#who would suspect the old kind man doing it?

[pempeeeperem]

Me: "I have finally digitalized what I've written so far for Hearty Grains, Pop Pods, Crunchy Salt and Sand Radishes. I can get back into writing!"

Brain: "Hey do you remember that funny post about a retirement home AU? Wouldn't that be really funny? Imagine old, grumpy Ingo and Emmet, wouldn't that be great?"

Me, sobbing: "That would be so fucking funny"

[rhaenyra-storms]

STOPP your drabble of cregan was adorable, we need more stories of him!! i would like to request something for cregan, where the reader is his lady wife and is introduced to jacaerys for the first time!! it’s up to you whether they have children of their own or it’s just rickon (cregan’s child from his first marriage), i like to think lady stark!reader would become eager to talk to jacaerys and his dragon!!

thank you so much!! i literally love writing for him omg. and i would definitely freak out too if i was able to see a dragon!! :,)

it got a lot longer than expected, but i hope you enjoy!!

pairing: cregan stark x wife!reader warnings: cregan is a little overprotective, that's it, just fluff words: 1.7k

You didn't want to believe it at first.

Cregan was sitting in the Great Hall of Winterfell when the news arrived. A few scouts had spotted a dragon flying north at a rapid pace and tensions were high in the castle.

Winterfell was far away from King's Landing, as was the coronation of the new King Aegon, but the Starks and the North were still sworn to the Targaryens. You and your husband had already suspected that sooner or later, you would be dragged into their mess as well.

Judging from the little time you had spent at court in the South, you knew the Targaryen family was a horrible mess. When King Viserys made the decision to name Rhaenyra heir to the Iron Throne, you knew it would be catastrophic as soon as the old King would pass.

"Do we know who the dragon belongs to?" Your husband's deep voice pulled you out of your thoughts. Cregan always asked the right questions, to the right people, but this time... everyone seemed a little clueless.

You placed a hand on your husband's arm, giving it a little squeeze. "They will not attack alone and without an army. They don't have reason to," you said in a quiet voice, just for him to hear. Cregan gave you a soft smile as he looked over at you, but his eyes were filled with concern.

While an attack was highly unlikely, he couldn't really exclude it entirely and that was already enough reason for him to worry. He wanted to keep you safe and all the people in Winterfell.

"We should still proceed with caution," your husband answered, his hand finding yours and giving it a small squeeze in return. He then pushed himself out of the chair, towering next to you, before he addressed the rest of the people in the room. "We will welcome the dragon rider into our home. With caution. I do not want to start a war with the crown, not when we have more important things to worry about."

Cregan knew the next winter would not be far and he needed to make sure his people were well-prepared and his men were strong. You had always admired your husband for his composure and his natural talent for ruling.

Two hours later, you welcomed the oldest son of Rhaenyra Targaryen into your home. Your husband had talked to him alone at first, using the Godswood as a sight of common ground and when a servant informed you that he wished for you to join them for dinner, you knew their conversation had probably been a positive one.

"Lady Stark," Jacaerys nodded his head at you as soon as you entered the Great Hall. He was a pretty man, his black curls a mesmerising sight. However, you couldn't deny that all the rumours you had heard about his father might be true then. He didn't have the signature Targaryen white hair and from the few times you had met Lord Harwin Strong, he seemed to resemble him quite clearly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my Prince," you greeted him with a smile. Jace gently placed a kiss upon your knuckles.

"The pleasure is all mine, m'lady."

Cregan watched Jace closely as you two introduced yourselves to each other, but after their short conversation he felt like he could trust Jacaerys. He had been kind enough not to threaten him with his dragon. Said creature was now waiting outside the Winterfell gates and he was sure the people of the castle couldn't take their eyes off it. The Lord of Winterfell himself could only describe the creature as mesmerising and a sight to behold. And he knew that his wife would probably love to meet a dragon.

The dinner went by quite fast and the conversations were lighthearted despite the general situation of the realm. Jacaerys didn't mean to only talk about the conflict between his mother and Aegon, but he knew that he had a chance to win Cregan Stark over for their cause. And winning over his wife as well in a way would be beneficial too.

"Have you ever seen a dragon, my lady?" Jace asked you after he placed his cup of wine back on the table. You could feel your husband smile next to you. He was very aware of the fact that you had always been fascinated by those creatures. Their freedom to fly, their strength and their sheer power. Dragons were pure magic in your eyes.

"Unfortunately not, my Prince," you answered, leaning back in your chair a little. Jace had mentioned "Vermax" throughout the conversation and you knew the dragon was waiting outside the gates. Its roars were hard to miss throughout the day.

"But I would love to. One day."

"Then today might be the day. If you wish to, of course," Jace gave you another polite nod and an inviting smile. The prospect of meeting a dragon had you ecstatic in seconds, but you knew your husband would suspect danger in this situation. He was more than right for that.

"I would love to accompany you two then." Cregan sounded determined, but still polite. A subtle sign for Jace to understand that he was good-willed, but still cautious.

The support of the North was vital to Rhaenyra's cause, so Jacaerys really didn't intend to mess it up.

"Vermax is a kind dragon. As long as you mean no harm." Jace waited for your husband to push his chair back and stand up first. You followed right after, hooking your arm with Cregan's as you made your way outside.

The sight before you was stunning.

It was already dark outside, but the dragon could hardly be missed. His olive green scales appeared almost black in the dark and your husband grabbed a torch from a guard as you approached.

"Relax, Vermax", Jacaerys spoke in Valyrian, making you raise your eyebrows for a moment. You wished you would have paid more when your family's maester had tried to teach you a few simple words in Valyrian.

"They're our friends."

Vermax' eyes turned into slits for a moment, studying both you and Cregan. The dragon was probably evaluating if you were a threat despite his rider's kind words.

"I've seen more outgoing dragons than Vermax, but he's a gentle one at heart," Jace explained.

It was fascinating to hear about dragons having different personalities and being a little more like humans in a way. Some were impulsive, others were shy. As a child, you had always wished for a dragon as a pet.

"It's... He's wonderful," you whispered, feeling your husband's arm wrap protectively around your waist. Cregan would rather throw himself in front of the dragon's teeth than watch anything happen to you.

"I know. Do you want to touch him?" Jace asked, his voice soft and inviting. "Only if you want to, of course. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable in any way."

Excitement bubbled in your stomach. You could feel the heat rush to your face. All your childhood dreams seemed so close now – meeting a dragon, touching a dragon and pretending for just a moment that you could be a dragonrider too.

Cregan's grip around you tightened, a small reminder of how all of this could backfire. A cold wind blew by and you took a deep breath.

"I will be fine," you assured your husband, taking the time to plant a kiss to his cheek. A small attempt to calm him, but you knew that he would always be worried for your safety. The Lord of Winterfell only knew you were safe when you were in his arms, sleeping safe and sound.

Slowly, you made your way over to the dragon. It seemed to smell your anxiety and retreated for a moment. Jace put up his hand, a sign for Vermax to calm down – to relax. There was nothing bad that would happen.

You gave the dragon time, your heart beating wildly in your chest as you couldn't take your eyes off the creature in front of you. It still seemed wary, but after a few short moments, the dragon eventually bowed down a little, lowering itself to the ground. It was a silent invitation for you to come closer.

But you still wanted to get reassurance from Prince Jacaerys who quickly gave you a nod and beckoned you closer.

It felt like your heart was about to jump out of your chest when the dragon sniffed your hand.

Your husband was on the edge of his nerves behind you. His hand was already positioned at his sword, as if he would stand a chance against a dragon. "Careful, my love," he mumbled. He was feeling increasingly uneasy as he watched you and he let out a small gasp when you eventually laid your hand on the dragon's head.

Vermax closed his eyes slowly after he had eyed you enough. You weren't a threat. Not to him and not to Jace.

The dragon's skin was warm and hard, rough against the soft palm of your hand. "Seven hells..." you mumbled, watching in fascination as Vermax continued to relax.

Jace placed his hand on the dragon's wing for a moment, stroking it softly. "I told you he is a kind one. I would offer you a ride, but I think your husband might fall over dead if I do." It was a small jest, but it made you laugh softly.

You turned your head a little, spotting the Lord of Winterfell as he was tensing up more and more behind you. He forced a smile to his lips, trying to look more relaxed than he was. Cregan wanted you to fulfil your dreams, but he needed to keep you safe as well.

However, seeing you as happy as this, as your hand laid upon the dragon's nose, he couldn't help himself but smile a little more genuinely. His hand remained at his sword, but his shoulders relaxed nonetheless.

Seeing the joy in your eyes as Jace told you more about Vermax and the dragon seemed to be content with your presence, Cregan couldn't help but think about how many more days he wanted to spend like this. Seeing you happy was the biggest light in his world.

He'd do anything to see that beautiful smile. Over and over.

[sanatomis]

⋆.ೃ࿔* ── 𝐃𝐈𝐘-𝐃𝐀𝐃!

it’s career day, and megumi has to bring his dad to school so he can tell the class about his job. the problem? he only has a 20-year-old sorcerer-guardian who has the brain capacity of a walnut.

content. canon divergence (suguru’s alive and studying to be a kindergarten teacher), possible ooc characters, female!reader.

notes. guys i’m a sucker for satoru who really, really tries and isn’t just a goofy man-child ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ also ! thank you all for your patience, it took me a while to finish this piece bc of uni, so i'm vv happy it's finally done <3

taglist. | masterlist.

“I don’t have a dad.” 

As cruel as it may be, a part of Megumi hopes that the sentence makes his teacher greatly uncomfortable. Demanding for a father to attend a Career Day at school simply isn’t fair to children without one—or, well, to the child without one. It’s not his fault his father hauled ass and left, so why is she making this so difficult for him? 

“Oh,” she mumbles. It seems his arrow hit the target, as her eyebrows pull together in a frown and she shifts her weight between her feet. “Well, you, uh, have a male guardian, don’t you?”

Megumi grimaces. Instantly, he thinks back to last week. Satoru Gojo, self-proclaimed strongest, had hit his head on a kitchen cabinet. With a dramatic pout and an overexaggerated wobble to his lips, he clung to you for hours. Some affection will make it all better!

Of course, when Megumi criticised his skills surrounding his infinity technique—because, really, how couldn’t it block a simple cabinet—the sorcerer opted to ignore him. He suspects there was some foul play at hand. 

“Barely,” he mutters, as the memory resurfaces. 

His teacher lets out a startled hum. “I’m sorry?”

“Nothing,” Megumi says quickly. He watches as she starts typing on her computer, and the realisation that she’s probably currently taking a look at his file isn’t a particularly welcome one. “What about my other guardian? Can I bring her, instead?”

“This event is geared towards fathers,” she explains. It’s obvious she forgot her reading glasses today, Megumi thinks, as she needs to narrow her eyes to read the screen in front of her. “I have one Satoru Gojo noted down as your male guardian. Surely, he will be able to attend.” 

Megumi pauses. He blinks up at her expressionlessly, and fights off the urge to push his teacher down a well. You often preach about being kind to others, and that wouldn’t be very kind. 

“Can’t I take my oth—”

“I’m afraid not,” she interrupts him before he even gets the sentence out. It irks him. Megumi isn’t fond of speaking to begin with, so when he does, he’d prefer not to be cut off halfway through. “An exception will not be made. Please, make sure to bring Gojo-san to school.” 

Megumi briefly, and for the very first time ever, mourns the fact that you and Satoru weren’t married. A small part of him calls the man a coward for not asking you to. If he’d simply taken the step, then Megumi would be able to pass you off as Gojo-san. Unfortunately, he can’t, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that there’s no way around this problem. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. It takes all of his remaining willpower to not stomp out of the classroom. Once again, he thinks of you. It’d be extremely bad manners. He can’t find it in himself to wish his teacher a nice day this time, though, and so she’ll have to make due with a slightly less polite Megumi for today. 

There’s nothing he can do about it. Satoru will have to come to the school. 

Megumi suddenly despises the idea of Career Day. 

“I need you to come to my school next week.” 

Immediately, all chatter around the dining table stops. For once, Megumi finds himself annoyed at the sudden appearance of silence. Before he said it, he knew his words would most likely have such an effect—he just didn’t expect it to be so instant. 

He tries his best to feign nonchalance, as if the topic that’s coming up didn’t make him feel stressed-out beyond belief. The confused, startled glances you and Satoru share don’t do much to help him, either. Perhaps it’s because Megumi is looking straight at him; him instead of you. Yeah, Satoru, he isn’t a fan of it, either. 

“Me?” The man asks then, and Megumi has to resist the urge to say, ‘no, I meant the snail in the backyard—yes, you,’ in the most sarcastic voice he can muster up. Satoru once again steals a look at you, ever so oblivious to Megumi's mental remarks. “Don’t you mean—” 

“I don’t,” Megumi cuts him off solemnly. His lips are pursed shut, and he pokes the slices of pork belly in his bowl with his chopsticks. One didn’t need to be of particularly high intelligence to notice the boy’s displeasure.  “I have to bring a male figure for Career Day.” 

It’s slow, the morphing of Satoru’s face, but it happens gradually and doesn’t stop until he’s positively beaming. Megumi doesn’t like it one bit. Nothing good happens when he looks like that, and he’s quite sure that all that will spew out of his mouth in a few seconds will be nothing except for pure nonsense. 

“Well, luckily, I will have the day off, then!” Satoru chimes, with a smile so wide it causes two dimples to appear on his cheeks. You copy his smile, and gently go to poke the little dent in his skin—Satoru lets you, as he always does. Megumi would think of it as cute if he weren’t so annoyed. “I will be there.” 

It seems he was right. Satoru’s words are pure nonsense.

“I didn’t tell you when,” he comments dryly. 

The sorcerer blinks. His smile is still on his face, but it’s fading, and the dimples do so with it. Your hand hovers halfway in the air, stuck with nothing to poke, and you slowly bring it back down to your side. It seems neither of you had taken time to think about that small fact—Megumi blames Satoru for dragging you down with him; him and those indentations in his cheek that you always seem to coo over. 

“Oh,” Satoru mumbles. A crease between his brows forms as his brain hurries to catch up with the newfound information. A few seconds pass, and then the previous bravado returns. “Well, it doesn’t matter! I can take the day off. When do you need me? Tell me, and I’ll be there.” 

Megumi very much doubts he can take days off all willy-nilly like that, especially after he pushed his workload onto someone else to attend his science fair last time, but then again, what does he know? If Satoru didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, then Megumi wasn’t about to break his own head doing so, either. 

“Next Friday,” he mumbles. From the tone of his voice, it’s quite clear that he’d rather be saying anything else. “We have to leave at eight a.m., please, be on time.”

“Sure thing!” Satoru chimes, and with that, Megumi thinks the dreaded conversation has finally come to an end. 

All in all—it could’ve gone worse. At least Satoru didn’t prolong it unnecessarily. Nor did he add a bunch of relentless teasing. He glances at the sorcerer. Satoru is happily munching on the dinner you’d prepared, both his cheeks stuffed full with entirely too much rice. It’s unbecoming, and a reflection of his poor manners, Megumi thinks, and he doesn’t understand how you look at the man with such hearts in your eyes. 

Though, your more than adequate cooking seems to have saved him from one of Satoru’s onslaughts. He’s grateful. Even if he doesn’t particularly enjoy the sight in front of him. 

“Hey, ‘toru?” You ask, breaking the silence with a slight hesitation to your voice. It nearly sounds nervous, and both Megumi and Tsumiki look up in alarm. Satoru hums, still chewing away. “What are you going to tell the class?”

Satoru stops eating. His chewing comes to a halt, and his chopsticks freeze in the air. A slice of pork drops from between them, and falls back into his bowl—It’s not hard to see the cogs turning in his head. “Uhm, I. . .” He swallows the food still in his mouth, and clears his throat. 

Right. It’s Career Day—but Satoru can’t tell a bunch of seven to eight-year-olds that he hunts and kills grimy, ugly, and freakishly scary curses for a living, now, can he? Megumi doesn’t think that would go over well with the other parents. The boy sighs. It’s just one thing after another. He grimly believes the world might just be out to get him. 

“I. . .Oh! I can tell them I’m a teacher,” his guardian scrambles for a solution, and Megumi can’t help but think it’s a little lack-lustre. Who would believe that guy is a teacher, anyway? Then again. . .Megumi doesn’t know a better fix for their current problem, either. He was so focused on the fact that it was Satoru that had to come to the school, he all but forgot about the fact that the dear thorn-in-his-side didn’t possess a normal job. “Suguru has told me a thing or two about his internship. I can take inspiration from there.”

Ah, yes. The famed Suguru Geto. Megumi has met him before. He hasn’t actually spoken to him, however. The man often visits, and has twin girls clinging to him when he does, and while Tsumiki seems to really like him—and them—Megumi doesn’t have an interest in seeking out some form of interaction, yet. Whenever he comes over, Megumi opts to hide in his room. Suguru never tries to disturb him, nor does he try to coax him into coming out. He’s very grateful for it. 

So, despite never speaking to him, Megumi knows about Suguru. Well, he knows enough. He knows Suguru went to school with the two of you, and he knows something really, very bad (nearly) happened that caused the man to take a step back from the world you all live in. What exactly happened (or what didn’t happen), Megumi doesn’t know for sure. You and Satoru almost never speak about it, and when you do, it’s in hushed voices—and you always stop immediately when he enters the room. 

But that’s okay. He doesn’t need to know. Suguru doesn’t force himself upon Megumi, and so he will extend him the same courtesy.  “I thought Geto-san wasn’t a teacher, yet?” Tsumiki speaks up from beside him, tilting her head to the side in confusion. “Mimi and Nana said he’s still learning. How can he be teaching, already?” 

“He’s not a teacher, yet, munchkin, well spotted,” Satoru answers with a proud grin. The nickname annoys Megumi—the feeling of irritation has been conditioned into his very being after Satoru chose it as the designated nickname for both of them. “An internship helps him build experience in the field. It means he is still learning, but he will do so while teaching.”

