#you have never been a hero you have always just been a tool to set me free“ kinda situation

[kalcifers-blog]

I feel like it would be so unbelievably fucked up if Jackie came to realise that his powers where a result of a piece of Anti existing as part of him- I like the idea that the spin on him growing into his powers, getting better at using them and getting more used to them is actually part of the horror because the better he is at his powers the more they're able to manifest, meaning the stronger Anti's connection to his world is. He's indirectly causing Anti to have a bigger and bigger gateway into his world and potentially dooming it in a way he had no possible way of comprehending until far too late.

But also the inherit psychological horror that could led into where Jackie centers his entire self worth, entire being, his whole point for living on his ability to help people with his powers- he's already a really isolated individual with no stable income and no real way of getting out of his situation so his powers are his only release from his depressing reality. Only for him to realise that he's potentially harmed an incomprehensible amount of people through the only way he knew how to even try to help out.

And the cherry on top would be if his powers would get stronger when he's around Anti- the idea that they're two sides of the same coin, that they charge each other just as much as they try to destroy the other. The only difference is that Anti is very aware of everything about Jackie, and he knows to only reveal what Jackie has become to him when he's already too far involved in his heroism to be able to back away from it.

It'd be so fucked up please let it happen

[spaceyaceface]

You Were The First

Ominis Gaunt x f!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: Ominis Gaunt has never known affection. He has never known how it felt to love---to be loved. She came and changed all of it.

Or, Ominis gets love because by god does he deserve it.

Warnings: Mentions/Implications of child abuse

God, I loved writing this. Thank you so much for the request, anon!

When Ominis Gaunt fell in love, he fell slowly. 

It was all the little things she did—the little things that made up who she was. Her kindness. Her patience. Her touch. 

Before meeting her, touch meant nothing but pain. It was kicking and screaming as his mother dragged him along by his arm, harsh shoves from uncaring hands toppling to the ground, a cruel hand curled over his own, taking any control he might have and forcing a curse out of him. 

He’d been avoiding it ever since. Even Sebastian and Anne knew his aversion, careful not to grab him or brush against him. 

But somehow, she made his walls come tumbling down. 

-

Perhaps he started to fall that first time she saved him a seat at breakfast. 

It was one of the first breakfasts of their sixth year—the Great Hall was bustling, students running back and forth to catch up with friends and share adventures from over the summer. That was exactly what Sebastian was doing; he could hear his friend’s loud laugh as he spoke to someone at the Hufflepuff table. He’d expected her to be doing the same, her popularity as the Hero of Hogwarts was unmatched. Surely everyone would want to know what she’d been up to. 

He’d just settled on the idea of grabbing an apple off the table and leaning against the wall well out of harm’s way when a voice called out to him. Her voice. 

“Ominis! Ominis, right here, I’ve saved a seat for you!” 

His mouth fell open—just slightly. “You… you saved a seat…?” 

“Yes, now get over here before Sebastian barrels past and steals it, I wouldn’t put it past him,” she said, smile obvious in her voice. 

And so he obliged. 

He settled down on the bench, all thoughts of retreating to some far corner vanishing as she began to rattle on about her summer. In turn, he answered all her questions about his own time, best he could with the way his head was spinning. Of everyone in the school, she had saved a spot for him. She allowed him to take all her time, steal away every morsel of her attention. There was a lightness that came with that thought. A warm feeling he couldn’t quite name—not yet. 

But now that he’d felt it, he knew he’d starve for it. 

-

The next step into his descent was the first time she placed her hand on his arm. 

Herbology was always a bit chaotic—not nearly as much as Potions, no thanks to a certain Gryffindor—but chaotic nonetheless. Professor Garlick had laid out all the necessary tools and supplies on each table, and after her brief explanation on how to prune and shape the plants in front of them, she set them loose. 

Sebastian stood to Ominis’s right, grabbing some small cutters and starting on his plant quickly. 

“Sebastian, you’re making a mess of it already. She said to start from the top and go down, didn’t you hear a word she just said?” a voice said from his left. 

Ominis chuckled. “Since when has Sebastian ever been one to listen to anything?” He reached forward, grabbing his own cutters. He heard his friend grumble under his breath. “Don’t pout, you know I’m right.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not offended by it,” Sebastian said. 

“You’re offended by everything, Seb,” she said. 

“What is this? Attack Sebastian Sallow Day?” 

“No, but I’d be an avid celebrator if there was such a thing.” 

As Sebastian continued mumbling complaints, he felt it—her hand, just barely resting on his arm. “Sorry,” she said softly, leaning forward and across the table. “I’m just grabbing the fertilizer.” And then her touch was gone. 

It was nothing. Just a simple indication that she was there, making sure a blind man didn’t accidentally stab her with a sharp object. And yet it felt… different, somehow. His skin was tingling as he tried to resume his work with the plant. It was only later he realized that, unlike so many times others had made a similar motion, he hadn’t flinched or pulled away. 

