

nodding, you smile tiredly. “just sleepy.”

“mm,” rick scans the room for the clock on the wall. “it’s close to seven. i’ll make sure to get up and let the girls know you’ll need a lil’ more time before getting ready.” 

pawing at his jaw, you give him one big kiss. “you’re so sweet, baby. thank you. can’t wait to marry you.” 

rick smiles, adoring that you keep reminding him of that. it makes him feel ultimately secure. “twice, right?” 

“mhm, twice.” 

© 𝓢𝓣4𝓡𝓑𝓦𝓡𝓡𝓨! all rights reserved. please do not copy, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[bamsara]

I think that one thing people fail to understand is that unsolicited literary criticism coming from an online stranger who is reading with no knowledge of what the authors intended goal is, is not going to be received the same as say: the authors beta reader or friends who know what the authors intended goal and has the sufficient knowledge and input to help the author reach that desired outcome.

"But I'm only trying to be helpful" How do I know you have the knowledge and literary skill for you to be able to actaully do that when we don't know each other and you are essentially a stranger to me? Are you applying this criticism based out of personal biased experience and desire to see the story or characterization be driven in another direction or tweaked, or do you know the author's intentions for the character? If the story is incomplete, are you basing your criticism of a character on the incomplete narration with only partial information available of them or are you building up a report until the story's completion? Did the author provide you with the information needed to make a fully informed criticism?

Have you discussed with the author what their plans are or are you assuming them based off the narration, especially if the narration is proven or implied to be unreliable or missing key points of the plot? Are you unbiased enough to help them reach their desired outcome for the characters and story regardless of your personal feelings towards the characters/antagonists and setting? Can you handle being told your specific input isn't wanted because you're a reader and/or have no written anything relating to their genre or topic? Do you understand and respect that the author's personal experiences might influence their writing and make it different than how you would have done it personally? Do you understand if an author only wants input from a specific demographic relating to their story?

If it's for fanfiction or other hobby media, are you holding a free hobby to a professional standard? Are you trying to give criticism because you feel like the author has produced 'subpar job performance' of their fic? Are you viewing their work as a personal intimate outlet or something that must conform with mass media? Are you applying rules and guidelines when the fic is shared for simple sharing sake? Is your criticism worded appropriately and focused on the parts where the author has requested input on rather than a general dismissal and or disapproval?

Have you put yourself in a place where you assumed you have the input needed for the story to evolve better, or have you asked what the author needs and what they're having trouble with? Can you handle having your criticism rejected if the author decides their story doesn't need the change and not take it as a personal offense against your character? Are you crossing that boundary because you think you are doing the author a favor? Are you trying to be helpful, or do you just want to be?

I think sometimes when people hear authors go 'please don't give me unsolicited writing advice or criticism' they automatically chalk it up to 'this author doesn't want ANY constructive feedback on their stuff at all' and not "i already have trusted individuals who will help me with my writing goals and- hey i don't know you like that, please stop acting so overly familiar with me'

[moonilit]

I refuse any world that doesn’t have this grandpa beefing with literal teenagers

Bane and/or David Cain can fill any role Deathstroke could possibly play in a Batman book or movie and have a stronger personal connection to Batman at the same time

David Cain was literally created to be a Batman-focused mercenary and assassin who had a personal connection to Bruce through Cass, I am BEGGING y'all to use him instead of pretending Deathstroke is anything but a Titans and Nightwing villain