Tsumiki nods in understanding, her mouth opens and her lips curl into a small ‘ah’ as the information settles in. “So, you will pretend to be a teacher, then? At Megumi’s school?”

Satoru bites on his bottom lip, seemingly deep in thought. Seemingly—as Megumi is quite convinced he doesn’t ever think before he speaks. “I think so, yes,” he explains, and unknowingly retorates Megumi’s train of thoughts. How annoying. Satoru looks towards you for approval; it’s something he does very often. “It’s probably the safest route, no?”

“It’s our best option,” you say, and bring a thumb up to the corner of Satoru’s mouth. Gently, you wipe away a grain of rice stuck to his skin. It’s effortless, and nearly automated. Megumi wonders how many times you’ve had to do that. “Pretending to be a teacher shouldn’t be too difficult a task. Right, mochi?”

“Right,” Satoru echoes. His eyes track your every move, and the slight, pink colouring of his cheeks doesn’t seem to embarrass him even a little bit. Megumi thinks it should. Have some decorum. “I can do it, no problem.” 

“Alright then,” you say, and smile. First at Satoru, and then at Megumi. You look at the boy for a few seconds; you’re about to ask him if he’s okay with it. He knows you are, because you always do. “Is that okay for you, Megumi?” It’s like clockwork, almost. 

Megumi feels the need to answer with something snarky. Something akin to the sound of ‘What choice do I have?’ but he doesn’t—because you’re being kind, and you don’t deserve such a response. So, instead he turns towards Satoru.

“. . .Just don’t mess it up.” 

Satoru delivers a whole spiel about how ‘he’d never do that’ and that he’s ‘more than capable’ of telling a little white lie, but Megumi dilutes it to background noise rather quickly. He continues sputtering his nonsense when Megumi and Tsumiki stand up to clear the table, and still hasn’t stopped even when you and him start loading the dishwasher together—Megumi chooses to seek reprieve in his room while he’s distracted. 

It isn’t until many hours later, when Megumi leaves the sanctuary of his room to swipe a quick snack from the kitchen, that he first hears Satoru speak about something other than his great, and very much sufficient, ‘capabilities’. Your voices are muffled, and Megumi has to focus to make out your words. His soft, inaudible padding down the illuminated hallways comes to a halt. As if that would make his ears function better. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Satoru?”

The boy frowns. With such gentleness in your voice, it’s hard to identify the worry lingering beneath the surface. Megumi moves a bit closer. He stops one step shy of bumping into the wooden surface, and peeks through the groove. The door is ajar—it’s something that allows him to watch how your eyes follow Satoru’s large frame as he paces around the room. It’s strange. Seeing him so. . .frazzled. 

Satoru nods. “I can do this, I know I can,” he says, and quits his pacing to look at you. Megumi can’t see his face, but he can see yours. He might as well not have, though, as he can’t make out the emotion that fills your eyes. It’s not one he himself has in his repertoire, that he knows for sure. “He never asks me for anything, princess. I have to do this right.” 

Ah, this isn’t a conversation Megumi is meant to hear. He should probably seize his eavesdropping, he thinks, and winces a little when he properly analyses Satoru’s words. They’re truthful. Megumi doesn’t go to him when he needs something. His first thought is to go to you—and his second, Tsumiki. And if he’s being honest anyway, his third thought very likely isn’t Satoru, either; He’d try to solve it on his own if it came down to it. Megumi frowns again. He doesn’t like how that realisation makes him feel. 

A careful shuffle of footsteps breaks him free from his thoughts. Megumi looks up, and catches how you place a hand on Satoru’s cheek. “I’m sure you’ll do great, baby,” you mumble. There’s a small, soft smile on your lips, one that quickly makes way for the peck Satoru places upon them. 

“Thank you,” Satoru whispers. One of his hands reaches for yours, and Megumi suddenly feels as if he’s intruding on something when the man brings them up to his lips to press a tender kiss to them. Okay, no, definitely intruding—ew. 

The boy scrunches his nose up in disgust, and hurriedly darts back towards his room. Suddenly, he has lost his appetite for a late-evening snack. Megumi lets out a deep sigh once he’s all tucked into his sheets again. Perhaps giving Satoru a shot wouldn’t be that big of a problem. Just one, though.

. . .Yeah, just one should be enough.

It’s the final, conclusive thought Megumi has before dozing off to sleep. Blissfully unaware of the conversation you and Satoru share—now behind a very closed door.

You stifle a giggle. The disappearance of Megumi’s presence outside your bedroom was quick and rampant as soon as Satoru started to kiss your hands. Something the sorcerer did very deliberately. It’s as if the boy suddenly forgot about the very special, very effective pair of eyes his guardian possesses. And with a cursed energy output such as Megumi’s, it would be hard not to recognise his presence.

“You did that on purpose,” you comment. “How cruel of you, mochi.”

Satoru hums, and kisses the inside of your wrist. “Maybe, the little brat shouldn’t eavesdrop, then,” he defends himself. There isn’t an inkling of guilt to be seen on his pretty face.

. . .Though, both of you still take some extra care to shut the door next time.

Megumi faithfully believes that, as of today, he has used-up all of his luck for the next five, no, ten years. It can only go downhill from here. For some inexplicable, mind-boggling reason—Satoru is actually pulling this off. That’s not all; he’s not merely winging it, he’s genuinely doing well. The boy can’t quite believe his eyes.

When he’d walked to the front with such an overexaggerated pep in his step, and an overabundance of bravado rolling off of him in waves—Megumi couldn’t help but watch on with a grim look, and a healthy dose of negative thoughts. It only amplified the nerves he’d collected so far during the walk to school. Somehow, watching Satoru give your flashcards a frantic do-over did very little to ease his bubbling anxiety.

There were many of them, flashcards that is. All possible questions his peers or his teacher could ever think of are written on those little pieces of cardboard. Courtesy of you, and your boyfriend. Megumi’s able to recall all those nights the two of you spend at the kitchen table—practising. He thought it was silly at the time.

But, as it turns out, it works.

Satoru is fun. To other people; Megumi doesn’t share the sentiment. Against all odds, he’s dynamic, and speaks with conviction. His flamboyant hand gestures have others think of them as amusing—captivating, even. Satoru is talking, and they’re all hanging onto his every word. No matter the fact that they’re all cleverly disguised lies.

Megumi can’t wrap his head around it. He doesn’t need to, however. If anything, he’s relieved that his peers think of his guardian as cool. While he certainly does not share the opinion, he isn’t too dense to admit that such a belief will save him a lot of embarrassment in the future. So, for this one, single day, he will let Satoru Gojo be cool. His snarky comments can resume tomorrow.

“Ah, it seems you have a deep love for your profession, Gojo-san,” his teacher says. She interrupts Satoru’s rant, and catches his attention as well as Megumi’s. Her voice is light and airy, and carries nothing that should cause him to fear the worst. Still, the boy feels on edge. “Though, I don’t remember the grade you are teaching. Could you tell us, again?”

Ah, and there it goes. The very first card in the elaborately built castle of lies.

Satoru pauses. A second passes, and then two, and three, and so on. He doesn’t speak for a good thirty, and Megumi can nearly see his mind leaf through his beloved flashcards—flashcards that are now neatly tucked into his pockets and entirely out of reach. That’s good. Because the absolute last thing Satoru should do now, is resort back to the flashcards.

Megumi shakes his head no as a signal.

“Ah,” Satoru says. “I teach kindergarten.”

Satoru didn’t catch the hint. Megumi wishes the ground would swallow him up. It would have been the correct answer—it is the answer that’s written on the flashcards—if Satoru hadn’t decided to go off route. Getting too caught up in the story he’d been free-writing, and allowing himself to get carried away by the looks of awe is resulting in his downfall, which, consecutively, will end with Megumi’s downfall, as well.

“Huh? But! What about the science experiment that exploded?” One of the children in his class whines. “I didn’t get to do that in kindergarten!”

“And the backflip you taught your students!”

“What about the first prize in the talent show? I thought your students were famous!”

The little bit of colour that normally resides in Satoru’s face steadily disappears, and he clenches his fist at his side. Ah, it’s great to know he’s at least aware of his mistake. That won’t help either of them at the moment, though. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow, and a feeling of distress overtakes him. It shows on his face. He doesn’t exactly go through the trouble of trying to hide it—there are bigger problems right now.

How utterly humiliating to be caught lying.

Satoru’s eyes find him. They’re just as troubled as his own. It worsens his anxiety.

“Oh, uhm, you see. . .” Satoru stammers, and Megumi’s stomach churns when the children around them continue to ask more and more questions. The wince his guardian lets out does little to soothe him. Megumi sighs, and looks at the ground. “Ah, I see. It seems you guys saw right through me.”

Megumi slides down in his seat. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, the ground would absorb him. It’s currently looking like a preferable fate.

“. . .I’m actually a detective.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“And. . .And for a detective, it’s very important to listen to what people say, because they could be lying!”

It’s a sad, pathetic excuse for a save. Megumi briefly ponders the distance between his seat and the door. Perhaps he could make a run for it. The subway station is very close by—getting on and travelling to an entirely new city to start a new life doesn’t seem like such a bad option. He sighs. No, that’s not possible. You and Tsumiki would be very worried. What else is there to do, though?

“You all picked up on my lie, which tells me every single one of you could make a great detective in the future.”

Megumi thinks Satoru might have some underlying mental problems. Though, they can’t possibly be as severe as the problems his classmates have—for they all believe the nonsense he’s giving them. Bright eyes, filled with hope and admiration, stare up at the man at the front of the class; impressed hums and entertained smiles get passed between the parents standing at the edge of the room. And Satoru, well, he seems entirely too proud of the fact that he made a bunch of children think they’re destined for a career in law enforcement. But, be that as it may, it works.

The children stir up unrest—the good kind this time, the kind that vocalises their excitement—and all rush to ask the detective a question. But, before they can even open their mouths, Satoru claps his hands together. It seems he has decided enough is enough, and it’s one of those very rare moments where Megumi agrees with him. The boy needs this to be over already.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” Satoru says, and feigns disappointment. He pretends to be affected by the sad groans of the children��keyword being pretend, as to the trained eye it’s quite clear that he wishes to leave. “I’m not allowed to tell you more.”

Ah, see, now that’s a good card.

“Wait, but, what about. . .”

“Ah, sorry, that’s confidential. Detective stuff, y’know?”

Confidential. Megumi thinks that might just be his new favourite word. The lingering feeling of anxiety slowly starts to subside with every step Satoru takes towards the back of the room—to the back, and away from the spotlight. His eyes follow the man’s large frame, but Satoru never chooses to look at him in return. His line of sight is firmly focused on the floor. It confuses Megumi, but he chalks it up to a mere whim.

All things considered (and minus the near cardiac arrest he went through), today went pretty well, after all. Much to his surprise.

Perhaps Megumi doesn’t hate Career Day. A strong dislike is more like it.

Megumi can’t count the times he wished for Satoru to be quiet. The exact number is much like the digits of Pi—huge, and absolutely never-ending. He can, however, count the times he didn’t wish for him to be quiet. As of today, that stands at a very solid one.

The birds around them chirp, and the bustle of other people is heard all around them—but they’re the only sounds gracing his ears. There is none of Satoru’s incessant chatter, nor is there even a glimmer of gloating about a job well-done. It’s eerily silent, and Megumi isn’t sure what to make of it. This isn’t quite how he imagined the walk home to go. Far from it, if he’s being honest.

“What’s up with you?”

It’s possibly the first time Megumi decides to break the silence, ever. The boy frowns, and fiddles with the straps of his backpack. There isn’t a middle-ground with Satoru, he has found out. Either he speaks entirely too much, or unnervingly little. There’s a tiny pebble in his path, and Megumi feels the need to kick it forward—so he does.

“I kind of messed up there, huh?”

The kick doesn’t have nearly enough force to it. Megumi watches as the little rock skips forward. Once, twice, and then it comes to a standstill again. “Yeah, kind of,” he agrees.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru rushes out. It’s said so fast, as if it physically pains him to say it. Perhaps it does. It’s sincere, however. There isn’t even a hint of a joke to be found. Something must be bothering him. “It didn’t go how I wanted it to go, and I don’t know why I went astray, and forgot about the cards. It—well, it was pretty stupid.”

Megumi doesn’t exactly feel the need to deny it.

“So, I get it, okay?” He continues, seeing the boy’s silence as an empty space for more conversation—more rambling. Since that’s what it is; rambles, plain and simple. Megumi doesn’t see the need for such a fuss. “I shouldn’t have strayed from the plan, and. . .”

“It’s fine.”

Satoru blinks at him. “What?”

“I said it’s fine,” Megumi repeats. Because it really is fine. Admittedly, it wasn’t smart of Satoru to all but discard your carefully planned presentation, but it ended well enough regardless. No harm, no foul. “Thank you for coming.”

That small, short sentence is enough to stop Satoru in his tracks. Megumi doesn’t, however. The man is very tall, he’s sure to catch up in a jiffy; he doesn’t need him to wait. There’s another small silence, though this one feels a lot more comfortable than the last. Satoru takes his time to process, and Megumi lets him.

“W—What?” The sorcerer stammers in shock. There is no need for Megumi to turn around and see—he can hear the smile curling onto his lips. “Did you just. . .”

“I won’t say it again,” Megumi grumbles definitively, and picks up his pace. The very tips of his ears heat up, and the apples of his cheeks turn red. The feeling of embarrassment. This wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned it to appear when the day started.

Satoru attempts to run after him, to catch up. “Megumi!” He calls out, the very prominent, very familiar whiney lilt now back in his voice. Megumi didn’t miss it. “Wait for me, I didn’t hear you! Could you repeat that?”

“Yes, you did!” Megumi says, and throws him an annoyed glance from over his shoulder. He tightens his hold on the straps of his backpack. “Stop lying.”

“Nuh uh!”

“What are you? Six?”

Satoru’s toothy grin is infuriating. But—it’s familiar. And Megumi discovers he’s much more at ease when that grin is on display, than when the man in question is moping around. It’s a lot less alarming.

“And a half,” Satoru adds.

The scowl that’s on Megumi’s face appears almost instantly when he goes to ruffle his hair. For a man whose technique largely surrounds being untouchable, he has a surprising lack of awareness concerning this thing called personal space.

“Ugh,” Megumi groans, and pushes him off. It doesn’t work. Satoru gravitates towards him again—almost as if he’s a magnet. He doesn’t attempt to move a second time. In moments like these, it’s best to let Satoru get it all out of his system. “You’re so stupid.”

It’s true. He does think Satoru is stupid, but he can’t deny it—Satoru tried his very best today, and in the days prior. Which makes him one of the very small, barely existent group of people who have done so for him.

It seems one shot was enough, after all.

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

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[suguru-getos]

— satosugu as boyfriends —

it’s hard to decide who’s your bigger fan, satoru or suguru. they’re so in love with everything you do & are so supportive! it took a LOOONNNGG way though— let’s say you met them when they were still in school & so were you. though — you were not a sorcerer. satoru doesn’t mind, he hated non-sorcerers before for making him the reason he’s so looked upto. now thanks to suguru, he wants to protect them. suguru knew you much before than satoru, you were his neighbor after all. how else could you hangout with people who have such major power differences?

things changed after the riko incident— you could see the hatred that suguru slowly festered within him. there were days satoru came to suguru’s apartment to relax & play games with their other juniors like nanamin or haibara. these days you could hardly see the fun… suguru goes out and comes home & that’s all. you and him used to play together as kids and despite you reaching out, suguru was shutting down.

it was until he killed his own parents — that satoru took matters into his own hands. killed hundreds of people & adopted, some girls!!?!?!?? what was even happening!! to protect you, satoru shifted you to the gojo estate. it was simple really, you were a non-sorcerer & suguru would not really care about your life right now just to prove a point.

a year went by just processing what was happening. of course— spending a year with gojo satoru also meant that you two had become incredibly close. earlier, you were invited by suguru over because you & him had always played gaming consoles together. right now, it was totally different. you didn’t know satoru was so mature, and so kind when needed, although keeping his childishness still intact. you were the only one he could openly talk about suguru with. not even shoko — her & yaga had started calling him geto to detach maybe. yet it’s endearing to see such fondness in satoru’s eyes for his bestfriend aka almost lover aka what could have been.

long story short— suguru could not kill you. it’s sickening to think he could do so with his parents but after a year or two when he finally went to the gojo estate having known your whereabouts & missing the chaste peck he stole when things were alright. he cried. hugging you tenderly. expressing how he thinks he shouldn’t have been high on adrenaline that day & did what he did… he wants people like satoru to suffer less. he wants to do something ‼️

it takes a while for suguru to start healing, no one suspects that the strongest sorcerer satoru gojo had secretly kept his best friend in the gojo estate along with his almost girlfriend. :33 even the girls are present with megumi and tsumiki & despite their contrasting personalities— things have seemed to settle for once.

you knew suguru liked to cook so you were now greeted by him preparing you the sweetest ever breakfast in bed, meanwhile satoru insisted you sleep with him (to protect you) :3 yeah as ifff 💁🏻‍♀️ man was too shy to make the first move just yet because you had been trusting him so good. afraid to fuck up. though when you agree? oh he is out of this world. suguru is happy too, in a way he also gets to spoil satoru like this.

satoru uses his old money to ensure you three go on trips at least once every 2-3 weeks. the recent one that you remember is paris. for new years !! it was beautiful to confess your love for each other and finally officially start dating. you were spoiled by insanely hot balcony sex that day. ;)

suguru has improved & also started honing his skills. though during one of the much intimate conversations, you had asked him to trust you enough to come home to after swallowing the sabotaging negativity of a curse & to let you kiss it away. <3 you trust him to follow through with it.

suguru can get especially testy when you’re around your period and satoru decides to mess with your mood. normally, satoru’s teasing is ignored but during those days he gets smacked from sugu. :3 satoru just wants your mood to be better :(( not in the same sense as suguru perhaps. so satoru takes on the role of your sugar daddy as usual. getting you your favorite snackies and stuff.

there is no power dynamic as such between the two of them. really— they’re just equals and you like that despite being in a relationship, satosugu can be switches to each other and daddy doms to you as always.

satoru was the first one who discovered that making you feel smaller, would regress you up a little. you’d cutely pout & get subby and babytalking to you during that rare occaision would actually get him you in the form of putty in his hands. so satosugu are mostly like “let daddy handle it sweetness.” / “oh no you’re too small for that, give me.” / “no baby you can’t reach there, let daddy help.” and ugh it makes you so fucking submissive for them they love that & YOU love that😩

satoru and suguru together decided to get you another cat which would be a cute little brother for your pet. they are such good pet fathers you often wonder how good they’d be to kids — oh wait, 😏 you have their adopted babies to witness that first hand too! how lucky! 🍀

nsfw hcs later alligator i’d elaborate on this more later too! enjoy my word vomit besties 👯‍♀️ send me jjk askies 🙇🏻‍♀️ thank you!