In spite of himself, he sort of wished she would do it again. 

-

He came to a realization the first time she explained a Quidditch match to him. 

The realization was thus—she was even more kind than anyone he’d ever met. It was her very first match, and she had been elated to attend after Professor Black had announced the continuation of the sport at the beginning of the year. Normally, Ominis wouldn’t care too much about it. He rarely went to matches in previous years, only being dragged along by Sebastian when Slytherin was up in the running to take the cup. Crowds weren’t his thing. And trying to understand anything that was going on based solely off the oohing and ahhing of a crowd gave him a headache. But this year, Sebastian was making his debut as Slytherin’s Keeper, and that paired with her excitement to see the match was enough to draw him out to the stands. 

They sat next to each other, nestled into the crowd of Slytherins eagerly anticipating the game. He could only imagine how high up they were—there had been plenty of stairs to indicate it was nothing insignificant. The breeze that high up was cooler, and Ominis was grateful for it, allowing himself to focus on it instead of the people pressing in all around him. 

But when the match started, his focus shifted entirely to the soft voice next to him. 

In the past, he had always found the commentary on the match entirely unhelpful, and even more uninteresting. He could never get a picture of what was going on—the announcer would always press opinions on players and use the names of the different plays, which was ridiculous because Ominis had no clue what any of the plays meant. 

She, on the other hand, explained it all wonderfully. 

She wasn’t perfect—not even close, stumbling over words and gasping at times when an action surprised her. But for the first time, Ominis could follow. He found himself cheering, breath catching as he heard the whoosh of a broom overhead. The tone and expression in her voice was so lively, so dedicated, he wanted to take part in it. 

“Weasley’s flying fast toward the goals,” she commented. “Blimey, he should be Seeker with that speed. Imelda’s flown into his path, he’s going to crash—No, he dodged her, straight over her head—he’s throwing the Quaffle, come on Seb—YES!” 

He let out a cry of celebration as his friend beside him whooped and hollered, cheering loudly for Sebastian. It wasn’t long until they won the match, and the crowd of Slytherins roared like a raging sea. He followed her out of the stands and into the common room, where a party was already commencing. Sebastian managed to break away from his adoring fans. The Hero of Hogwarts leapt up and nearly pushed him over in a wild embrace. Sebastian laughed. 

“You were wonderful out there!” she said, pulling away. 

Ominis could hear the grin in his friend’s voice. “I couldn’t let your first match be a disappointment, now could I?” His feet shifted, turning to Ominis. “And really, Ominis, thank you for coming. I know Quidditch isn’t your favorite.”

“If I’m honest, I rather enjoyed myself,” he said. He nodded his head toward her beside him. “This one has a knack for explaining the game. She told me enough that I can sincerely say, well played.” 

“Then seems like you’ll have to go to all of the matches together,” Sebastian said. 

Ominis frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t want to impose on—”

“No, I like that idea,” she said. His heart beat a bit faster. “I want you to be able to enjoy it just as much as the rest of us, Ominis.” 

He couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the night. When Sebastian asked about it, he blamed it on having too much Butterbeer.

-

When he let her lead him by his arm that very first time, he knew he trusted her. 

He’d known for a while—but now, through his actions, he had admitted it to her. To himself. 

Winter had set in. The two of them left the Three Broomsticks, bundled up and ready for the cold. He reached for his wand, pausing when he heard her speak up beside him. 

“Your hand is going to freeze holding it out like that all the way to the castle. I can lead you, if you’d like.” 

He pondered it for a moment—only a moment—and then he gave in. 

“If you think it’ll keep me from getting frostbite.” 

He sucked in a breath as her arm looped around his. How had she done it so gently? After a second, when he’d begun to breathe properly, he nodded. “Off we go, then.” 

It was strange, how he had surrendered so easily. When he had first gotten his wand, the world finally felt livable. He no longer had to shuffle around, arms outstretched, waiting for his brothers to jump out at him. He could fend for himself. Prove his independence. There was no longer a need to rely on anyone. 

Why did he rely so effortlessly on her? 

The truth came to him with a sudden thought as she took him through the streets, navigating expertly through the throng of students returning to the castle. He trusted her. She had always looked out for him. Cared when he felt no one else did. She made efforts to be around him, to involve him, even when he tried to push away. Ominis Gaunt did not trust easily. But she had proved herself worthy of that sentiment in every turn. 

The slight tug of her arm in his jolted him back to that moment. “We’re at the stairs,” she said quietly. “There’s six of them.” 

He’d trust her with his life. 

They seemed to walk closer and closer together as the castle drew nearer. It was the cold, he told himself. Just the instinctual craving for warmth drawing their sides together. Simple as that. 