[minniesmutt]

☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: CHAN X READER X I.N ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: BROTHERS BEST FRIEND!CHANIN, READER IS WRITTEN AS SEUNGMIN’S SISTER (CAN BE SEEN AS ADOPTED), READERS AGE NOT SPECIFIED BUT IN REFERS TO READER AS NOONA, SNEAKING AROUND, FOOD MENTIONS, FINGERING, SPANKING, CHOKING, DEGRADING, PROTECTED SEX, SPIT ROAST, THREESOME, FWB, ORAL (M. REC), FACE FUCKING, AFTERCARE ☾ ━━━ WC: 2.3K ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

     Y/n didn’t confide anything in Seungmin. She loved her brother but he was a menace. He wasn’t always but now they were adults, there was personal information she didn’t dare trust him with. Especially her interest in men. 

     Before he was an idol he always gave his unwanted opinion on the guys she liked or dated. After he became an idol, he still did but pretty much warded off any man for her. Including his band mates. 

     Y/n never would actively go after her brother's friends. If things didn’t work out, she didn’t want him to choose between family and friends. She wouldn’t do that. It was a little risky that she was one of their makeup artists and he’d helped her get the job to begin with. 

     But you can’t help who you end up liking. Especially when all the guys in the band were great men. 

     “Why are you assigned to do the old man’s makeup today?” Seungmin asked as he walked into his leaders dressing room, setting a cup of coffee down on a clear spot of her station.

     “Talk to my boss about it,” Y/n shot back at her brother

     Chan requested Y/n to do his makeup. Stating stay always thought he looked best when she did it for a performance but the reality was he just wanted more time with her. 

     Sneaking around was hard, especially when her brother was one of his little meanaces. He also felt bad he was doing it behind Seungmin’s back but who knows what god reaction would be

     “Thanks for the coffee,” Y/n told him

     “Whatever,” he shrugged then walked out of the room

     “I would have gotten you coffee if you asked,” Chan told her, setting his phone down. 

     “I think it was his random act of kindness for the day because i didn’t ask him to get me one.”

     “Think he knows?” Chan asked

     “You see him more than me. But we’ve never given him a reason to suspect us hooking up.” Y/n answered, “But you know him. He does random stuff all the time. I learned a long time ago to not read into it.”

     Chan hummed in response as she tilted his head back a bit not to strain her back any and applied his lip. “You’re all set.” Y/n said as she finished

     “Thanks. Are you still coming over tonight?” He asked her

     “Innie’s not home tonight?”

     “He shouldn’t be,” Chan said.” Though that didn’t seem to be a problem last time.”

     “I’m still surprised you managed to sneak me in,” Y/n laughed as he stood and stretched

     “Yeah. Just need to keep you quiet,” the leader joked then left the room. Y/n rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee her brother brought him and put her brush belt together so she could do touch ups. Double checking that she had everything before heading out to the rest of the stylists. 

     She caught up with a few of her cop workers. She liked them— which was a great thing— and they never judged her for who her brother was but she also knew people I in the beauty industry liked to talk. Things got around so never said anything about her situationship. It also didn’t look good for a makeup artist to sleep with idols from a professional standpoint. 

     Y/n spent most of her time running around, dabbing sweat from the group — slapping tissues onto her brothers forehead when the camera wasn’t looking and he teased/messed with her— and fixing makeup. 

     She was tired at the end of the work day. Makeup was not an easy job, especially on the body. She was packing up for the day when she saw a message from Chan on her phone, the reason she bought a privacy screen.

Chan: Still up for coming over and letting me take care of you? You look pet tired

Y/n: And what would that entail👀

Chan: mmmm I was thinking maybe ordering some ramen, putting on (fav anime or show), some pillow princess treatment

Y/n: Know me so well. Just let me know when to come over

Chan: Will do

     Y/n swiped out of the chat and finished packing up before heading out and going home to shower. Rinsing the day away then putting on some comfy clothes before Chan texted her it was safe to come over. She took the going  drive over then snuck up to Chan and In’s place. She texted him she was outside and the door quickly opened up, letting her in. 

     “He said he’ll be back in a few hours,” Chan told her

     “Plenty of time then,” Y/n smiled

     “Eat first. I didn’t see you have anything but coffee today.”

     “Yes dad,” Y/n joked and he smiled at her.

     “Don’t start yet.”

     The two sat down on the couch and Chan handed her her ramen bowl and turned on the show. Y/n smiled as they sat back together on the couch. Sometimes it felt more like a relationship with Chan but she learned overtime it was just who he was. 

     Chan cleaned up the food as she sat back and relaxed, a little giddy knowing what was about to come. The idol came back to the couch and gently pushed her back as his lips  attached to her neck. “Worked so hard today,” He mumbled into her neck as his hands dipped under the waistband of her lounge pants, finding she didn’t have anything under them. 

     Chan just chuckled and lightly bit her earlobe as his fingers spread her folds. “Gonna get yourself into a lot of trouble.”

     “Plan too,” Y/n answered 

     Chan smiled and pushed two of his fingers into her. Y/n curled her fingers into his hair as his lips pressed to hers. Y/n moaned into his mouth as his fingers glided in and out of her. His movements were restricted slightly by her bottoms before he moved them with his free hand and her help. He tossed the fabric to the ground. 

     Y/n melted as his fingers rubbed against the gummy spot inside her. Chan smiled as he continued rubbing that spot and brought his thumb to her clit. 

     “Chan,” Y/n moaned

     “Gonna cum for me baby? Make a mess on my fingers?”

     “Yes,” she replied

     Chan simply smiled and kept his pace until that damn broke and she shook under him. He didn’t pull his fingers out of her until she came down from her high. Chan spread his fingers in front of her face before doing his fingers into her mouth. Y/n wrapped her lips around his finger’s and cleaned them off. 

     Chan chuckled as he pushed up her shirt, looking down at her breasts, groping one of her boobs in his free hand. He pulled his fingers out of her mouth and wiped her spit over her chest. Y/n half-smiled at him before he pulled her up and stripped her of her shirt as she did the same. 

     Chan reached somewhere out of her right. She watched him open the full wrapper and roll the rubber onto himself. She adjusted herself a bit before Chan stopped her. Manhandling her into the position he wanted her in before slowly pushing himself into her. Y/n moaned and grabbed the arm of the couch. Both were so entangled in what they were doing that they didn’t hear the door open or the footsteps. 

     Jeongin told his friends he’d be back in a few hours but the reality was his errands didn’t take that long, thankfully. But he still froze seeing the scene in their living room. Not that his leader was naked. He was very used to that, especially living with him now. What shocked him was he was balls deep in their friend's sister. 

     “Noona?” he questioned, thinking he was imagining things but the way they both froze and Chan looked at him confirmed it. 

     Frankly, he wasn’t upset nor was he going to snitch. He understood the attraction to Y/n. Hell he’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t thought about bending her over once or twice. But it seemed like a mutual agreement amongst all of them that siblings were off limits. Or he thought so. 

     “I thought you were gonna be out longer,” Chan said as Y/n grabbed her shirt from the ground and draped it over her chest

     “Finished early,” Innie told him. “I can just go to my room. I’m not going to tell Seungmin, what you guys are doing is none of my business.”

     The maknae didn’t say another word and headed to his room. “You’re the best!” He heard Y/n call before he closed his door. He felt kind he should have grabbed some food when he was out since he didn’t know how long he was going to be in his room. But he didn’t want to intrude. He was already suppressing the idea of asking to join them. 

     He had a small infatuation when Y/n first was hired. But he steered away when he learned that she was Seungmin’s sister. But he had practically walked into a porn and he could still hear it. Something didn’t settle well with just using his hand and eavesdropping in on his friends having sex. He also didn’t know if they were just fucking or if they were dating. But he knew closed mouths don’t get fed. 

     He opened his door and called out, “Can I join?”

     The clapping stopped for a moment. He was about to close his door and deal with his problem himself before he heard Y/n agree. He quickly grabbed a condom and put it in his pocket before joining them. 

     Chan had let her choose if the youngest to join. He didn’t mind sharing but it was ultimately up to her. He smiled as he hung her head over the side of the couch as Jeongin joined them, tossing his shirt off. 

     Y/n watched as he said in front of her, erection pressing against his jeans. The singer undid the material and pushed it down with his boxers. Watching her mouth open as his hard cock sprung free. He grabbed the base of his cock and pumped himself a few times before sliding into her mouth. Y/n moaned around him as Chan continued thrusting into her and Jeongin filled her throat. 

     Jeongin leaned forward a bit and slowly thrusted in and out of her mouth. Both men reveled in the choked sounds she was making. Jeongin wrapped his hand around throat, feeling himself sliding in and out of her throat. Both men feeling her tighten up. 

     “She likes it rough?” Jeongin asked, applying a little more pressure

     “Yeah,” Chan answered

     The two shared a thought for a moment before pulling out and flipping her around. Y/n squeaked as the adjusted her before sliding back in without a second thought, but didn’t move. She waited for a moment before Chan spanked her ass hard. She let out a moan and that made him do it again. “Fuck her stupid already, hyung?” Jeongin asked as he grabbed the back of her head

     “Not my fault she goes dumb on my dick easy,” Chan laughed

     Y/n looked up at the younger man, catching the siren eyes that drove their fans crazy. “Start moving.”

     Y/n slowly started fucking herself between the two of them. Whenever one of them thought she could go faster or she was slowing down— or maybe because they wanted too— they’d land a harsh spank on her ass. Her pace increased as her ass held red hand marks on the flesh. 

     She could feel Chan twitch inside her. On the verge of filling up the condom as she clenched around him. She felt his hand grab the back of her neck and rammed himself into her. Y/n moaned as her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head. Jeongin followed his leader's lead and started thrusting into her again, holding her head steady for him to use.

     Chan’s own speed picked up as he got closer and closer to his high. The moans he was so accustomed to hearing were drowned out by the second cock in her throat. He knew he could hear them any other time but he was so focused on getting to his orgasm he barely paid attention to it.

     The older male cursed under his breath and gripped her neck tightly as he pushed himself into her and filled up the rubber. Jeongin focused on his own high. Her warm mouth felt better than anything he had ever imagined before. He felt like he could cum at any moment and he was right. With a few more thrust, he came down her throat. Filling the cavern with his seed before pulling out. He watched as Chan pulled out of her from behind and laid her down.

     “I’ll get you a towel,” Jeongin said and pulled up his pants

     Chan thanked him as he took off the condom and tied the rubber off. Jeongin disappeared down the hall and Chan tossed the condom and grabbed a cup to let Y/n spit the cum out of her mouth if she wanted to. The makeup artist spit out the cum and thanked him as the maknae came back and handed the towel to Chan.

     Jeongin was never telling their friend about the situation now that he had been involved once. He went back to his room and let Chan clean her up in the bathroom before he cleaned up.

     Chan had helped Y/n into the shower and helped her wash up as she laid against his chest, tired from the work day and sex. “Want me to drive you home or do you wanna stay for a little longer.”

     “Can I take a little nap?” Y/n asked

     “You can stay the night if you want to. It’s not like Innie doesn’t know anymore.”

     “You’re right. I’m borrowing your clothes then. I don’t have anything here.”

     “That’s fine,” Chan chuckled

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[queenshelby]

Used & Abused

Pairing: Dark Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warning: Non-Con, Smut

"Mr Shelby. It is good to see you again," your father said to the stranger who had, ever since you were there, working on the garments, come to the establishment to buy his suits and sample the prostitutes your father employed.

Thomas Shelby, as he was called, looked around and smiled, his piercing blue eyes twinkling with pleasure.

"Who shall it be for you today, sir? Clara or maybe Nadine?" your father offered, naming two of the most popular girls at the brothel.

But Thomas Shelby’s gaze had shifted to where you stood, sewing away at the corner – you weren’t used to be one of the girls on offer, but you were there today to learn the ropes, as your father had put it.

"What about her? Is she available yet for these kinds of services?" the man asked and it was like a bucket of ice had been dumped over your head. You felt your cheeks burning and your heart thumping.

You weren't ready for this, you told yourself. But then, you never would be. It was your first time and you had to start sometime.

"She's new, sir. But she's willing to learn. And she's young, as you can see," your father said, sounding like he was advertising a brand-new product.

"Well then, come here, Love. Let me have a look at you," Thomas Shelby beckoned you over, his voice deep and seductive.

You took a deep breath and walked up to him, feeling the weight of his eyes on you.

"You are quite the addition, aren't you, eh?" he said, taking in your figure and long hair.

You nodded silently, unable to find your voice.

"How old are you?" Thomas Shelby asked, as you stood there, trembling almost imperceptibly.

"I recently turned eighteen sir," you managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

The man's eyes lit up at your answer, as if you had just confirmed something he had been suspecting.

"Eighteen, eh?" he said, his voice filled with innuendo. "And did you ever have a man's cock inside you before?"

The question took you aback, and you couldn't help but blush at the explicitness of his words. You shook your head, feeling your heart race.

"Well, then," he said, standing up from the chair he had been sitting on. "I think I'll be your first, eh?" 

Your heart pounded even louder in your chest as he approached you, his movements confident and deliberate. You could feel your body tense up as you prepared yourself for what was about to happen.

"Mr Shelby, I do not think that she is quite ready for someone like you yet," your father interjected, but Thomas Shelby just waved him off.

"How much for two hours of her time, Thompson?" he asked, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet. "I am going to break her in for you, but I want to fuck her ass too," he added, as an afterthought.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You had never even had vaginal intercourse before, let alone anal. But you knew that there was no turning back now. You had to do this, for yourself and for your family.

Your father, Mr. Thompson, hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded in agreement. "Two hours for two hundred pounds Mr Shelby," he said, holding out his hand for Thomas Shelby to shake.

Thomas Shelby took his hand and shook it firmly.

"Excellent. Now, why don't you show us to one of the rooms?" Thomas Shelby said, his voice commanding as he led the way.

You followed behind him, feeling your legs shake as you took each step. Your mind was racing, and you felt like you were about to be sick. But you knew you had to push through and do this.

When you entered the room, you saw that it was one of the most luxurious ones in the brothel.

It had dark wooden furniture, a plush four-poster bed swathed in velvet drapes, and gold-rimmed mirrors reflecting the room's opulence back onto every glossy surface. The rich scent of incense lingered in the air, providing respite from the bustling house outside.

You stood there, feeling out of place in the opulent surroundings. Your heart was racing, your mind was whirling, and your body was trembling. But Thomas Shelby didn't seem to notice.

He was too busy taking in every inch of the room with an approving nod.

"This will do quite nicely," he said, before turning his attention back to you.

You could feel his gaze on your body, and you shifted uncomfortably under his stare. "Come here, Love. Let me see what I've paid for."

You hesitated for a moment, but then you stepped closer to him, feeling your heart pound even louder in your chest. He reached out and traced his fingers down your arm, making you shiver with fear.

"Good girl. Now undress," Thomas Shelby said, his voice as smooth as velvet, and yet carrying the weight of an unspoken command.

You hesitated, swallowing hard. The thought of being naked in front of this stranger, of exposing yourself so intimately, made you feel incredibly vulnerable. But you knew that you couldn't afford to be timid. Not if you wanted to make it in this business.

Taking a deep breath, you began to unbutton your dress, moving slowly and deliberately, feeling his eyes on you as you did so. It was as though he was sizing you up, trying to determine your worth.

You wondered if you measured up to the other girls who worked in the brothel. Or did your naivety and youth make you more exotic, more desirable? You felt a wave of anxiety wash over you as you slipped your dress off your shoulders, letting it fall to the ground in a whisper of fabric.

You stood before him, barefoot, wearing only your undergarments.

"Such a pretty thing, aren't you, eh," Thomas Shelby said, his voice low and seductive. 

He traced a finger across the satin of your bra, pressing gently against your nipple until it hardened under his touch. You couldn't help but gasp, feeling desire flood through your body. It was a strange and unfamiliar sensation, yet one that you found yourself craving more of.

"Now, let's get rid of these," Thomas Shelby said, gesturing to your underwear.

You hesitated for a moment, but then you reached behind you and unfastened your bra, letting it fall away from your body. 

"Perfect," Thomas Shelby murmured, his gaze fixed on your breasts.

You felt exposed and vulnerable, but also strangely powerful, knowing that he was looking at you with such unabashed desire. And yet, you knew that this was just the beginning.

Thomas Shelby slipped off his jacket and tossed it aside, before unbuttoning his shirt and rolling up his sleeves, revealing the strong, toned muscles of his forearms. He stepped closer to you, closing the distance between you with a single stride.

"Undo my belt," Thomas Shelby said, his voice low and commanding.

You did as he asked, unfastening the buckle and tugging the leather free from the loops. Your hands trembled as you did so, and you felt a lump form in your throat.

His manhood was already erect, straining against his pants, and you couldn't help but feel a touch of fear creeping in.

"Now, Love, I want you to get down on to your knees for me," Thomas Shelby ordered, his voice firm.

You hesitated for a brief moment, but then you obeyed, sinking down onto the plush rug that adorned the brothel room's floor.

"Take out my cock," he then commanded and you gulped, your hands trembling as you reached for the zipper of his trousers, tugging it down.

Thomas Shelby's manhood sprang free, hard and imposing. You felt a wave of nervousness wash over you, unsure of what to do next.

Thomas Shelby must have sensed your apprehension, as he reached down to gently stroke your cheek.

"Don't be afraid, Love," he murmured, his voice soft and coaxing. "Give it a little stroke," he said and you nodded slowly, taking a deep breath as you wrapped your fingers around his manhood, feeling its warmth and hardness. Thomas Shelby let out a low groan of pleasure, his fingers tightening in your hair as you began to move your hand up and down.

"That's a good girl," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

Encouraged by his words, you continued to stroke him, feeling more confident as each moment passed.

Thomas Shelby, meanwhile, seemed to grow larger with each passing second, his manhood throbbing in your grip.

And then, he tugged gently on your hair, pulling you closer.

"Now, I want you to open your mouth," he instructed, his voice low and firm.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. But then, you obediently parted your lips, your heart racing.

He guided his cock towards your waiting lips, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of panic. But you knew that this was part of your job, your duty to him. So, you closed your eyes as he began to thrust in and out of your mouth.

"Relax your lips, Love," Thomas Shelby instructed, his voice barely containing his desire.

You tried your best to comply, even as tears threatened to spill down your cheeks.

You were overwhelmed and under-prepared.

"Keep your mouth open, Love," Thomas Shelby urged, his hips moving faster as he thrust his manhood deeper down your throat. "Nice and wide. That's it."

You tried to comply, but it was difficult. You were not used to this. You gagged and spluttered, tears streaming down your face, as he faced you with a passionately intense expression, his pupils dilated.

The sickening sound of your saliva echoed around the private room of the high-end brothel and you could not help but feel degraded.

Drops of clear salty pre-cum streamed from his swollen tip, as he pumped in and out of your mouth, commanding and selfish until, eventually, Thomas pulled himself out of your mouth with a satisfying "pop" and stroked himself as he watched you.

You tried to stand up, but he held onto your shoulders, practically pinning you to the floor.

"Where are you going Love?" His eyes were wild with desire.

"Suck it, go on," he said as he pushed his hips towards your face, forcing you to return to your given task as you watched some more pre-cum ooze from the head of his manhood.

With your hands now wrapped around his thighs, you began to weave your tongue arround the engorged head of his cock and slowly began to move your mouth up and down, following his rhythm.

Thomas groaned with pleasure.

"Oh, yes. Just like that Love. Take it in deep," he panted as he guided your head forward, encouraging you to pick up the pace.

Your head bobbed up and down, his pubic hairs tickling your nose as you swallowed more of him inside of you.

You felt a strong surge of disgust and humiliation, but you suppressed it, fearing the consequences.

Thomas's grip on your shoulders tightened and he pushed himself further into your mouth. You fought the urge to choke, your mouth opening wider to accommodate his length. The feeling of salty wetness on your tongue grew more frequent, and you could hear his breaths quickening, becoming more shallow and erratic.

"That's enough," Thomas finally said, pulling out of your mouth with a pop.

You fell back onto the plush rug, breathing heavily, your lips feeling sore and swollen.

"It is time for me to fuck that virgin cunt of yours now, eh," Thomas said, his voice a low rumble.

"So take off your panties and lie down for me, Love, and spread those lovely legs so I can get a proper look at you," Thomas Shelby instructed, with that same damn smirk on his face.

You nervously obliged, sweat glistening on your brow, as you slowly slipped out of your lace underwear. The sensation of the plush rug beneath you only amplified the vulnerability you felt as Thomas Shelby's gaze roved over every inch of your naked body.

You tried to shrink yourself, to make yourself smaller so as not to draw attention to the parts of yourself that made you feel exposed and raw. But, still, his attention lingered on those very places, stripping you down even further.

"Lie down I said," Thomas repeated firmly, breaking through the spell.

You did as he told, scooting back onto the bed and reclining against the plush headboard.

Thomas Shelby climbed onto the bed as well, settling himself between your legs.

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest as he gently pushed your knees apart, fully exposing yourself to him for the first time.

Looking down at you, his eyes seemed to darken with desire as he took in the sight of you lying there naked and vulnerable before him.

"You're even more beautiful than I imagined," he murmured, his voice full of gravel.

Holding himself up on one arm, he reached out with the other and traced a finger along the curve of your hip, watching as goosebumps broke out across your skin.

You shivered involuntarily, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement gallop through you.

This was it. There was no turning back now.

"I am going to have a look at your little hole now. Just to make sure that you are ready to be stretched out," Thomas said, pulling out a bottle of lubricant from the nightstand.

He uncapped it and poured a generous amount onto his fingers, the slick substance gliding easily between his digits.

You tensed up, closing your eyes, as Thomas approached your entrance. You weren't prepared for the pain. It burned as Thomas pushed his fingers inside you, opening you up.

His fingers explored your depth, thrusting inward and out, mimicking how he would soon take you entirely.

A streak of blood stained his fingers, betraying your innocence. 

“So you are a virgin, eh,” Thomas murmured with a groan of sheer pleasure, withdrawing his finger before plunging it back inside of you.

"Your tight little cunt is already bleeding, just from being fingered," His grin grew increasingly wicked, his eyes devoid of apology or regret. Instead, he reveled in your helplessness – a youthful pawn to be manipulated and claimed by the wealthy gangster.

"I will need a lot of lube to get my cock in that little hole," Thomas declared nonchalantly before withdrawing his finger and wiping it clean on the sheets.

He reached for the bottle of lubricant and poured a generous amount on his manhood, making sure to coat it thoroughly. You winced at the sight, taking in your newfound reality.

"Don't worry, Love, I know it's a big cock, but it will fit, just take slow and deep breaths," Thomas reassured you, his flashy confidence beating down on you.

He shifted his position, guiding himself towards your entrance.

"Don't fight me, alright?" Thomas asked, his voice thick with lust and anticipation. He didn't wait for an answer before he pushed forward, his manhood breaching your walls and causing you to cry out in pain. 

"Jesus Love, you are tight," Thomas grunted, a look of pure ecstasy on his face as he buried himself deeper inside you.

You felt a burning sensation as he filled you up entirely, your body not used to the intrusion. You bit your lip hard, trying to stifle your cries of discomfort.

Thomas paused for a moment, giving you time to adjust to his size. But then, his instincts took over, and he started to move.

"Fuck, let me have a look at this hole now," he eventually grunted, pulling out and shifting backward.

He brought his swollen, slick manhood into view, before leaning back in and finding your entrance again. Pushing himself inside, he winced at the tightness of your young body - the heat of it clenching around him, as if holding on for dear life.

You let out an involuntary whimper as he thrust into you, your fragile frame protesting the intrusion. Thomas was relentless, though. Driving his manhood mercilessly, over and over with deep, powerful thrusts.

Kneeling in between your open legs, he could watch his cock vanish into your body, reappear, and repeat the process until satisfied.

Your torn opening welcomed him, blushing red and dripping. He liked that you looked tender and abused, the way his movements had marked you.

He wondered if thoughts had occurred to you, even once, about changing your mind about this line of work. But it was far too late for that.

He leaned back, staring at your stretched out body beneath him.

Your breaths came out ragged, muffled sobs that somehow turned him on.

You were a novelty to him, a conquest in the form of a vulnerable young woman.

Streaks of blood painted his manhood, leaving no doubt that he had successfully claimed his prize. Your body shook with sobs, the pain of your first time magnified by the size of him. It wasn't a pleasurable experience, not like the stories whispered between girls in hushed, excited tones. It was a violation, a forceful claiming.

"Fuck, Love, you feel so good around my cock," Thomas grunted, his voice syrupy with lust.

His hips moved like a mediocre piston machine, the searing pain between your thighs making it difficult for you to breathe.

You bit down on your bottom lip, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The headboard knocked against the wall harshly with every thrust and your heart raced like a fugitive.

You closed your eyes, shutting out the image of Thomas looking triumphant between your spread legs.

You were in too much pain to say anything, your entire body stiffening under his touch as tears streamed down your cheeks.

You could hear the wet sounds of him ravaging you, the scent of sex permeating the air.

He gripped your hips, pulling you closer as he moved rhythmically, his every thrust jarring you to the core.

It burned to be ripped open like this, your body unused to the violent invasion until, suddenly, he pulled out and reached for the lubricant again.

"Turn around now, Love, and get on your hands and knees," Thomas instructed you, his voice hoarse with lust.

You hesitantly complied, your heart pounding in your chest as you positioned yourself on the bed, your bottom sticking up in the air.

Thomas didn't waste any time, pouring more lubricant onto his slick manhood and rubbing it in.

"Nice and slow, Let me in," Thomas said, his voice a desperate whisper.

Without warning, he guided himself towards your exposed rear this time, the head of his manhood pressing against your tight entrance.

"Relax, Love," Thomas whispered. "It'll hurt less if you do."

You took a deep breath, trying to relax your muscles as Thomas slowly pushed himself inside you. The sensation was intense and foreign, a new kind of fullness that made you clench up despite your best efforts.

Thomas groaned as he entered you, his rhythm slow and steady.

"Fuck," he muttered while you choked back your tears. "You're so tight, so fucking tight."

The aching sensation burned within you as Thomas thrust deeper inside. Your knuckles were white from gripping the sheets, but you focused on the pain to keep yourself grounded in reality. His hands dug into your waist, pulling you back with each forward motion, creating a brutal rhythm you'd never imagine could exist in the world.

Thomas was completely consumed by the animalistic need to dominate. He ignored the sound of your ragged breathing and tears on your pillow. Why someone chose to put their penis into one's anus was always a mystery to you, but you supposed that some people just had certain tastes. And Thomas Shelby seemed to have quite the acquired taste.

"Oh, fuck. You have no idea how good this feels," he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he continued to thrust in and out of you.

With each movement, you could feel yourself being stretched even further, your body protesting as Thomas took what he desired.

"It's almost over Love,"

Thomas grunted as he picked up his pace, the headboard battering against the wall with a loud thud, threatening to break free from its hinges.

You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to focus on anything but the burning pain inside your bowels. 

Thomas's breathing grew labored, his movements more urgent as he chased his release.

"Yes, Love! I'm going cum!" Thomas called out, grabbing onto your hair and giving it a firm tug. "Deep inside your bowels," he growled, emptying himself into you with a shudder.

You could feel him pulsating deep inside of you, filling you up with his warm release. Your body felt battered and bruised, a testament to the brutal invasion it had just endured.

Thomas slowly pulled out of you, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips. You could feel him slip out of your body, leaving behind a gaping void.

You immediately collapsed onto the bed, your entire body trembling as tears of pain and humiliation continued to stream down your cheeks.

"Let me see, Love," he demanded, his voice still thick with desire. He reached between your legs, roughly spreading your cheeks apart, examining his work.

You couldn't help but let out a pitiful sob, feeling disgust and shame rising within you.

Thomas ran his fingers over your rear entrance, causing you to wince, before slowly pushing slowly pushing his fingers inside, causing you to whimper.

"See, it's not so bad, now is it?" Thomas said, his voice dripping with false concern as he collected some of his cum from inside your anus.

He sighed contentedly, savoring his conquest as he withdrew his finger and brought it up to your lips.

You recoiled as he first made contact, but he grabbed your chin and forced his finger into your mouth, smearing your cheeks and mouth with his cum.

"Such a dirty little girl," Thomas murmured, his deep voice reverberating through the room. He continued his assault on your senses, tracing your lips with his cum, forcing you to taste him, making you accept what had happened between you two.

"I will be back tomorrow for some more," he then announced, his voice full of satisfaction as he stood up and began dressing.

[ozzgin]

hi! I'm the anon who said that Daitou is my #1 sweetheart, and I saw your post talking about time-skip Daitou kind in dilf vibes... I'm interested, take all of my money right now !!

also wondering how Daitou would react with a darling who wants kids 💭�� imagine of she is having a hugeee baby fever ( not me projecting whattt)

Turning this into a general "Would the yakuza men want children?" and other bedroom habits. There's a more detailed answer for Daitou here. Content: female reader (pregnancy talk), mildly NSFW, fluff

You may think of Boss as old-fashioned, but he's seen a fair amount of depravity back in the day. Before gambling was deemed illegal in Japan, he'd owned several casinos in big districts like Ginza and Kabukichō, and consequently spent a lot of time in various parlors. Unlike many of his men, however, he never really cared much for adult entertainment. In his drunken rants he used to say that women would be his downfall, and no one would want to be involved with him, anyways.

He might be into you calling him daddy, although you should expect a lot of dad jokes to go with it. He’s a silly old man like that. Could be interested in shibari, because it takes a lot of patience and skill and he’d probably enjoy taking his time and gazing at you after each knot. It’s quiet and intimate, and he gets to tease you about it afterwards, especially if it’s an arrangement to go under your clothes. “What’s the matter, (Y/N) love? Tongue tied?”

His recurring humor around his age makes you wonder if he’d even be interested in children. When you finally bring up the topic, Boss is very casual about it. “Sure”, he’ll say with a grin, “whatever the missus wants.” You suspect he’s not taking you seriously, but after settling you on his lap and having a hearty laugh about it, he’ll conclude, this time with confidence: “Have a look outside this room. See all those rascals? I raised them! Ya think I can’t handle a bunch of kids?”

Daitou can be surprisingly (and unintentionally) kinky, especially if you encourage him to. He’ll apologize the day after for being too rough, even if you tell him it's fine and you quite literally asked for it (See Valentine's Day incident). Overall, though, I’d say it depends entirely on you. He can be dominant or submissive, according to your wishes. You can go all out with him, he’s sturdier than most and takes great pride in it. If you’re into more extreme hobbies like knife play, you’re certainly in good hands.

Daitou lives in the moment and hasn't really planned too far ahead. Such is the life of a yakuza: you never know when you might lose a limb or more in the next gang fight. He's therefore quite surprised by your proposal of having children in the future. Is it even something realistic for someone like him? On the other hand, it's hard to refuse that enthusiastic smile you're flashing at him each time the topic comes up. "Do you, uh...", he begins one day while looking at baby toys in the store. He fidgets with his prosthetic eye nervously. "Do you really think I'd make a good dad? Heh."

Kazuya can be quite kinky and loves teasing you in public about it. Last time you were hanging out with him and his underlings, you happened to pass by a park bench you'd recently used during your nightly strolls together. “This location is familiar”, he’ll hum with a smirk. “Isn’t this where we…ah. Nevermind.” Despite your frequent protests, he always struggles to keep his mouth shut. Can you really blame him for wanting to brag to others? You're an undeniable catch.

"Kids?" he repeats with a raised eyebrow. Good question, although something he's considered many times already. What, you thought he wouldn't notice your curious glances whenever some woman walks by with a baby stroller? He pretends to ponder your suggestion and declares after a long moment: "Well, you'd certainly make a great milf, and I obviously can't have anyone else do the honors." He picks you up with a mischievous grin on his face. "When do we start?"

[Main Story] | [More Yakuza]

[yaksha-lover]

The hands of fate weave a tale as old as time.

Malleus had once foolishly believed that yours might be a story that intertwines with his own. That the strings that pulled you and him inevitably toward each other might be final and true: that he might be your destiny.

You, a kind-hearted traveler from another world, pulled into this one by an inescapable force, demanding to set the stage for your romantic pursuits.

Him, a lonely prince, awaiting, in a way, his own knight to come rescue him from a tower built of isolation and abandonment.

But the endless hours of reading fairytales alone as a child must have distorted his perception, because Malleus realizes he is far from the lovely, innocent prince who gets to be rescued. He isn’t the type who gets to be loved.

Perhaps fate did pull you into this world, as he suspects, just not for him.

Because he can remember the first time you’d met your silver-haired prince. The way you’d looked at him, gaze lingering before shying away, like you knew. You knew you weren’t in love with him, but that, one day, you would be.

You looked at him in a way you’d never looked at anyone else; especially not Malleus.

A selfish, aching feeling gnaws at him. He hates you for being in love with someone else, hates Silver for being that person, and hates himself most of all for being so selfish and spiteful.

Malleus feels like a truly pitiful creature, born only to poison everything that bares the mark of his fingertips.

He knows the truth: no one deserves you like Silver does. If it had been Kingscholar, or even Schoenheit, Malleus might have been justified in his feelings of annoyance and objection.

But Silver is good. Good like you.

The two of you are a truly rare gems in a place like NRC. Neither of you really belong here, amongst the egotism running rampant.

But you do belong together. The lovely man earns the heart of his beloved, never the malevolent prince, cast off to the side.

That is fate, stringing each and everyone along into the roles they’re destined to play.

Malleus wonders, as he sits alone once again, watching the two of you, what role he might be to you. He hates it, hates where his thoughts go. But just as fate compels you away from him and into Silver’s arms, it forces his mind to wander, to land on questions that are agonizing and horrifying.

Thoughts that make him afraid of himself.

If he is not your handsome prince, might he be the villain whose malevolence robs you of your happiness?

[darkcircles4lyfe]

it's a story about hands (reprise)

Yeah, okay, today's the day.

I gave my blog that title for a reason, you know, and it has loomed over me for years because the hand motif is absolutely everywhere and you could go on about it forever.

Maybe that's something I'll never actually attempt to do, but this chapter, we reached a breaking point.

Before I continue, I need to give a big, big disclaimer: I do not have a physical disability, so I'm not able to speak about that from the standpoint of representation as a first-hand perspective. I have at least listened to enough disabled people to know that fictional characters who become amputees only to miraculously gain their limbs back is, um, a trope. Disabled people in general being "healed" is a conception we would really prefer to avoid here. Not to call people out, but I don't think we're giving enough space to acknowledge that.