But they still walked arm in arm through the halls of Hogwarts, leaving the excuse of the chill and snow far behind them. 

-

The first time she held his hand, he finally felt alive. 

Their sixth years had come to a close and the Hogwarts Express was waiting to take them home. They’d spend the last few months in what he considered bliss. They stopped looking for excuses to take each other's arms at some point—just letting it happen. Strolls on the castle ground. Between classes. Anywhere and everywhere they went together. Sebastian teased them a bit at the action, but Ominis claimed it was just easier than using his wand. He didn’t have to concentrate on a spell while walking about. It was true—but really, it hadn’t been inconvenient the five years before that, had it?

But now his dear friend gave a low sigh beside him. “This crowd is awful,” she said, glowering at the students around them. “I don’t know how we’re going to make it on the train in time.” 

“I’m sure we’ll be—” 

He stopped mid sentence, feeling her fingers interlock with his. 

“I think I see a path, come on now.” 

She nearly tipped him over as she pulled him along. He managed to remember how to walk just in time to catch himself, allowing her to lead him through the hustle and bustle around them. How did this feel so entirely different than being led by her arm? How could he only focus on how soft the skin of her knuckles felt under his thumb? How could he feel like he was dreaming, but never felt more aware in the same moment?

They stopped in front of the train, doors open before them. She didn’t let go. Neither did he. But the train let out a whistle, and the sound brought him back in an instant. Their hands dropped, and the loss of the intimate feeling of her fingers between his knocked the air out him like the perfect Depulso. 

“We made it,” she said softly. 

“Barely.” 

She laughed. He might as well have been a fish for how much he was struggling to breathe. “I’ll see you soon,” she said, voice softening. 

“I wish I could say the same,” he said, smirking. He felt her hit his arm, stifling a laugh.

“You’re awful.”

“You’re the one who laughed.” 

“Goodbye, Ominis,” she said, still chuckling. After a moment, she spoke again, a little quieter. “I’ll write you.”

His stomach flipped. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Then she was gone, taking part of him with her.

-

He knew he was in love the moment he got her first letter. 

What was it some fool had once said? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? What a load of dung. 

Absence made the heart ache so much it nearly killed him. And it had only been a day. 

He knew it was from her the moment the lingering scent of her perfume hit him. He smiled. She kept her word—he had never doubted she would. He was just relieved she had done so so soon. 

Quickly, he pulled out his wand and transfigured the words on the parchment, running his fingers over them. He paused where she had written his name. Every letter filled him with warmth as he poured over the short letter. 

Dear Ominis,

I realize we only saw each other yesterday, but I wanted to assure you it wasn’t an empty promise when I said I would write you. 

I really don’t have too much to share—my mother was more than pleased to see me, of course. Wailed when I came home as if I’d come back from the dead. She’s still not used to me being away for so long. I’ve just begun unpacking, and honestly, it just makes me wish I was back at Hogwarts with you and Sebastian. 

How are you? I do hope you’re alright. I worry about you going home, you know. I can’t help it. I’ll be inviting both you and Sebastian to my home as soon as I’m settled in—please do survive until then. 

Yours,

He closed his eyes as he felt her name beneath his fingertips. She was worried about him. She’d be inviting him. The warmth and elation he felt was so unlike the cold halls that surrounded him. He could survive—he’d do it for her. 

How she could make him feel happiness—hope—in a house so tainted with pain was beyond him. He never would he have thought he could have a moment of something good there, a memory worth keeping after he abandoned the place. 

Finally, he had a name for that warmth, the one that overtook him every time she crossed his thoughts. Love. Deep, profound, and lasting. It was more than he could have imagined, overwhelming and pure. How could he have lived to this point without it? 

He read the letter once more before pulling out his quill and beginning to write. 

-

The first time he thought she might feel the same coincided with the first time she laid her head on his shoulder. 

She had kept yet another of her promises. It was only a couple of weeks before he was off to her house, finally free from the suffocating marble halls of the manor. His escape lasted only for ten days, but it gave him what he needed to keep going. 

Though being with her was definitely what fueled him the most. 

Laughing with her and Sebastian made the stress of being around his parents melt off of him much faster than he would have imagined. Their ten days had been full of exploring the woods around her house, of playing Gobstones, of laying in fields and telling old stories. 

Ten days of her hand brushing his as they sat together. Ten days of catching his breath when she spoke. Ten days of falling harder than he ever thought possible.

Because now that he knew what it was he was feeling, it was there in everything she did. He was drowning in it, and he’d stay under with a smile on his face. 

Sebastian bid them farewell on that final evening. Ominis would be gone back home in the morning—he tried desperately to push that thought away, focusing instead on spending every moment with her he could. They’d wandered to the overgrown park not far from her home, coming to rest on a bench hidden away in the trees. Crickets sang around them, and Ominis basked in the cool summer night by her side. 