I don’t feel comfortable making the judgement call about what should happen. I’m leaving that open. I also don't want to downplay people's emotional reactions. Honestly, I don't know if I can accurately define the line between acknowledging real pain vs. ableist pity. But I’d like to talk about the possibilities of what could happen. Other characters have definitely gotten permanent disabilities as a result of their hero work, or even just the side effects of their quirk. But, for better or worse, I don't think this case is really about representation. Not that Horikoshi won't do that justice. He might. What I'm saying is that's not his purpose for having Izuku lose his arms. It's meant to be symbolic, so we can explore what it means. The other thing I’m keeping in mind here is that Horikoshi is notorious for playing with our expectations, like, alllllll the time. I mean, just take a few chapters ago for a classic example. Eri appeared at the end, and we all assumed she was about to take some sort of action to save someone with her quirk. Then, immediately following, we were given an explanation for why that wouldn’t be happening. And now it’s clear he wanted to do that “fake out” not just as a silly cliffhanger prank, but specifically so we would know not to suspect that Eri could be the miraculous solution to Izuku’s loss of his arms. Rest assured, there is no easy way out of this.

The expectation at play in this particular instance is an old one. It’s very understated, but its subtext has burned so brightly, you’d be a fool not to notice it. It sits with anticipation like one half of a call and response. Man, I was so certain. Lots of people still are. I was really looking forward to printing the panel where it happened onto a t shirt and wearing it proudly. All the hand motifs in this story radiate thematically from a single moment, the one that started it all for Izuku.

It raises all kinds of questions about the act of saving, who needs saving, why, what does it mean, what are the dynamics of power, politics, honesty, exploitation, compassion, pity, disdain, sacrifice. Katsuki has dealt with many of these since he first rejected Izuku’s hand. While Izuku was the one who was convinced Katsuki would keep on rejecting him…

…Katsuki was the one who kept that moment in his mind all these years and eventually came to regret it.

Katsuki is the one yearning for that hand-hold, the one who has imbued it with so much more weight than it ever originally had. Izuku, in contrast, does not allow himself to dwell on what he wants. To illustrate this difference, we need to look at another piece of foreshadowing:

Ugh, do y'all remember when lots of folks were complaining about how there never seemed to be actual consequences for Izuku's destructive treatment of his own body? I don't blame them, I was concerned and confused about it too. There were several "fixes" along the way. Recovery Girl healed him, but left a physical reminder. Then he started training to fight with his legs… sometimes. Then he got support items. All of these were unsatisfying non-conclusions because they didn't present Izuku with a lasting enough impression to change in a meaningful way. They didn't address his core, his origin.

Of course, that all changed this chapter. Now it looks like our frustration was inflicted intentionally. With the current context in mind, all of these moments look more sinister, like this day was always gonna come because they kept putting bandaids on a deep emotional and psychological wound. The problem is pretty much spelled out for us here:

As Katsuki put it, he just doesn’t take himself into account, ya know? He doesn’t care what happens to him. And he lies about it, to keep others from worrying, to keep them safe. To keep them from returning the favor and putting themselves in harm’s way for his sake. His motivations are noble,

…but what about the little boy inside Izuku? Who saves him?

This is all about Izuku giving himself up to the point that he literally has no more to give. The thing is, I bet he saw this coming. He knew his limits and decided to keep going anyway, because his personal safety and wellbeing are not important. Now that way of thinking has come back to bite him because the fight isn’t over yet, and he’s already made his sacrifice. So now we know who will be more distraught over this. Not Izuku—Katsuki.

It’s not about Izuku becoming disabled, it’s about how Katsuki wanted to use the intertwining of their fingers to communicate that he would never let go. Never stop valuing him most. Never let himself make the mistake of rejecting him again. Never let Izuku be so reckless with his life. To say: “we are in this together.”…if only Katsuki believed he deserved to be able to say such things. To reach out his hand would have been the ultimate way to simply imply them and let Izuku be the one to decide. Then, to feel their hands clasped together would be more than either of them dared hope for, but so beautiful, so right. A moment they’ve waited their whole lives for.

Yeah. That’s what we were expecting. We’ve been so comfortable. Horikoshi gave us all the signs. He tempted and teased us over and over. BUT. You know he does this thing were he gives us a desirable, completely plausible and simple thing to look forward to, and then he snatches it away. And THEN he replaces it with something much better, something we were not expecting at all because it seemed too good to be true. That’s exactly what happened when Himiko snatched Izuku away, and we were robbed of the chance to see him and Katsuki fight together. In hindsight, though, I’m glad things went a different way because now there’s so much more depth and angst on display. Likewise, in the present moment, we may consider how, as one door closes, another opens.

As wonderfully meaningful as the hand-hold would have been, perhaps it is still too simple a resolution for Izuku, for his and Katsuki’s relationship. Tbh, it could have been done like 100 chapter ago. At this point, there’s so much more potential. There are a couple of ways it could go. If Izuku stays armless, Katsuki will be forced to use other methods to get his point across. He’ll have to do something else, or say what he means, or both. Yes, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about. If I say it, I just might jinx it (lol), but I mean it. I’m being serious. Either way, if Izuku did get his arms back in the end, I’m sure that it wouldn’t be an easy fix. It would be hard-won against Izuku’s self-destructive mindset, and/or by Katsuki’s conviction. Again, I say this knowing it is not meant so much as a representation of disability, but as a representation of Izuku’s greatest character flaw taken to the extreme. I know this might sound harsh, like, hasn’t he been through enough? I get that, but… I’ve said it before and I say it again: Izuku is stubborn as hell.

I wish I had a resounding final note to end this on, but I kinda don’t. I’m not sure what’s best. Now we just have to wait and see what Horikoshi has in mind.

[diagonal-queen]

HELLO!! i keep requesting them sotty im obsessed but what about hunting dogs with a s/o who has a child😅😅i got silly again

Hunting Dogs with your child

♡ pairing: Fukuchi Ouchi, Jouno Saigiku, Tecchou Suehiro, Teruko Okura (platonic), Tachihara Michizou x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How do these goofballs fare as stepdads? (or, in Teruko's case, fun auntie?)

♡ cw: Swearing, unofficial stepfathering, unrealistically good stepfathering, reader's ex situation is not established but it's assumed that their baby momma/daddy is not in the picture (Tachihara), mentions of violence

note: I just haven't written anything in ages, and for that I apologise. Wow, being in university is time consuming! I've had block for months and it's been an absolute pain in the arse but I'm back babey! Keep your requests coming anon- I am the Hunting Dogs whisperer and I will write them till I die. Apologies for errors and I hope you enjoy x

Fukuchi:

My dude is so so so enthusiastic. You mean to tell him that he gets a beautiful loving partner AND a new little guy to hang out with?? Sign him tf up

This man buys your kid so many presents it's genuinely concerning. Your child is spoilt to hell and back by Fukuchi. You need to discourage him from this behaviour STAT

He constantly uses dad words like 'buddy' and 'pal' and 'kiddo' to refer to your kid and they eventually start responding to these nicknames lol

He would totally also do dad stances and just embrace the fatherly aura that is slowly overtaking him day by day (bro starts falling asleep on the couch while the game's on at 9pm)

He's actually surprisingly gentle with your child. If they cry he'll pick them up and comfort them very well. He's like a whole different person when your kid is scared or sad- it's the cutest thing ever

If your child ever gets him a Fathers' Day present he'll probably cry like old man tears of joy. In fact if your child ever does anything nice for him he'll be incredibly touched. Kinda reminds him what he's doing his job for :')

Tells your child great exaggerated (CHILD FRIENDLY) stories about his heroic achievements as a soldier before bed. It's genuinely super cute you guys

If the kid ever runs up to him in excitement when he arrives home in the evening he returns the energy and is like 'omg there they are! that's my kiddo! how have you been??' and picks them up and AUGH they're so cute

Just....🥺🥺

Jouno:

Your child is probably scared of him at first. Within their first meeting he probably makes them cry.

Sorry y'all 😭 but he doesn't exactly come off as much of a teddy bear...and nor does he really act like one with anyone else other than you in private

Jouno just isn't good with kids. Not in the sense that he's scared of them but that he doesn't really know how to interact with them without being intimidating or otherwise just detached

But he really loves you, and he wants to be a good parental figure to your kid, so he tries to warm them up to him by getting them a gift. That probably helps- he might not know much about kids but he's right to assume that they fucking love receiving gifts

Whatever your child's hobbies/interests are, Jouno genuinely does try to connect with them over it, and after a while it does work.

Soon enough your child and Jouno are inseparable and your child is spewing sadistic military rhetoric and oh dear god you've made a terrible mistake introducing the two of them

Yeah, Jouno probably teaches your kid all KINDS of horrible things. He will tell your child stories about times he's tortured suspects, or slaughtered gangs, and just stuff that is not family friendly. You have to nip that behaviour in the bud or else...

He's generally pretty good at taking care of your child, but like, if your kid cried because they were scared there was a monster under the bed, Jouno would probably be like "Yeah. There is. Good luck." and then turn off the lights and leave 💀

Just give him time. He'll learn how to be an emotionally available parent at SOME point

Tecchou:

He's not the step dad. He's the dad that stepped up

Tecchou is definitely very aloof and awkward around your child- like, he knows how to interact with you, but children are different. Children are frightening. And they are his biggest fear maybe

In spite of this, he is fiercely protective of your kid. He will make sure that child is as safe and calm as possible at all times, and he certainly prefers to show that he cares through actions rather than words.

He usually wouldn't initiate physical contact with your child but if they hugged him he would hug back, if they gave him a hi-five he would do it back, etc etc. he will never let your kid down

If your child likes make belief, you can bet you'd walk into a room and find your kid all dressed up, off their rocker in full theatre mode, while Tecchou is sitting on the floor, also dressed up, but looking more depressed than ever before

Save him from your baby. They are taking YEARS off his life

He probably accidentally sends your kid to hospital at some point because he cooked for them. Damnit Tecchou, how don't you realise that a child's stomach wouldn't be able to handle a combination of chocolate and beef

It's okay though, he does learn from this. Plus, he takes care of your child and buys them presents and hangs out with them until they're better <3

He might not join your child in the ball pit, but he would watch them swim around in there with the softest, faintest, most affectionate smile on his face. And that is all that matters folks

Teruko (platonic):

The funnest, meanest, coolest auntie ever

Teruko will lead your child down a dreadful path. Limit their visits to holidays and birthdays for your own sake and the sake of your young one

She's really more than happy to negatively influence look after your child if you need her to though, and they love her because she's super chill and lets them get away with all kinds of things (that aren't violent crimes against humanity)

Your parent says one cookie after dinner? Screw it, have six. I won't tell if you won't. - Teruko, probably

She uses her ability to entertain your kid sometimes- usually she'll decrease her age so she can join them in things like building pillow forts and playing on jungle gyms

I'm just picturing them playing at the park and some concerned parent coming up to them asking where their guardian is and Teruko just fucking transforms into a grown woman on the spot and goes 'WHO'S ASKING' 😭

Teruko is a super cool fun aunt. But she is very wise, and she really will give your kid good life advice on occasion.

She'll also cheer them up when they're feeling down, and if they're feeling scared she helps them step out of their comfort zones and confront their fears (in a safe way!!)

If your kid is like, getting picked on at school or something, Teruko will nag you to phone their school about it. If you don't, she does. If they don't do anything about it, she does. Bottom line is NOBODY fucks with your kid when Teruko is around

I guess technically she really is scary dog privilege lmao

Tachihara:

Help he's so nervous at first? Tachihara this is a child, not a wise sage- you can be normal around them

He just wants to make a good impression on the child okay he's doing his best

But (obviously) your kid immediately loves him, and thinks he's the coolest guy ever, and wants to hang out with him all the time

Tachihara has a bit of a concern that the kid will think that he's trying to replace their other parent, which is fair, but it's unfounded because your child absolutely adores him and does not care about that at all

If your child ever calls him 'Dad' watch his soul fucking transcend to a new plane, he's so surprised and honoured that this beautiful person's child would consider him their parent

Your kid has Tachihara wrapped around their tiny finger. He will oblige them with anything- if you've got a toddler who likes uppies and piggybacks, say your prayers for Tachihara's upper arm and back muscles because he will carry them for hours

You really need him to stop leaving weaponry around the house, though- the absolute HEART ATTACK you had when you saw your precious baby carrying around an unloaded pistol

Also, Tachihara, babe, STOP SWEARING SO MUCH AROUND THE BABY. I CAN'T HAVE MY KID SAYING 'FUCK' TO STRANGERS - you, probably

Doesn't really ever talk about his job(s) with your kid, all they know is that he 'kills bad guys', and they think that's cool as fuck

He's not perfect, sure. But he is trying so hard to be The Perfect Parent™ and, more importantly, he loves your child to bits

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl, @kokoenjiandco, @pinkiipeachiikeen

of course, thank you to anon for this req!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

The other day I was reading about the “mail-order brides” during the Gold Fever/Gold Rush in USA. Men ordered/purchased a wife via mail, and one of the many reasons some of them did that was because of loneliness, and I couldn’t help but think “yep, that would be König”. Just imagine him living alone in his farm or ranch, he only goes to town once a month to buy essential supplies, hides his face, and barely socializes with folks. But deep inside he is just a lonely man who desires a family, and a woman to call his (and one who can help him with his… needs) But he is socially inept, so he takes the easy route and orders himself a wife, that way he doesn’t have to bother with interacting with other people and gets himself a pretty wife

Oh my god 💞

König wanting to wed and bed her the minute she arrives by train... She thought he would court her for a while before they marry, she thought they would do this decently, that they would get to know each other first, she’d rent an apartment from the small town and then decide if she wanted to live with him…

But he says everything’s settled, he already took care of everything, they’re getting married today and spend their wedding night in the saloon before leaving for his settlement tomorrow.

She’s too bewildered to even speak, so it's no wonder she gets herded to the altar right away, a pretty, meek little bride is just what König ordered! Gets wed to this giant hulking gold digger while still wearing her traveling clothes, the priest only looks drunk and bored as she peeps her vows. The man she's now wed to looks down at her with unbridled affection and curiosity, but soon enough, she catches him eyeing her waistline, her bust, the corset she wears feeling tighter still by his indecent stare.

He's far from a gentleman, and dresses like a weather-worn cowboy, and she suspected as much from the way he wrote and how unpolished his handwriting was. But at least he seems kind. If anything, he's smitten that she’s not some old hag who deceived him by claiming to be an unmarried young lady, that she is everything and more he wished for based on the few letters they exchanged.

The wedding is over in a few minutes, and there’s no coffee and cake, no party under some big tree, no relatives or friends to congratulate her on her wedding day. There’s only this huge, intimidating man who looks at her like she just dropped down from heavens, his eyes slowly sparking aflame with both softness and lust.

He takes her to the saloon to eat, and then she finds herself in a greasy little room upstairs, changing into her white nightgown, getting ready to sleep and only sleep, but her nightmare of a day is not over yet. Her hand flies over her mouth, she nearly screams as she turns around and finds this horrible man of lowly European descent thoroughly naked behind her.

She’s in so much trouble, that much was certain from the minute he saw this man, but seeing his… equipment in the dim candle light of the old saloon is too much after everything she's gone through. She's verily about to faint.

It’s just her luck to dream of adventures and a happy, exciting new life and then find herself thrown into the arms of some barbaric, foreign giant... He said he’s looking for a companion in life and hinted at being a little lonely, but men who wish to court a lady don’t do it like this: by dragging them to the altar and then presenting their cocks to them before even two hours have passed!

The rowdy noise of cancan downstairs is a filthy backdrop to seeing a naked man for the first time in her life, and she never knew male parts could be so... big. Or jumpy. Or leaky... This man is clearly serious about this commitment, and thinks there’s no need to get to know each other, she’s his wife now and they need to consummate the marriage right away.

He’s breathing heavily while grabbing that weeping weapon in his fist, telling her she’s more beautiful than he ever even imagined. He pleasures himself slowly while watching her try to cover herself in her thin, faintly translucent gown, and she still can't find any words – the man is behaving like a scoundrel or a highwayman, not at all like the sharp dressed, eloquent gentlemen she's grown used to in the city. The slick sounds of lewd fapping are accompanied by moans of how she’s the answer to all his prayers, and her hair stands on end, she feels like she’s walking on tar here in the distant frontier with nothing but greedy men and drunken brothel keepers around her, now face to face with a giant, throbbing cock out of all things...

She coldly orders him to sleep on the floor while she takes the bed – she’s not letting this nasty, hairy beast near her anytime soon, not when she still has her wits about her. Defeated when she won’t let him “consummate their love” tonight, the man withdraws to sleep on the floor with a sullen groan and a long sigh.

She never sleeps a wink that night in fear of finding him by her side, groping his way through her dress, but to her surprise this man only snores on the floor as if he's used to sleeping there.

Civilization is far away when he leads her to his shack the next day and shows her the first small specks of gold he has found, apologizing for the state of his abode so unkempt and unclean. She has to give it to him that he's indeed kind and doesn’t want to make her suffer unduly, because the table and the bench are wiped in a hurry before she sits down, as if she’s a queen visiting a humble subject. He makes her a bath next to the fire and washes in the water after her, giving her flirty, promising smiles throughout the whole splashy ordeal.

Before long, the giant cock is presented to her again as the man excitedly waits for permission to take her, telling her he has never seen anything like her, that she makes his heart run wild.

The only thing running wild in her sour opinion is his cock, bouncing up and down from the need to be inside her, nearly leaking seed on the floor she suspects she has to wash and scrub tomorrow anyhow as his wife. Evening after evening, she rejects his advances, but after a week or two, her will breaks.

She tells herself it’s only out of pity that she lets him finally crawl over her and lift her gown, that it’s only to stop the man from spiraling into madness that she allows him to test how nicely that thick, leaky cock glides through her folds.