“Are you going to be ok when you go back?” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. 

He gave a small smile, one he hoped was reassuring. “I’ve lived this long. Two more months will be nothing.”

She sighed. “It won’t be a full two months. I’ll make sure of it. If you can’t come here again, we’ll go to Sebastian’s.”

“You worry about me too much.” 

“I think I worry just enough,” she stated simply. 

Her words made his chest time. How could he ever begin to explain what they meant to him? She cared for him. It was enough to shatter him if he let it. He couldn’t say what he wanted to—not yet. He’d find a way, someday. But he told her what he could by reaching for her hand, locking their fingers together. And when she leaned into his side, head coming to rest on his shoulder, maybe, maybe, that was her way of saying she understood. 

His stiff body slowly relaxed against hers, and he thought about nothing but the slow draws of her breath, the way her hair tickled against his jaw, the love he felt for the angel of the girl sitting pressed against him. 

-

The first time she held him he fell apart. 

Their little trio had stayed up late in celebration of their last school year, playing Exploding Snap well into the night. The Undercroft echoed their joyous sounds as the hours passed by, until Sebastian pulled himself away, saying he wanted to pay a visit to the Restricted Section for old time’s sake. It wasn’t long until she and Ominis were saying their goodnights to each other. 

It had been a perfect last first day, exactly what he’d needed after spending so much time at the manor. He’d left for what he was determined to be the last time. There was no better way to celebrate. 

He could think of no better way of ending it than saying goodnight to the girl he loved. 

“Goodnight,” he said softly, a small smile on his lips. 

“God, I missed you,” she breathed. “Goodnight, Ominis.” 

But before he could open the door, her arms wrapped around his chest. 

The result was immediate. His heart raced, and his throat grew tight. He couldn’t breath—how could he, with her holding him so tightly? Her head was against his chest, and for a split second he was afraid she might pull away when she heard the pound of it. It was that moment of fear that brought his arms around her, holding her to him like he had nothing left. 

It felt like dying when she pulled away from him. She sucked in a breath. “Ominis, are you alright?”

“What… what do you—”

“You’re crying.”

She was right. He felt the tears, now, traitorously running down his face. He quickly brought up the sleeve of his robe to wipe them away. 

“Is it something I did? I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He took a shuddering breath. “I just… You’re the first person who’s ever…” 

Ever what? There were a million ways he could finish that sentence, and all would be true. The first who had ever held me. The first who has ever cared so deeply. The first to touch him with nothing but kindness. She was the first person to break down his walls, to give him life, to let him love and be loved. 

Somehow, she seemed to understand his silence. She took him into her arms once more, and he let himself come crashing down. Sobs worked their way through—both sadness and joy mingled together in an utter mess of emotion. How could he have gone his whole life without this? Without feeling safe, without outstretched arms to run to? But he had found it. A person he could call his home, who would hold him when he fell apart. He was grateful. So grateful. 

They never went back up to their dorms that night.

-

He was determined today would be the first time he kissed her. 

Since that night in the Undercroft, every touch between them felt natural. Part of their beings. He came to her effortlessly, letting his arms pull her to him. His hand felt foreign when it wasn’t in hers. But yet, he had yet to confess the depths of his feelings for her. 

He knew exactly why—she was patient. They’d started this whole thing nearly two years ago now. She’d always gone at his pace, waiting for him to be ready for each new step. They didn’t need to say the words. It was obvious to both of them. But Merlin, he wanted to. 

She needed to know just how much she meant to him. The joy she brought into his life without even trying. It had been a long time coming, but now, he was ready.

He’d taken her out to Hogsmeade. It was the perfect spring day—cool breeze carrying the scent of Butterbeer clear out of the Three Broomsticks. The sun was just beginning to set, and they were on course to return to the castle when he stopped her. 

“Could I take you somewhere?” he said softly. 

“Of course,” she said, a little perplexed. He smiled, taking out his wand to guide the both of them, other hand still in hers. He led them down a path, then turned sharply into the woods. The trail he followed was light barely there, mostly grown over by foliage. But he heard the sound of the creek and knew he was close. 

The trees gave way into a small opening, the melody of water trickling just beyond it. He smiled. 

“It’s lovely,” she said. 

“Good. I hoped it would be.” His wand returned to his pocket, and he took both her hands, facing her. 

It was her turn for her breath to catch. It was only fair after all the times he’d done so because of her. Did he look as lovesick as he felt? 

“You are everything to me, do you know that?” he said softly. His hand reached up, following the curve of her neck up to her jaw, where it came to rest. “Everything.”

“Ominis…” 

The way she breathed his name sent shivers through him. And her breath on his lips—Merlin, how had he waited so long?

“I love you.” 

He didn’t give her a chance to respond—he’d let her say it soon enough. But he needed to prove himself to her, show her just what he meant when he said everything. His lips came crashing down against hers, and at that moment he decided every second not spent kissing her was a second wasted. Like everything about her, she was gentle. She was warm. She was soft. Like everything about her, he couldn’t get enough. He thought he’d give her a chaste kiss, but he was only a man, and a starving one at that. 

He only pulled away when his lungs felt like they would burst, and his chest heaved under her resting hand. 

“I love you,” she said, voice hoarse. “God, I love you.” 

He decided that night would be the second time he kissed her, too. 

After that he lost count.

[st0rmyskies]

What Your Favorite Link Says About You

A.k.a. The Links as tarot cards/your rising sign/your blood type.

Time

You're likely an older Zelda fan. Ibuprofen has become a food group for you. Anyone who thinks OoT isn't the greatest Zelda game has you clutching your pearls and tutting. Kids these days don't know how good they have it.

You are a person to whom young people come for advice, either in your career or in life in general. You're happy to give it, especially because you love to help, but on the inside you're silently screaming, What?? Why me???

You may have trouble sleeping through the night. Even if it's not every night, there are some where you just can't turn your brain off and worries or worst-case scenarios just keep playing and replaying ad nauseaum.

You enjoy time in solitude to appreciate the beauty of nature. I bet you know how to braid a mean daisy crown.

“The flow of time is always cruel...” - Some event in your life took your innocence from you, perhaps much too early. You grew up quickly because of it.

Legend

Either you had a crush on the emo kid in high school or you were the emo kid in high school.

You might be jaded by the world, but you still have a solid work ethic and a soft heart despite it all. Even if you hide it all beneath a healthy layer of sass.

You possess a multitude of skills, not all of which are related. Anytime a friend needs a piece of clothing mended or a picture frame hung on the wall or a leak in a faucet addressed, you have the tools and the willingness to help.

Either you have a history of moving frequently when you were young, or you have a restless spirit. You may never quite feel 'at home' in any given place.

"But, verily, it be the nature of dreams to end." - You’ve suffered a meaningful loss in your life and you have a hard time opening up again because of it. 

Hyrule

You root for the underdog, or perhaps you are the underdog. Any of those "against all odds" stories just hit you square in the chest.

Somewhat quiet by nature, you do vital work behind the scenes but you aren't the type to seek out a leadership position. Leave the limelight to somebody else, please.

You might sell yourself short when it comes to your skills and abilities, but you should believe in yourself, man! You can do it!!

You have a capricious streak in you that rears its head now and again. That smile can look sharp and devilish in the right light.

"It's dangerous to go alone!" - You either already have or are destined to find 'that one person' with whom you can open up and truly be yourself. 

Twilight

I'm willing to put money on the fact that Twilight Princess was your first Zelda game.

You have a strong sense of justice and get really bent out of shape when you encounter unfairness or flaw in the system, whatever that may be. You might be considered an outsider in some way because of this.

You're the friend who scoops spiders up in a cup and sets them outside. Live and let live.

You were the 'wolf kid' in middle school. Come on, those amazing tie dye shirts? Wolf Woman? Julie of the Wolves?? Even if you kept it inside, it was there in some way.

"Your current power would disgrace the proud green of the hero's tunic you wear." - You put a lot of stock in the opinions of others and hold yourself to a higher standard because of it. Sometimes that standard isn't achievable, though, so try to be kind to yourself. 

Sky

You, my friend, have a soft heart. You're generally a happy-go-lucky sort of person. You're likely to make excuses for those who've been mean to you in the past and come out as friends on the other side.

You're crafty, or at the very least good with your hands. You're the type to give someone a handmade gift rather than go buy something for them for their birthday, a holiday, etc.

You have a strong affinity for your friends. If anything bad were to happen to them, you'd turn violent at the drop of a hat.

You may have some level of chronic illness that affects you. Although you might do things in a different way or at your own pace, though, you still come out on top.

"You fight like no man or demon I have ever known." - You have the capability for great things. World-changing sorts of things. Don't give up!

Wild

You're some flavor of neurodivergent, if I had to guess I'd say ADHD. You have 42 tabs open in your brain at any given time and you have no idea which one the music is coming from.

You're an incredibly creative person, although you might have trouble finishing tasks/works-in-progress. Doesn't mean you didn't learn something along the way!

Rigid guidelines or deadlines stress you out. You'd rather be given a goal and decide for yourself when and how to get there. When you do have a deadline, you're a bit of a procrastinator.

Sometimes you don’t get the 'right' way to do things, but you carve your own path--although sometimes it's unorthodox--and get there in your own time.

"Courage need not be remembered, for it is never forgotten." - In spite of how your life changes you, for better or for worse, you have a driving inspiration or ethic or vocation that moves you forward at all costs.

Warriors

Those who don't know you well tend to boil you down to one or two trite traits. In reality, you contain multitudes. Most people couldn't handle all of you, not that they deserve to know even part of you.