“You’re wet, Sonnenschein,” he pants with happy excitement when she notices her swollen, sloppy state, then plunges his cock deep into his wet little prize with a filthy moan. He tells her she’s tight and hot, and takes her like she’s some kind of an angelic whore, falls panting all over her breasts when he’s sated and done, says that she’s his salvation and that he’ll do anything to make her feel at home here.

She feels exactly like a desperate mail order bride, lured here with the promise of a good life and gold, but when she starts to wait for him to come home instead of dreading the end of the day, that's when her hell truly begins.

It just won't do to start wanting him, to trick her heart to be content with whatever this is. To enjoy his "love" would be even more shameful than anything else so far. The truth of the matter is that she's tormented by a lustful, wild man who takes her on her knees or on her stomach like an animal while moaning about how tight she is, how soft she is, how he can’t concentrate at work because of her.

But when he groans that he loves her just before he cums, she feels a distant sting near her heart, a burst of a small bonfire somewhere in her gut from his words. Far from romantic, but so authentic and pure they’re ripped out of him with a pathetic, cry-like moan.

And just when her heart is about to turn and grow full with softness, he barges in and takes her standing, needy after work, deciding that she looks far too alluring while stirring the stew over the fire. His sunshine of a wife waiting for him with warm food and a soft little cunt, it's exactly like it was always meant to be in his dreams... He’s kind and attentive, but doesn’t know a thing about ladies and that they’re not supposed to be taken by the fire like this, but the dramatic pout on her lips turns into a helpless grimace before this animal has given her three full thrusts.

And it’s only by accident, she tells herself, that it happens. It’s only a coincidence that she finds herself short of breath and shivering, then crying with pleasure from the way his cock sails inside her, hasty and needy as if she’s nothing but a momentary relief for this man.

But she knows she’s far from that. He always stays after the hurried lovemaking – if you could call it that – swallows and tells her things that are supposed to be sweet, perhaps. He whispers loving nonsense in her ear with a stupid, quivering voice, tells her that she’s so tight he’s about to lose his mind. That she brightens up his life and makes this shack a home, a palace, even. That he wants to give her children and grow old together.

She prays the heavens to save her from such a future, but when she accidentally comes with his cock inside her, the man breaks down entirely. Repeats the awful, pathetic “I love you” until he comes, too, and sounds like a man who's getting his sould ripped apart from his bones. It’s sinful lunacy what he’s doing to her in that shack, and dares to sprinkle it with love out of all things, and she doesn’t know if she hates him, or if she loves him too.

Annulling this marriage is nearly impossible, and the sooner he gets her pregnant, the sooner she’s even more trapped, just like the poor rabbits this man lures into the snares placed around the shack. He spends every little speck of gold to buy her silks, satins and gowns, proper woolen scarves and soft little leather shoes, gives her a gentle kiss every morning before he leaves to wash gold. Every evening after meal, he praises her cooking skills and then takes her on the creaking old bed like she's a common whore. The silly, girlish dreams of being whisked away by a mysterious, romantic gentleman are somewhere far away when this giant spills his seed inside her with a thick, arduous groan, then proceeds to cover her in kisses too sweaty and hot.

“I know you don’t love me,” he whispers between the one-sided sucking and nibbling that’s about to make her cry. “But I will make you happy... I swear it, on my life.”

She can only stare at the ceiling, filled with the dancing flames of the fire as he falls asleep with his cock still inside her, the soft snore on her breasts both happy and sad.

[seyaryminamoto]

My latest completed commission may have been a bit ambitious... because I went wild with it. But I certainly relished in doing so :') Combining my favorite ship with my favorite-ever Disney movie is, uh... a dangerous concoction :'D

The commissioner specifically requested for Azula as Mulan, Sokka as Shang, and Xin Long (my OC dragon from Gladiator) as Mushu. The rest of the cast was up to me to choose, and I pretty much went wild rewatching this movie and picking out some of my favorite moments to recreate them in my style, with these characters. I came up with a lot of correlating characters between both ATLA and 1998's Mulan, but I couldn't hope to draw EVERYTHING, unfortunately. Still, if you want my reasoning for the cast correlation... check out the Read More! Beyond that, feel free to reach out to me if you'd like to commission me, or if you want to join my Patreon!

The Herbalist as Mulan's grandmother might feel arbitrary but she honestly felt like the ATLA elderly lady with the most similar personality to Grandma Fa. Fickle, with a unique connection with a seemingly perfectly ordinary animal, old and sassy? Figured it fit! So for once, the Herbalist is Azula's grandma! xD strange notion, I know, Azulon/Herbalist is not a ship I ever thought I'd accidentally put out in the world but there have been wilder ships than that in this fandom...

Momo became Cri-Kee, I wasn't 100% sold on it but when I considered that Avatar features soooo many hybrid animals... I figured he could be a hybrid cricket-lemur. Weird, I know, but eh? Better than nothing xD

Aang as Chien-Po was a no-brainer. He's the only character I settled on instantly, never even considered anyone else for the role. Their personalities line up really well, and Chien-Po's tendency to be OP and resolve things that are outside of other people's reach sounded like he was prime Avatar material! So, while their dietary preferences are an obvious difference between them, I decided to go for it nonetheless considering all their other similarities!

Kino (another Gladiator OC) is Ling, and he actually did give me a ton of trouble to choose. I considered many characters for the role right up until I realized that Kino's personality actually lines up fairly well with Ling's, down to being a class clown type (who ABSOLUTELY would have cut gym class!) and breaking out in song about the hypothetical woman he'd like to fight for? Yeeeeah that's right up his alley xD but there's another reason why I picked Kino...

... And that is my likely unexpected choice for Yao:

ZUKO.

ZUKO IS YAO.

YES.

I'M NOT EVEN SORRY.

(For the uninitiated, Aang, Zuko and Kino are best friends in Gladiator, very often together, and they make a really good team, so that's the extra reason why Kino became the obvious choice for Ling aside from having really similar personalities, definitely closer personalities than, say, Jet, for instance.)

People have likened Zuko to Shang a LOT since ATLA aired. This is the main reason why I'm even making this huge note! I suspect it's primarily because of the aesthetic, let's be real here, and because he becomes Aang's teacher, but people have exaggerated Zuko's alleged similarities with Shang, or taken them out of proportion, in many ways. I actually remember an AMV ages ago with "Be a Man" and it was Zuko "training the Gaang"?? It... didn't feel right to me. Obviously, someone might rebuff with "well, how does Sokka make MORE sense than that, though?" And believe it or not, I have arguments for that... (when do I not...?)

Not only is this what the commissioner specifically requested (and it obviously lines up with the ship we love!), but let's examine the actual reasons why Sokka as Shang adds up:

Sokka actually had to train a bunch of toddlers who weren't paying any attention to him. You know. Kind of how Shang had to train the unruly soldiers who weren't getting anything right. Sokka has a positive relationship with his dad (Zuko, ofc, does not). Shang also has a positive relationship with his dad! And not only this, but there's a military component to both relationships, specifically with Shang wanting to follow on his father's footsteps and aid him in the war... so much like someone else I know, who jumped at every opportunity to rejoin his father in the war, even wishing to join him as a child until Hakoda tasked him with protecting their Tribe instead (kinda like Shang is tasked with training soldiers rather than joining a battlefield).

And the final cherry-on-top that I'd loooove to hear Zuko fans try to argue against... is sexism :') didn't Sokka get characterized as a sexist guy for four episodes, which made people decide that this was his main character trait even if it went away that quickly? Um, yes, that happened. Shang literally sings the memorable song that's a crazy ode to masculinity, including the rather sexist line of "did they send me daughters when I asked for sons". Shang outright abandons Mulan once they discover that she was a woman all along (while, admittedly, choosing to abandon her rather than KILL HER, which as we saw from Chi-Fu, he was NOT supposed to spare her!)...

So, is this REALLY what Zuko fans, who willfully believe their boy is a feminist king (... why? beats me...) are trying to compare their unproblematic blorbo to? :'D Me? I have no problem linking Sokka with Shang due to Sokka's beginnings and due to the fact that both Shang and Sokka have similar growth when it comes to accepting femininity is as valid as masculinity, and as they both learn to respect women as fighters and potential heroes! (I simply do not believe Sokka's ENTIRE tenure in ATLA was about that, though, and that's what I continue to clash with the fandom over...) So... all this is why I've reasoned that Sokka is a VERY solid choice for Shang, in fact, better than Zuko could hope to be.

... but this isn't all.

Maybe some might accept my arguments for Sokka-Shang. And then, they might ask:

WHY ZUKO AS YAO, THO??

... And the truth is it took me long to see it, myself, but HOLY SHIT, DOES IT FIT!

What is the primary thing we remember about Yao in Mulan? This guy is constantly itching for a fight, to prove himself, surely riddled with insecurities that he exteriorizes through overcompensation of masculinity. He's funny as fuck, but he's taking himself 100% seriously as a manly man all the time, and he's always ready for violence. But there's one more thing...

He treats Mulan as his RIVAL.

And more often than not? SHE SCREWS HIM OVER. Intentionally or not.

What does that sound like? Why, yes, it sounds a LOT like Azula and Zuko's sibling relationship!

The fact that Yao is a temperamental dude who lashes out easily at things (oh, something he has in common with Zuko!), that he specifically resents Mulan (in this case, Azula, just as Zuko does!) and is either constantly looking to defeat her and prove his superiority over her (... wait, just as Zuko with Azula??), that he has a black eye perpetually across the movie, and it's his LEFT EYE (just as Zuko's scar is on his left eye! :'D), that he's friends with a pacifist he has basically nothing in common with, personality-wise (just like Zuko and Aang!), and that he pretty much has a REDEMPTION ARC in which he goes from a bitter, asshole rival to Mulan to treating her as a friend and ally, to the point where he was disappointed to leave her behind and THEN joined her at once when she says she has a plan? :') I have always been critical of Zuko's redemption arc, goes without saying. But if ANY of these characters redeemed himself in any significant way, it certainly seems to be Yao to me, and with people gushing NON-STOP about Zuko's redemption? Why, he ought to be the character who goes from bitter rival to loyal friend, right?

So. I'm not even sorry. Zuko is Yao. And I'd dare say that he should be flattered by the comparison, even, because Yao ends up being cool as FUCK!

I don't really talk about this much nowadays, but Mulan was my favorite Disney movie growing up, it ABSOLUTELY had a formative influence on me as a little girl, and Mulan was my favorite female character for a looooong time. Thus, any excuse to rewatch this movie makes me happy as heck. With the wisdom of age I know, of course, that it's not perfect, it's not what China wants, it's not the most thoughtful depiction of Chinese culture or the most faithful adaptation of Mulan's poem (... but I'd also dare bring up that the 2009 Chinese adaptation ISN'T all that faithful either...), but it has a kind of magic in it, a solid storytelling flow, so many memorable moments one after the next, that I could hardly choose which scenes to depict... Disney has never again seen the storytelling heights it reached with Mulan in 1998. I don't even care if that's a controversial opinion in any way... this is their best animated feature for me, and nobody can change my mind.

So... depicting Azula, my beloved, in all these scenarios as this character I adored and idolized as a child, was so damn fulfilling for me. While some might think that, personality-wise, these two ladies don't have much in common, the fact that Mulan is sent to a matchmaker who basically tells her she looks good but is going to be the worst wife ever...? Our girl Azula, with all those insecurities about being unloveable and a monster, probably would relate big time to that.

Mulan is also an INTELLIGENT soldier rather than a brawny one, which is how she starts to make progress in the army, it's how she manages to overcome the huns with that avalanche... and Azula's primary difference with most other antagonists in ATLA is that she's smart as fuck. She is very strong, no doubt, but a LOT of that strength comes from her intelligence, from assessing situations in unique ways, from planning and strategizing. The way Mulan finds the most unexpected solutions that still pay off reminds me a lot of how Azula achieves unexpected feats through rather unorthodox means, capable of taking over a city with basically no bloodshed while her nation has spent 100 years trying and failing to do so through major army incursions and who knows how much senseless violence. Obviously, I'm not saying what Azula did is GOOD and it's kind of dumb that we always have to point that out... I'm merely comparing the magnitude of the feats, and the fact that they both come from ladies who use strategy and intelligence to achieve their goals rather than muscle and physical power.

And while anyone would rage at me for the comparison between Fa Zhou (her dad) and Ozai, the truth is the dynamic between them CAN be compared, if loosely: Mulan literally goes to war to keep her father safe. Azula goes to war under her father's orders. Hell, she makes herself BAIT in the Eclipse to make sure the Gaang won't get to her dad?? While it's very much possible to say that both characters have different personalities and attitudes in life... I'd also bring up that their contexts are evidently completely different. I wouldn't say for certain that Azula, had she been raised outside a Royal Family, would be EXACTLY like Mulan... but they might have more similar traits than one might expect. Ultimately, though... I love them both. And this opportunity to swap their places was pretty much a dream come true!

Alright, that was plenty of rambling xD ultimately, I had a blast doing this commission, as I'm sure is obvious by now. So! If anyone wants to commission me, feel free to check out my prices right here and hit me up if you're interested!

[delusional-mushroom]

Aaravos x reader where reader is also a startouch elf who was Aaravos’s lover but got imprisoned at the same time he did but in a different prison so instead of trying to lead Claudia and Viren to his prison he’s insisting they save his lover (but in his own ‘No! You can’t do it on your own you need this elf’s help!’ To avoid revealing something that would break his mystery facade- maybe reader had like a pet that guards their last residence and Aaravos is just like ‘oh yeah, that’s just ___ he bites.’ Feel free to add some plot to this it’s just a lil scenario that poofed into mah brain hole.

🌟 anon

Oh hello 🌟 anon. Thanks for the request >:3

Side note: sorry this was a bit rushed, especially towards the end. I’d be happy to part two it if you guys want.

After Leola’s death, you and Aaravos shared your grief. When you had no more tears to cry, and the crater of her demise was full to the brim, you began plotting your revenge.

At first, everything was going great. No one suspected a thing.

But then, a human girl— A human girl, had the audacity to stick her nose into where it did not belong, and rat you two out to the arch dragons.

It all happened so fast, one moment Aaravos was shielding his lover from the onslaught of attacks; and then the next they were both enveloped in a crude, blinding light.

Your look of horror was the last thing he saw before he too was imprisoned.

The two of you were both granted a visage through intricate looking glasses, spared with only one shellshocked glance at each other before you were given to the arch dragon of ocean, Domina Profundis.

Every day, and every night, Aaravos cried in his prision.

First Leola, his kind and loving daughter, and now his spouse: the only thing he had left in this cruel world.

Everything seemed hopeless.

He might never hold you in his embrace.

You two might never see each other again.

That was until a middle-aged dark mage stumbled upon his looking glass. How it got from the clutches of Avizandum and Zubeia to the treasury of Katolis, he didn’t know. But old habits die hard, and Aaravos didn’t mind reusing some old tricks…

“Avizandum is dead.”

What…?

Avizandum, King Of The Dragons, the ringleader in his and his lover’s imprisonment. He was dead.

Aaravos felt a satisfaction he had not felt in a long time. Not only was this going to make his schemes easier, but hearing the news of his passing made Aaravos almost giddy with joy. Maybe he wasn’t the one to end Avizandum’s life, but knowing of his death was almost just as good.

Maybe this middle-aged, emotionally fragile man had potential. Maybe he would be a useful pawn.

Finally, after centuries in his prision, escape was within his grasp. He could leave this dreaded place. He could take revenge upon those wretched dragons and elves.

But in a final moment, he relented.

“No.”

“What do mean ‘no’? We’re this close to freeing you!” Claudia squawked indignantly, pinching her fingers together to emphasise her point.

“You need to free someone else first. Someone just as powerful, and just as essential to the plan.” Aaravos insisted, his ghost-like apparition pointing a finger to a second dot on the map.

“And who would that be?” Viren inquired, Raising and an eyebrow in suspicion.

The star touched elf resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His use for the old man was beginning to dwindle. “You will see when the time comes.”

Reluctantly, he managed to get Viren, Claudia, and Terry to agree, though the earthblood elf didn’t really put up much of an argument.

Roaring and ticketing sounded through the mountain where your prison was kept. Allegedly, the magic orb that contained you was imbedded into an ancient tree. In order to acquire it, the tree needed to be felled. Easy, right? Wrong.

The tree was guarded by a serpent-like dragon by the name of Mortem, who’s bite held enough venom to kill an archdragon.

“Don’t get bit.” Aaravos instructed.

He was so close to you. He could feel your energy radiating through the mountain.

And somehow, the earthblood elf managed to lead Mortem away and distract him long enough without getting bit for Claudia and Viren to cut down the tree and grab your prision.

The scrambled journey back down the mountain made his breath bait in anticipation. This was it. He was finally going to be able to see you again.

Once the ritual was complete, your giant form kneeled down to look the three mortals in the eye. Shrinking yourself down, his ghostly appearance caught your eye.

“Aaravos?” You ask incredulously.

“I’m here, beloved.”

I’m here…

[pyschosoda]

Please, Lord

Lord!Osferth x Servant!Reader

a/n: omg!! sorry this took so long I had crazy writers block all the sudden but I hope you enjoy it!!! (o^^o) I’m going to try to write the first chapter to my OsferthxOC fic before starting my other requests so be on the lookout for that!! :3c

requested by - @slytherincursebreaker

It was no secret that Osferth was a kind lord, often treating his servants fairly and giving them generous pay. 

Some might be shocked to find out that the ex-monk had taken one of his sweet little servants to be his bed warmer.

And what a pretty thing she was. He would often wake up first just to simply admire her before she slipped away so as not to be discovered by anyone. 

“Osferth...” a quiet, wispy voice pierces through his thoughts. 

His orbs are focusing on hers as they peak through her lashes like how the sun currently peaks over the horizon. 