You tend to lay it on thick--be that your charm, attitude, or whatever else your social shield might be--because you're hiding some deeper secret or insecurity at your core.

You're the mom friend or the planner in your group, or perhaps you're the oldest child. You’ll pass on an authority role if and when you can, but likely you’re still involved in some supervisory capacity in a given situation. 

You kill spiders with fire. Show NO mercy.

"You dare raise the blade of evil's bane to me? So be it. Hyrule's blood will be on your hands." - You have strong convictions and you aren't afraid to take risks, major risks, to do what you know to be right.

Four

Babe, if you ain't short, you've got short person energy. You scare me a little bit tbh.

You were praised for not being a problem child growing up, or for being very responsible at a young age.

You have a vivid imagination! You may have had an imaginary friend as a child or lived in your own little world altogether. I bet your notebook pages were strewn with little doodles in school.

You're a lover of information. If you could choose between an afternoon at the library or a movie matinee, it would be the former.

"Hanging around with you fools is dangerous for my health." - You're the snark friend, aren't you.  

Wind

You are extroverted to a fault. You need the company of others to recharge that social battery. The quintessential golden retriever friend.

You had active involvement in the music and theatre department. I'd be surprised if you weren't in at least one show in high school.

Having adventures is where it's at! You're a big fan of travel, either cross-country road trips or international flights. You could happily live out of a suitcase.

You tend to make friends easily wherever you go. If everyone in this classroom/workplace/bar doesn't know your name already, they will pretty quick.

"I have been waiting for you, boy... Do not betray my expectations.” - Against all odds, you've proven yourself to be worthy of great things. Screw what fate has in store! You're the type to take your own destiny by the 'nads.

[sanjoongie]

𝞣Ꮒ𝗲 ԍаm𝖊𝑠 𝗪℮ 𝞠𝒍𝑎𝑦

➸Pairing: Villain! Han Jisung x Hostage! Reader (f) 

➸Genre: smut

➸Au: hero/villain au

➸Trope: s2l

➸Word Count: 1,736

➸Warnings: dom! Jisung, sub! Reader, roleplaying (everything is consensual, they play the role of villain/hostage because it thrills them both), nicknames (little bird), bdsm (tied up), usage of fuck machine, degradation, rimming, aftercare (for sub and dom), soft sex, creampie

➸Rated: 18+ MDNI

➸Summary: when getting kidnapped by a villain turns into something much more sexier and healthier, you don’t really have a reason to complain

➸Beta: @flurrys-creativity

➸A/N: credits to @anyamaris for helping expand on this plot bunny and encouraging me to write more skz 🥺

➸divider by @cafekitsune

At this point, you might as well have forgotten that you were a hostage and Jisung the one who had kidnapped you. In a not-so-elaborate plot to get an all-powerful tool to take over the world, Jisung had kidnapped you to lure the hero to his hideout. What had started as a simple hostage situation, had quickly turned into something entirely different.

Jisung used his signature cane to slowly pull your panties to the side, revealing just how dripping wet your cunt was for him. He smirked, eyes never leaving your pussy. “What’s this, kitten?”

You whined and squirmed. Somehow, Jisung had acquired a gyno’s chair and strapped you to it. With your feet in the stirrups, your legs were spread and restricted so you couldn't close them. “That’s for Chan, don’t look.”

Jisung’s eyes darkened at the mention of the hero. “For Chan, hmmm?” He hummed. He turned the inside of your panties to lick the slick off there. “Cum meant for someone else always tastes better.”

Your body flushed with the forbidden and shame. Chan wasn’t coming for you. That had been apparent after a few weeks. In fact, after Jisung even came to this conclusion, he let you go. But the heartache of realizing that Chan would not have saved you; that he cared more for the world than you, broke something in you. You had become extremely attached to the man who had kidnapped you, and he you. You knew your worth with the villain Han Jisung.

So now you played out a little scenario, in the deep dark recesses of Jisung’s hideout. One the both of you enjoyed fully. To stop, it would simply take your safe word and then Jisung would unstrap you and cradle you in his arms. But until that moment happened, the scene was on.

Jisung licked his upper lip slowly, savoring the taste of you on the tip of his tongue. “Now, are we going to play this the easy way or the hard way?”

You turned your head stubbornly, playing the role of the hostage unwilling to betray her hero. “I’ll give you nothing.”

Jisung clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “That’s too bad.”

He stood up from his stool and maneovered a fuck machine towards your lower half to replace him. You swallowed loudly as you saw what you were up against. 

“I think this will suffice to get you to sing, my little bird,” Jisung cooed.

You pretended to struggle in your restraints, but if you were being honest, you were getting wet in anticipation for what was to come. “It won’t work!” You insisted. 

Jisung stood behind the machine on wheels, pushing the thick dildo attached to it closer and closer to your glistening pussy. An evil smile pulled up a corner of his lips. “Open wide, little bird.”

You let out a high whine as the dildo pushed past your pussy lips and into you by a fraction. The ‘head’ of the dildo rested there, waiting until the machine was turned on. Jisung’s tongue was caught between his lips in concentration, making sure you were set up perfectly. “Is that enough lube for you? Do you need more? It’s going to be a while.”

You shook your head. “I don’t need anything from you, villain,” you snarled half-heartedly. 

Jisung moved away from the setup, meandering to a chair he had ready to view your ‘torture’. He put his cane to the side and steepled his fingers to watch the action. “You know what to say to make this stop,” Jisung reminded you of your safeword. It was also programmed into the fuck machine to stop if you so much as uttered it. 

You braced yourself for what was about to go down. You tried not to wriggle your lower body in excitement. “Do your worst. Chan will save me in no time. I’ll give you nothing.”

Gripping the head of his cane, Jisung clicked on the button at the top and the machine began to move slowly. You laid your head back and groaned as the dildo pushed in and out at a low pace. It was thick and it was curved, so even though it was slow, the tip was dragging against your g-spot and making you feel good almost immediately. 

“Fu-fuck you,” You gasped. 

“I’d love to, little bird, but you’ll have to ask nicely,” Jisung said in a sing-song voice. 

You bit down on your lip to muffle your noises. You were barely getting fucked at low pace but the entire scenario flat did it for you. You came in no time and you felt your shame from head to toe.

Jisung giggled. “That easy to get off, huh?” The fuck machine stopped without a prompt from you. Jisung wasn’t interested in overstimulating you, he simply wanted you to come as many times as possible. 

“I was imagining Chan, so yeah, it’s that easy,” You retorted.

Jisung’s eyes narrowed, not impressed with your comeback at all. “A different position then, I think.”

Jisung fondly rubbed your wrists, ankles and legs as he undid the bindings that had held you in place. He dipped down to share a kiss with you on your lips but you turned your head so that his lips hit your cheek. Jisung clucked his tongue again. “Stubborn little bird.”

This time you were face down, ass up. Your arms were bound at the small of your back. Your feet were bent under you. Once the dildo was pushed inside of you again, you whimpered softly. Somehow taking it from behind from a fuck machine made everything a little bit more dirty. Not to mention the angle made you feel a little bit more of the dildo inside of you.

“I won’t be so nice to you now, little bird,” Jisung muttered softly. “We’ll go at a faster speed and hear you really sing. You know how much I enjoy your nonsensical babble when you’re getting fucked good.”

Once, Jisung had finger fucked you while you were sitting on his lap in his office where he did most of his diabolical planning, to the scenario that you were on a hostage call with Bang Chan. You had become a mess under his fingers and you both had loved every moment of it. You could tell no one of the soft after care Jisung gave you, cleaning up your messy cunt and tears, but it was also one of your favorite memories with him. 

Jisung turned on the fuck machine and you descended into pleasure. “Hnnnnnnn,” you moaned as the dildo moved in and out of you at the pace you usually preferred getting fucked. 

Jisung stood by you this time, a little to your right. “Is the machine fucking you good, little bird?”

“Sungie,” You whimpered, breaking the scene. “ ‘s so good.”

Jisung felt a little thrill run through his body at the pet name. He adored you, truth be told, and he loved giving you exactly what you wanted which also happened to align with his own kinks. 

“You’re folding like a stack of cards,” Jisung murmured. “Should I send you over the edge?”

Jisung paused, his heart beating against his chest, threatening to leave, waiting for your go ahead to give you even more pleasure.

“Do you worst, villain,” You said weakly, barely getting back into the scene. That was your green light for Jisung.

Jisung pulled apart your ass cheeks, careful of the dildo moving in and out of your cunt. He then licked your puckered hole and you moaned so loudly, his dick throbbed in his pants. He continued to lick the sensitive nerves, poking his tongue slowly into you, only adding to the stimulation your lower half was receiving. 

“Jisung,” You groaned. 

“How come you always want more from me, little bird, hmmm?” Jisung mused out loud. “You are insatiable for me, aren’t you? I bet you don’t debase yourself like this for Bang Chan. I bet you let yourself loose because you’re with me. Is it because it’s okay to be dirty with a villain? Or is it that you truly feel safe to let your dirty side out with me?”

When you didn’t respond, your mind half gone to the lust, Jisung upped the speed of the fuck machine. The pace sent you over the edge, coming so loudly that Jisung started to grind into the side of the gyno chair, needing some type of relief. You whined because you were coming down from your high, so Jisung turned the machine off. 

You barely registered Jisung untying you from everything, but once he had you cradled in his arms, you snuggled into the warmth he provided. “Sungie,” you called out to him.