“I told you to wake me if I slept too long,” his eyes never leaving her frame as she sat up with a stretch, her own eyes searching the room for her clothes. 

“You were pretty tired after last night, so I thought I’d let you sleep,” he responded as his fingertips gently glide across her back.

She rolls her eyes, a smile forming on her face as she stands up. 

“stay,” 

It wasn’t a command from her lord but rather a plea from a man who felt nothing but love for the maiden who had just left his bed. 

“I cannot,” she simply says as she begins collecting her clothes. “You know this.” 

“Surely a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt?”

His sweet little secret laughs as she slips on her clothes. “See you at breakfast, my lord.”

Osferth slumps back down against the pillow, a sigh escaping his lips as she leaves the room. 

Your day was the same as the last, and the last like the day before. You had a routine that more often than not involved waking up in your lord's bed.

Wake up, help prepare breakfast, serve breakfast, clean, occasionally keep Lord osferth company, sleep, and repeat.

That was your schedule, one that you hoped would never change. 

You were often one of the first people in the kitchen; most just assumed you to be eager to please their lord, and they were right in a sense, just not in that way. 

Occasionally, you’d break your daily routine to help the new servants with their tasks, helping them get the hang of things before going back to whatever your task was.

Some thought you were a pushover, doing whatever was asked of you, but you were simply returning the favor that was given to you by one of the older serving ladies who worked there before you; her name was Olga.

You often worked with her in the kitchen, much like you were now. 

“Lord Osferth seems to have taken a liking to you,” Olga teases as she prepares one of the dishes. Olga was a kind old lady, but she was rather nosy and loved to gossip. 

“what?” You shake your head. “No, he hasn’t,” you deny. “He’s just nice." You thought for a moment that Olga was suspecting something, that perhaps you and Osferth hadn’t been as careful as you two thought. 

“He’s nice to everyone, darling, but he doesn’t undress them with his eyes." Olga points at you with the spoon in her hand, making a suggestive face.

“Olga!” You gasp with a laugh. “Lord Osferth is a kind man; he wouldn’t do that.”

“Every man does it,” the older woman shrugs. “Look, when you go out there, watch his eyes; you’ll see they never leave you, not once!”

You don’t reply to the old maid, simply taking the plate from her and making your way out of the kitchen with Olga’s words fresh on your mind. 

Surely she wasn’t right; you were just his bed warmer, not that Olga knew that...hopefully.

You pulled yourself away from your thoughts as you approached the table.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Lord,” you say softly as you place his plate down, sparing him a glance.

He had already been looking at you; had he been looking at you the whole time, like Olga said? The thought made you smile. 

His own lips curling into a smile as you retreat into the kitchen, his eyes never once leaving you. 

You woke up with an uncomfortable tension building up in your throat, your face scrunching up as you hold back a gag. 

You clumsily wrap a thin robe around yourself as you make haste to find a bucket. 

Whether it was your harsh stumbling into the bathroom or you emptying all the food you ate that day into the bucket that woke up a few of the other servants, you weren’t sure, but you were thankful as one of the girls moved your hair out of the way as you threw up. 

This happened several times over the past week; you’d throw up just before the sun came out, then get dressed and get to work. 

You feared you came down with the sickness; you prayed that wasn't the case and your prayers would be answered. 

“I fear you may be pregnant,” Olga had said.

“what?” Your eyes move away from the bowl you had been mixing, over to the older maid.

"No, I am not," I can't be pregnant, the phrase repeated in your mind like a begging tune. 

“You’re questioning a woman who's given birth to three children; I think I would know, darling." She said more, but you weren’t listening anymore. Quickly you left the kitchen, letting Olga finish breakfast herself. 

I can't be pregnant; you prayed, and your prayers would go unanswered. 

You were pregnant. Olga was right; you were sure of it. Between the morning sickness, weird cravings, and mood swings, you were sure of it. 

oh god…You barely had the money to take care of yourself...How were you going to take care of a child—let alone the child of the man you worked for? Thoughts like those circled your brain day and night until finally you began to withdraw yourself. 

That included avoiding Osferth like the sickness himself, and he began to notice after you barely spoke a word to him when he asked you to meet him in his chambers, then failed to do so twice.  

He began to think perhaps he had done something wrong, or maybe you’d grown tired of the arrangement between you too. 

He had hoped that wasn’t the case, but you never gave him the chance to ask. 

Every time he looked for his sweet maiden, you were nowhere to be found, or you’d dash away before you could be seen. 

Osferth had enough. 

He was tired of seeing her duck around corners or flat out running away when she’d spot him in the halls; each time he had tried to speak with her, she’d find a way out.

He was sick of it. 

The thoughts of how to approach this situation plagued his mind, keeping him from sleeping. 

With an aggravated sigh, he swings his feet over the side of his bed, placing them on the floor as he prepares to venture out into the cold halls of the night to clear his head. 

‘What did I do wrong?’ He questions as he walks, ‘Why was she avoiding me?’ 

He was so lost in these thoughts he had almost missed the sound coming from the kitchen. His steps pause as he listens, and again, there was the same sound.

Slowly he creeped towards the kitchen door, peeking through the crack, looking for the intruder. 

But he didn’t find one; instead, he found the girl who plagued his mind day and night; he found you. 

He stood there for only a moment longer, not wanting to waste this authority that was given to him. 

“Why are you up so late?” He spoke up from behind her; despite his voice being gentle, he still startled her in the process. 

He watched as she hesitated to meet his gaze, settling to look at the floor beneath his feet instead as she timidly placed her fork down, so that was the noise he had heard. She had gotten up in the middle of the night to...eat?

“My Lord i-“

“Have you not been eating enough?” 

She wasn’t sure how she wanted to respond. His question caught her off guard. How was she supposed to answer his question without giving too much away? 

He picked up on her hesitation to answer his question, so he asked a different one.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

Her hesitation only grows, her appetite long gone as her eyes look for something to look at that isn't him. She missed Osferth, even if she tried to deny it, but should she tell him? It's his baby; of course she should...But she was scared; she needed the money, and in truth she had hoped to keep this secret a little longer.

“We shouldn’t talk about this here, Osferth." She whispers, meeting his gaze with a pleading one.

“To my chambers then,” he urges. 

The walk to his chambers was awkward to say the least. Your head tilted down, not daring to look at Osferth.

Osferth’s eyes were straight forward, not daring to look at you. Not a word was spoken between the two. 

Neither of you wanted to be the first to speak up; both of you were stuck in your thoughts, figuring out what to say. 

You pull yourself from the sound of your shoes hitting the ground as he opens the door to his chambers. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he repeats as they enter. 

“I…I'm sorry, my lord.“

“Have I done something to upset you? offend you maybe?”

She pauses, mouth gaping like a fish. “No! No… My lord, you’ve done nothing of the sort.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me? please!  I wish to make this right…”

She shifts in her spot, battling with herself if she should tell him. He had the right to know, she concluded. 

“Lord,” she whispers, her gaze meeting his pleading one.

“Osferth,” she corrects louder this time.

“I’m… I'm with the child," she admits, her hands anxiously attacking each other. 

“Your child,” she clarifies.

Osferth was in shock.

pregnant.

with his child?

“And...and you’re certain?” he questions 

She nods, pinching at the skin around her nail.

“And it’s…it’s mine?”

She nods again, her pinching nails piercing the skin as her vision gets foggy, her lip quivering. 

How could he let this happen? 

A bastard.  That’s what was brewing in her belly.

his blood.

His bastard blood passed down onto another.

Thats what he was; all he had been at one point was nothing more than Alfred’s Bastard. There was a time when he was scared that’s all he ever would be; he swore he would never condemn his child to a fate like his, and yet he had grown careless.

No. 

He wouldn’t allow his child to face the same curséd life that was forced upon him; he wouldn’t make the same mistake his father had. 

Osferth must’ve been silent for longer than he thought because the girl before him began to weep. 

“P-Please Lord!” 

The cold ground left bruises on her knees as they collided. 

Osferth couldn’t tell if she had fallen to the ground in an attempt to beg or because her legs simply gave out.

“Please!” She cried out again. “I’ll leave without trouble once I’ve saved enough money! I won't ask you for anything more!” She let the words tumble from her mouth before her thoughts could catch them. 

“No one will know the babe is yours; just please don't cast me out! I need the money!” she babbles 

“Cast you out...?” He asks, "I wouldn't...I won’t do that.”

Her frantic begs stop as she looks up at him. “You…you wont?”

Shaking his head, he kneels in front of her. “Never,” he assures her as he places his gentle hands on her tear-soaked cheeks. 

"I won’t let you face this alone, not when I'm at fault for it,” he says, wiping her tears before continuing.

"I’ll do what my father could not,” he whispers, “this baby will not be a bastard.” One of his hands moves to cup the back of her neck.

"What are you saying..." She meets his gaze.

“Marry me…” His voice shakes as the words leave his lips.

“…What?”

“Marry me,” he said, with more confidence. "I’ll be a good father; give this baby what I never had,” he promises. 

“Please, I love you." He admits, “Please marry me.”

She wasn't sure what to say, too overwhelmed with emotions. She wasn't sure if she was going to smile or cry again, so she did both. 

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she presses her lips against his in a quick and inexperienced kiss. “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!” she agrees.

He cups the back of her head, holding her against him as a smile of his own appears on his lips. He would be a good father, he promised; he’d give his child a life that wasn’t granted to him. 

[luci4theminorannoyance]

Hi! may I request something? the residential masked fellas (Ghost, Konig, Keegan, & Roach), x therapist!reader, who's a billionaire? (shocking part, the billionaire part was not mentioned by our reader) I imagine reader spoiling their s/o with gifts & affectionate stuff they deserve, while helping them get a sense of theirselves or something like that 😭 (most of the cod characters need therapy, to be honest) BUT- they start to suspect how on earth did reader get all of the stuff? cause i'm sure reader gifted them the expensive kind- but anyways, reader just casually just says their a billionaire, like it's normal- how would they react to this?

Please take care of yourself & stay safe !! 💖

a/n: you take care too!!! Sorry to all my followers for not posting in forever 😔 I had family stuff going on, and I’m a bit burnt out so I couldn’t come up with story plots for some of the characters

konig:

-konig is a well off man to begin with, but doesn’t use much of the money he earns with his impressive title as he has little idea what to actually buy when it comes to things being worthwhile, and hence since you give him so many gifts, his house is mostly filled with gifts then actual things he bought

-always took the gifts at face value and adored the thought put into them and never really thought to think of how much money you must spend

-eventually though, one of his few off duty friends asked why he had such high class things in his house as they pointed out gifts you had simply given him and he started to get quite curious himself

-called you up one night to ask, waking you up as he asked a simple “uh- maus? You know the mixer you got me last week when I said I wanted to make cookies is 800 dollars, why??”

-you had to stop laughing out loud from his confusion since you thought you had been open with it due to the amount of things you simply gave him

Roach:

-stayed in his cramped barracks a lot of the time and very rarely replaced any of his tearing gear because he was too tired to do so, he just generally didn’t care how the public saw him and had little care on himself

-of course that changed when you practically threw him new clothes, new gear, new facial care for his tiny apartment he used when off duty. He started to actually enjoy getting to indulge in a massage or a face mask while he simply felt all clean

-of course, he thought it was all temporary, that you were just spending a particular amount on a well paying month, but as it went on and on continued, he started to get more and more confused

-one day when you took him on a shopping trip, he saw you check your checking account and THATS when he realized that you planned to pay for his every whim personally and could without damage… a very flustering experience

Ghost:

-never truly is off guard even when off duty or around people, it’s built into him from trauma and past and his job doesn’t help to much with that

-however, he does have a particularly interesting hobby that calms him down more then most things can, even you (although he adores you with all his heart). And that hobbies is photography. Of things he enjoys, that is. He never put money into a very good camera, never seeing the need in doing so until you bought him one…

-he cherishes that camera more then he cherishes his mask, which is saying quite a bit. He didn’t know how much he actually needed the upgrade till he saw the difference in his photos

-he of course, shows it off to his team. And soap points out exactly how pricey it must be for a lil old therapist to buy. he starts to get worried, did you spend money you didn’t have on him? Did he take away from your own funds? Did he just take it and not think about the damage you might have created yourself without even thinking twice???

-calls you on his burner phone in a tiny bit of a panic, but it doesn’t show too much under his gruff tone. He lets out a sigh he didn’t notice he was holding in once you told him that you in fact had the money to buy that camera 100 times over

[silverzoomies]

Summer Wind

tate langdon x reader smut

warnings: existential crisis, death, afterlife, implied/referenced character death, murder, angst, aged-up tate langdon, fingering, fingerfucking, kissing, canon divergence

word count: 4,690

a/n: another drabble. y'know that thing people do sometimes? where they "age-up" a character, but don't really age them up? i initially wrote this in response to that. but it somehow turned into a means of venting my existential terror instead. i was gonna include more smut. but tbh i didn't feel right about it. this one's gonna stay unfinished. sorry about the abrupt ending !!

inspired by the song summer wind by frank sinatra

You were dead for an indiscernible span of time.

You couldn't be sure how long. But you suspected a few years, at least. Through one of the top floor windows of your eternal purgatory; you watched the trees. Nature alternated between skeletal displays of branches, to vibrant arrays of color. Withered. Blooming. Withered. Blooming. Withered. Blooming again. Rinse and repeat.

Once you accepted your fate, things started clicking into place. Trapped in a vintage hotbox of murder, you put together the pieces of a long lost puzzle. And though some parts were still absent, you pushed yourself to move on. You might never figure out how you died, or who you were before. But to worry so much would be senseless at this point.

Through acceptance, you began to feel again. If only in small bursts. Abrupt, but worth cherishing.

One memory remained ever present. You had the sense you were a school guidance counselor in life. And in death, you took up the mantle again. Offering your services to the other souls lost in the house. One of the ghostly residents shared a similar occupation. Way back in his breathing years. He didn’t do it so much anymore. Instead, he spent time with his family, working towards redemption for his past actions.

You steered clear of most residents, fearful of their unpredictable episodes of bloodlust. They allowed the evil within the house to lure them further into madness. On the days they came to you for your services, you spoke to them in hopes they’d find absolution. Change in the afterlife was extremely difficult to achieve. Your 'clients' rarely ever scratched the surface of their tainted psyches. And any progress they made, they always resorted to their old habits in the end.

Only one of them ever found true change. Of course, he had to be the most wretched of them all.

You once felt sympathy for Tate, making excuses on his behalf. In the years when his heart still pumped blood through his veins; he was young. Misguided. Perhaps the pressures of his upbringing took too much of a toll on him. And in the afterlife, he suffered under the influence of the house itself. The evil buried deep within channeled through his broken soul.

But if such an evil did exist, it never took hold of you. Nor did it sink its venomous teeth into Violet, or her innocent mother, or that pure of heart baby, or even Ben Harmon himself - sinful a man as he was. They resisted, and so did you.

Tate was pure evil. Carnage incarnate. Maybe that made him susceptible to the influence of dark forces. But after talking with him for a few years, you accepted him for what he was. Foul from birth, deplorable in death. No matter how often you tried guiding him to goodness, he remained forever loathsome. The evil in him burned eternally, needing no kindling.

His own acceptance of that fact allowed him to change. In a more physical way, much like Moira. Tate embraced his fate, convinced the house was where he belonged. A punishment until the end of all things. Simultaneously, a safe haven from whatever lay in waiting after purgatory. Tate’s progress was very much real. Albeit, not the kind you aimed for.

You could see his growth in his features, rather than his morals. Sitting across from you during another weekly session, Tate fidgeted with a frayed hole in his jeans. With his blond brows creased, he stared down at the denim. As you watched him like this, you picked apart his finer details. Where his skin once beamed with the pale, ghostly image of youth; creases were now etched in. Faint, but noticeable lines curved under his eyes.

An aura of maturity emanated from him like a light much too dim. Tate carried the same mannerisms from his heyday - if one could even call it that. But he had long since graduated from his mentality of that era. Tate spoke of his past actions as if he regretted them, though you suspected he felt no real remorse. He used to cry all the time. He used to throw childish tantrums. But you couldn’t remember the last time you saw his soulless, black eyes water. Now…

He carried nothing but cold desolation. Common amongst those trapped in perpetual limbo.

“I saw her again today.” He admitted, his lidded eyes flitting up to meet yours, “She hasn’t changed any. Not like me. Not like…” Tate made a gesture at his face, his thumb grazing the angular shape of his jaw. Tiredly, he blinked, “Not like this. Fate’s a funny thing, isn’t it? I always thought we were fated to be together forever, but…”

On the sofa across from him, you kept your cheek perched in a hand. As you scribbled in your notebook, you took note of the way Tate’s features bled misery. All at the mention of her. It must have been painful for him, watching her stay the same. While he finally outgrew himself. Those changes only further separated the two of them. Obliterating any chance he had to make amends. If there ever was.

There especially wouldn’t be now. Even Tate was on the tailend of coming to terms with it.

“How’d it make you feel this time around?” You pressed in a soft tone, shifting on the couch. His dark hues zeroed in on your thighs, bare in a simple dress. The lining appeared cheap, glittering with sequins reminiscent of childhood nostalgia, “When you saw her?”

“Fuckin’...I dunno…” Tate put his face in his vascular hands, fingers curling into his hair, “She’s like a kid to me anymore. What am I supposed to think?”

“Maybe she’s content like that. In the same way you’re content the way you are now.” You shrugged, tenderly laughing, “Maybe teenage angst suits her that much.”

He shook his head, shifting from a criss cross position on the loveseat across from you. Bouncing a leg, Tate gave you a pointed look. His brows turned downward.

“We thought it fit me too, didn’t we? But look at me now."

You were. You were looking at him a lot. And he wasn't wrong. Teenage angst once paired well with Tate's immature nature. Back when he thought like a kid, and acted on impulse. These days, he'd become more lethargic. When he wasn’t consumed with blood lust. Rugged virility was his partner now. Coupled with the melancholy existentialism of a man pushing thirty.

“You wanted to move on.” You clarified, your teeth clicking the edge of a pen at your lips.

“Did I?” Tate bitterly laughed, the empty vacuums of his eyes caught your tongue in motion, “Doesn't seem like anyone else here wants to. ‘Cept Moira.”

“Well, they only think they can’t. They believe they’re tethered here, frozen in time at their moment of death. I used to think growth was impossible too. Until you…”

You took in his masculine features again. The scruff around his chin. So fair, and not too noticeable. Catching yourself in the midst of ogling him, you redirected your gaze to Tate’s eyes. Imposing. Starless. Easy to get lost in. He wasn’t ignorant to your attraction. A hint of grin pulled into his laugh lines and dimples.

“Does it scare you?” He asked, “What’s your excuse then?” Tate threw a condescending nod of his head, “If you’re so enlightened. If you know better than all of us - with your morals ‘n bullshit like that. Why haven’t you changed any since you died?"

Shrugging, you looked bashfully down at your notes.

“Why would I want to? If I can stay young for eternity. If I can keep these curves, and what’s left of my youth. What’s the point in growing older?” You admitted in truth.

“That’s a little superficial though, isn’t it?” Tate leaned back into the loveseat cushions, “Shit like that doesn’t matter here. Who are you tryna impress? And what’s anybody living gonna think? When they meet you, and find out you’re nothin’ but food for maggots now.” He teased, legs spread, one knee bouncing, “There’s gotta be another reason you haven’t moved on. You’re not like us. I dunno why you and the Harmons don’t just…y’know…go.” He trailed off, his gaze falling to his lap.

You saw his bitterness return in full force. Another miserable wave of longing washed over him. Yearning for something that didn’t exist anymore, and never would again.

“I…” You paused, doodling hasty flowers in your notebook. You avoided Tate’s eyes, “I wanna know how I died first. I wanna know who I was. Before I even consider moving on.”

Sinister acidity flashed through his vision, “Seriously? That’s what’s stopping you?” Tate huffed a harsh laugh, admitting without missing a beat, “You wanna know how you died? I’ll tell you. I stuck a knife in your back and stabbed you to death.” He confessed, monotone, “You know it too. You’ve known since we met. You’ve just been in denial this whole time.”

You sat up in an abrupt movement, scooting forward and tossing your notebook away.

“What?! What are you even talking ab-…I’ve been trying to figure this out for years, Tate! Years!” You threw out your hands, “You…you can’t be serious! Why would I be in denial about something like that??”

Tears of betrayal stung the corners of your eyes. Tate shrugged, seemingly unbothered. He crossed his arms, his eyes dark under the ridges of his brows.

“‘Cuz you feel bad for me. Or…uhm…you wanna feel bad for me.” He shrugged again, “Fuck if I know why. I’m the last guy you should have sympathy for.” Tate said, his black hues narrowing in thought.

“You didn’t…did you really stab me? Really? You’re not lying about that?” You almost shouted, clawing your fingers through your hair, “Please. Please tell me you’re lying!”

Tate appeared unfazed, ignoring you, “Do you love me or something? Is that why you’re so broken up about this?” He asked, desperate in his infinite search for validation.

“Why the fuck would you stab me?!” You shouted, full of wrathful turmoil.

You stood off the couch, surging toward him with your fists balled at your sides. Tate didn’t flinch. He pursed his lips, thoughtful again. With an insufferable aura of nonchalance, he shrugged once more.

“Wanted to.”

The blank emptiness in his expression told you everything you already knew. Tears streamed down your face, painting your cheeks and chin in damp threads.

“Where? Where did you stab me??”

Tate gestured with a nod of his head, towards the only window in the room. A summer breeze fluttered, catching the curtains in its dance. You wanted to find the radiant light of nature beautiful again. But it only served as a haunting reminder - the environment remained symbiotic with time. And you were forever left behind.

“Over there. By that window.” He said, watching you pad over to said window, the skirt of your dress fluttering.

The window. In the one room you always felt so drawn to, for reasons unknown. Now, you knew. Bracing your hands on the windowsill, you peered your head outside. Ghosting your skin, the air breathed an essence of life. Something you were no longer a part of. You used to be content with that fact. But now? Knowing your life was unfairly ripped from you, how could you ever move on? Your death wasn’t an accident. Nor had an irreversible illness seized your physical form. Just Tate.

His low voice droned from behind you and in your ear. A faint vibration followed, along with a presence at your back. You felt the soft texture of his sweater, but no body heat with it. One of his icy hands met your shoulder. He reached his other arm out. Tate pointed to a spot near the entrance gates.

“I didn’t wanna tell you. Because I didn’t wanna lose you too. But…” He paused for a beat, “It was on Halloween. Ten years or so years ago, I guess. I was gonna leave. Make my rounds. Y’know…like I used to. The house was-uh...up for grabs back then. You came up to the door. One of the kids here opened it for you. And you kinda...walked in. Tried lookin' for 'em. Wrong place, wrong time.” Tate lowered both his hands to yours, after sliding his fingers down the sides of your arms, “You were holdin’ hands with some kid the whole time. He had to be, like…seven? Eight? I don’t even remember what his costume was.” His lips curved in a grin, “But I still remember yours.”

Your fingers curled into the sill, scraping wood, indenting the paint.

Ten years.

“So, you stabbed me in front of a child?”

Another breeze blew by. The steady air picked up your dress with it, flitting delicate fabric. Glitter along the seams of it fell away, sparkling like microscopic crystallites in the wind. Tate’s long fingers drew patterns over the cold surface of your skin. Tracing infinity symbols onto your hands.

“Rapunzel.” He whispered, “That dress was kinda pretty on you. Sucks about all the blood.”

You remembered then. When death imbued you with unexpected consciousness, you wandered around the house in a blood-stained dress. And ever since, your afterlife wardrobe alternated only between dresses of similar styles. Always cheap fabrics. Decorated in craft materials. You assumed you must’ve loved playing dress up in life. The thought of perishing in a store bought Halloween costume never crossed your mind.

“Who was he?”

You sniffled, breath hitching without any need for oxygen. Tate brought a hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears. He loomed behind you. A cold-blooded apparition of your nightmares. His casual talk of violent depravity made your blood boil.

“Who, the kid?” He asked.

He lowered his hands to the sill. Looking out the window over your shoulder, Tate squinted in the sunlight.

“Yes! I don’t-” You burst into tears without warning, sobbing into your hands, “I-I don’t remember anything! Nothing! I had no idea…who was he??”

“Dunno…” he dropped his head, pressing his cheek to your hair, “I didn’t really stop to ask. He ran away. Right after I pushed you out of this window.”

“You pushed m-what?! You’re a fucking monster.” You whimpered. Wishing you could leap out and disappear with the oscillation of the wind, “You know you’re never getting out of here, don’t you? You’re never going to change, Tate. You’ll always be a monster.”

“Probably.” He droned, wrapping his arms around your middle. Pulling you closer, he added, “You’ll be stuck here too. If you don’t let go of that anger. If you let your rage consume you. All that bitterness and hatred. This house feeds off of it.” Another pause. He nuzzled the top of your head with his cheek, “Uhm…I know this won’t fix anything. But…I really am sorry I took your life from you.”

You huffed, staring teary eyed out the window. Taking in the vast, effervescent world you’d never be a part of - through the border that brought your demise.

“But I’m really stoked you’re here….’cuz it’s not as lonely with you around.” He admitted.

“I could always tell you to fuck off.” You choked, venomous in your revulsion.

“Yeah. You could. But you won’t.” He grabbed your arms with gentle hands, wheeling you around to face him. He took your tiny fingers in his palms. You refused to meet his eyes, “If you made me disappear, you wouldn’t have anybody.”

You decided to hit him where it hurt, strangling through tears, “I could always talk to Violet. She has such a good heart. Not like the rest of you. You’re all just…awful. So horrible and cruel!”

Tate clenched his jaw, dropping his forehead into yours.

“You’re right. She’s not.” He woefully mumbled, “How come I still miss her, huh? Been missin’ what we had for, like…forever. Now I’m pushin’ you away too. And you’re all I have left.”

“Maybe stop killing people, Tate?” You snuffed, tears catching your eyelashes. He wiped them away all the same, “Who knew death could be so miserable. I…I finally found out the one thing I’ve wanted to know after all these years. I thought a little closure might help me, but…” You cried, “I feel even more messed up.”

“Why? Do you love me?” He pressed with so little confidence, you felt he only said it to convince himself.

“I…” You hesitated, brows furrowed, “I cared about you. Even though you’re a lunatic. I wanted to give you a chance. But now…now I just want to shove you out this window like you did to me. I want to scream at you, Tate! I want to make you suffer! I want to-”

He shifted closer. Within this vicinity, his maturation became all the more clear. Your weeping hues glazed over the creases under his eyes. The blond bangs of his hair had thinned by a smidgen, losing its youthful shagginess. He was all fine lines and outward exhaustion. Had you met him like this in life, you’d think him a mere decade away from a mid-life crisis.

“Go ahead. If it helps. I don’t mind.” He reached down again, grabbing your hands and guiding them up to his chest, “Just let all that rage go…you can take it out on me.”

This was just another tactic of his. An attempt to appease you, in desperate hopes you’d forgive him. Still, you didn’t think twice. Whatever wrathful anguish you kept buried inside finally erupted. The soul crushing weight of loss tumbled down over you, sending you into a frenzy. You thrashed your arms, throwing your fists in shallow, but sharp strikes. Battering against Tate’s chest, you landed every blow - inspired by betrayal. He remained still, watching you with a hollow look.

Hits turned to scratches as your grief took hold of you. You clawed into Tate’s sweater, wailing, powerless to the pain of his disloyalty. Taken aback by your overwhelming emotions, you wondered how the afterlife could bring so much suffering. Tate wrapped his arms around you again, and you buried your nose in his sweater. Your sorrowful tears stained the stitching.

“I hate you. So much. So fucking much.” You whimpered.

“You said you cared about me.”

“I hate that I care about you.” You cried, sobbing into his sweater, “I-I want to hate you. I need to hate you. But you’re right. You’re fucking vile, and you’re right. If you were gone, I wouldn’t have anybody else.”

Shifting again, he tilted your head up with a cold hand under your chin. Tate stared down at you, weary with lonesome desolation. The endless monotony of purgatory brought forth nothing but turmoil. And that turmoil linked you both in all-consuming angst. When he dove in to kiss your lips, you allowed it. If only to feel something far less painful.

Tate hadn’t kissed anyone in over a decade. But he flowed naturally with you, wary of applying too much pressure. The last of your tears fell, and again, he wiped them away. Separation came slow, as he parted from your lips. He blinked, leering like he couldn’t believe you reciprocated. Another beat, and he dove in all over again.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Kissing in your ghostly state felt bleak as the dull air of winter. In the throes of lonesome yearning, death nuzzled death so intimately. You opened yourself up for him, moving back until you hit the windowsill. In your negligence, you sat on it. A calm, easy breeze enveloped your back, tickling your neck. His desirous kisses swallowed you in, his hands claiming your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He mumbled, his words weaving through every kiss.

Fate had yet to deliver you closeness of this kind. You couldn’t fathom how intimate connectedness might work in death. As Tate’s cold lips fell to your neck, the atmosphere between the two of you shifted. Something akin to the radiance of life saturated the air. Like the summer’s glow shining from outside. A few seconds more, and coldness turned to heat. Sensual heat.

“What does it feel like?” You asked, breathless without the need for air. You tipped your head back. Tate took this as an invitation to ravish more of you, “To make love after dying?”

The glossy warmth of his tongue painted gradual lines across your neck. He caressed you with a thumb, gliding the digit over your cheek. Under the newfound heat of his palm, you felt burning intensity. No one else brought you physical touch like this. Not since a time before you perished, so long ago.

All because of him.

“Feels kinda the same?” Tate muttered in a hushed voice. Capturing your lips again, he kissed you with cautious tenderness, “It’s a lot like being alive…from what I remember. Some of us get addicted to it. Like a drug. They suffer without it. Drives ‘em crazy.”

His forehead fell to yours once more, and Tate’s eyes fluttered shut. He continued stroking your cheek, cradling your face. As if you’d disappear once he let go. You noticed the way his chest heaved. Slowly, like his lungs were still infused with the essence of life. But when he moved in for another kiss, you felt no breath on your lips.

“Does it drive you crazy?” You whispered between kisses, “Do you suffer without it?”

“Not really.” He said, dragging his thumb over your lip, “Missed this, though. I miss it all the time.”

“What? Kissing?”

Tate nodded, blond brows creasing as his smile faded. For a beat or two more, he fell silent. Staring down into your eyes with all the liveliness of a barren void. You gazed into a cave-like abyss, lost with no light to guide you. Beckoned by the promise of something unseen.

“This feels…different…with you.” He whispered.

“Different how?” You shivered as his soft touches moved elsewhere, "Are you feeling guilty? Does it hurt? I hope it fucking hurts."

Dragging the tips of his fingers up and down your arms, he drew invisible lines with his nails. So careful. Like you’d shatter if he treated you too roughly. His palms settled over your hips, and again, he kissed you. Tate just couldn’t seem to stop doing so, even as you spoke to him with poison on your tongue.

“No. It’s warmer.” He squeezed your hips a little tighter, “Why…why’s it so warm with you?”

The initial kisses between you both were so frigid and lifeless. But now, somehow, so heated and real. You locked your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles. Inviting him forward, you loomed in the sill of the window. Your body tilted. In the arms of the summer’s air, you almost fell backwards. You had every reason to believe Tate would let you plummet.

But he didn’t. Not this time.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he kept you from slipping. Under your dress, his free hand sought the heat between your legs. His palm cradled warmth over thin cloth. Discreetly, he pressed the pads of his fingers to your sex over your panties. And the contact amplified a scorching fire within you. A vigor exceeding the bitterness of death.

You wondered if Tate had less experience than he claimed in therapy. It took him a few tries before he found your clit. His sizable fingers circled your little nub in easy motions. Drawing long, needy noises out of you. Silence lingered between you both in calm, but tense quiet. Until the rasp of his voice caught your attention.

“Do you feel this? Do you feel, like…anything?”

You whimpered in response - timid like a churchmouse - as wetness stained Tate’s fingers through fabric. Cotton once so pure and untouched became damp. He chuckled, the sinister rumble in his throat making your blood run cold. Until the warmth of desire lured you in before you could second guess yourself. Savoring the hot friction on your pussy, you allowed sin to taint your clarity.

"For you? No. Never. You're sick. You're twisted. You're-" You cut yourself off with another whimper, once Tate caressed you with more pressure.

“Oh, shit…” He hastily tugged your panties down your thighs. Cupping your bare cunt, he pressed firmly into your clit. Thick digits teased the blazing heat of your folds, “You do, don’t you?”

Tate’s fingers dipped into your slick valley, his digits predominantly larger than your own. You rolled your hips just a smidgen, careful not to lose your balance - lest you fall out the window. Again. Though, maybe a rough tumble onto the lawn would knock some sense back into your muddled head. His other arm stayed iron locked around your body, keeping you safe. He eased inside you with all the hesitance of a man out of practice.

"F-Fuck! Fuck this. Fuck you." You mumbled, hushed under airy moans.

Following the squeeze of pleasure in your core, came something you lost in the afterlife. You almost felt the pumping of your dead heart again. A ghostly sensation of life blossomed under your ribs. Warmth flowed through your veins in syrupy bliss. Cozy wind billowed from outside, tickling your skin. If you closed your eyes for long enough, basking in the ecstasy of true feeling - you might’ve believed you were somehow revived.

Flitting your lashes, your eyes gradually opened. The sunny glow of afternoon light painted Tate’s aged features, showering him in golden rays. An image far too heavenly for a cold-blooded monster birthed from sin. You looked lazily into his hues. A whirlpool of guilt intermingling with lifeless cruelty; all within his dusky eyes.

“Feels like…” He mumbled, clumsily nuzzling your clit with the pad of his thumb. Biting his lip, Tate stifled a groan. He buried his fingers to the knuckle in your cunt, “...like I can feel your blood pumping.” Adding a third digit, he stretched you open. Your walls made effortless room just for him. You whined, making him smirk, “Fuck, this is hot. You love it, huh?”

"No. No. No, I'd never! Not with you. I'm just-" You swallowed, feeling your cheeks burn, "It really does feel like-"

Post-mortem coldness became lost on you now. Left behind, alongside your broken hearted resentment. Instead, you were overcome with the lively spirit of beingness. The afterlife had been so unkind to you. For a decade now. It abandoned you to stew in the longevity of solitude. With no one but Tate to provide you true company. Bringing your hands up to his cheeks, you pulled him in for a kiss. Your fingers threaded through his blond locks. Winding your tongue sloppily with his, you whined.

"Make me cum." You asserted, your legs sealing tighter around him, "Make me cum, and I might forgive you."

A flash of vulnerable sweetness overtook Tate's face, his puppydog eyes lighting up. An almighty flood of euphoria built up to a radiant crescendo, as his digits fucked you into oblivion. You clamped around his fingers, squirming with such intensity - he almost lost his hold on you. Tranquility found you at the peak of your climax. A divine miracle. As you cried little pleas into Tate’s lips, you felt as though you grew angel’s wings. As if some ethereal being descended from the heavens themselves, stole you away, and led you to the golden gates.

As you shuddered, your paradisal tremors eventually subsided. Blissful nirvana faded, and the hollow nothingness of death’s touch came again. Outside, the world continued on in slow-moving seconds. And in the distant horizon, the sun began its steady fall into night. Tate’s nose brushed yours. Looming in so close, he withdrew his drenched digits from your pussy. Leaving even more forsaken emptiness behind.

“I could…do that kinda thing for you every day…if you wanted me to.” He whispered, peppering your forehead in kisses, “It feels really good, doesn’t it? Just…please don’t make me go away? Please…”