“Was it okay, love?” Jisung checked in. 

You opened your eyes and saw that the villain had been tucked away and Han Jisung, with his inquisitive brown eyes, was staring back at you. He needed reassurance that everything went according to your wants and desires. “Jisungie, you did so wonderfully. That was exactly what I wanted.”

Jisung spent the next hour paying loving attention to your body. He washed you in a tub, allowing his fingers to skim every part of you, to make sure you were taken care of. The process also allowed Jisung to come down from his dominant persona, and to slip into something more warm and caring. 

You were donned in a fluffy, terrycloth robe and Jisung took you to his bed. He always did love how soft your skin felt after washing you, juxtaposed with the marks his restraints left on your peach-bruised skin. After laying you down on his dark bed, he undid the robe and licked his lips at your body being framed by the garment.

“Now I get to have you, right?” Jisung asked. “You’ll let me make love to you, right?”

“ ‘course, Jisungie,” You agreed, happy and tired, but not the least bit satisfied.

And so, with his arms wrapped around you, Jisung made love to you while laying sideways on the bed. He murmured words of love and affection, kissing your shoulder softly, as he thrusted inside of you. You came quietly, convulsing around Jisung’s cock. 

Jisung wasn’t so lucky. He came loudly; a groan full of gusto and a nose scrunch. He had not donned a condom, so he creampied you gladly. 

“Jisung,” You whined. “You’re leaking out of me!”

“ ‘s okay,” Jisung reassured you, slurring from his orgasm. “I’ll clean you up all over again.”

You fell asleep with a smile on your face. Best thing that ever happened to you was being kidnapped by a villain.

[hamliet]

the notion that bnha is pro authoritarianism or social hierarchies is nonsensical not to mention acting like being pro cop is bad

Err... BNHA is pretty pro-authoritarian. I actually find it pretty disturbing. And that's even if the story turns out with the League alive at the end.

As for being pro-cop--cops are human individuals, yes. But people have in recent years in multiple countries (including Japan, by the way) protested against cops being used as tools to maintain social hierarchies wherein people who are not part of that hierarchy suffer for daring to want to be treated as human beings. When I say I'm anti-cop, I'm not saying I hate anyone on the basis of being a cop. But I am saying that the ways in which the police force are used in many countries does societal harm. Critical thinking, yo.

Honestly I feel like this whole story (BNHA) and fans reactions throughout (especially when compared to other stories) demonstrate how people are not using critical thinking. And that can have real world consequences, though it doesn't have to.

I just find it weird that people are okay with a story where the ruling class is always right and always wins. Like... how have they not? I mean, even stories that end up suggesting the ruling class isn't entirely wrong or show flaws in rebellions generally don't go hard on the authoritarianism. But Horikoshi... is doing this.

The whole thing is so weird to me personally, too, because Horikoshi's wishy-washy framing and switches in coding generally seem to be the result of him caring, deeply, what his audience thinks and feels. Too much, really, but it also seems like he genuinely doesn't want to hurt people. Except this ending--even if Tenko does reappear as New Character and saves the League--is the exact opposite. (If Tenko doesn't reappear, then everything I'm about to say is multiplied by a thousand.)

It's catering to mean-spiritedness, and while I do understand fiction isn't reality, the side he's catering to now is making the argument that fictional crimes are real crimes and thus must meet real penalties.

I can play this game too.

If people are gonna make those arguments, I'm going to say they're the problem and the reason we have wars, genocides, assaults, and more.

If you ever want a cycle of violence/abuse to stop, someone has to accept that they've taken the last punch. Not keep going until the other side is WIPED OUT.

If you equate justice with equalizing losses, then you are enacting Dazai from BSD's statement on justice: justice is a weapon. You can never heal by it.

If you want to heal, you have to stop fighting and bandage wounds. And maybe you are too injured to do the bandaging. That's okay. But someone else can, and if you try to stop them on the premise of "but no one bandaged my wounds" you're a bitter person who makes the world a worser place.

If you say a tragedy is the story, sure. But you have to set up tragedies from the start. See, Attack on Titan, which's ending I love. It began with someone crying and an ominous message to the future. You don't set up your first chapter with "this is the story of how I become the greatest hero!" spend 200+ chapters criticizing hero society and have the hero fail at the goal he'd been repeating for 200 chapters in the end and join hero society and still think you wrote a story that delivered in what you promised. You failed.

Either you wrote a tragedy and are trying to pass it off as a happy story (see how well that works usually) or your understanding of a happy story is pretty much just fascist propaganda. And yes, BNHA does have fascist themes at this point. Way more than AoT ever did. But they have smiles and cute frog girls so it's not nearly as dangerous, right? (sarcastic).

The thing is, this is where the lack of critical thinking comes in. While I've seen people talk a bit about how BNHA seems like copaganda, it's taking things much, much further than other stories usually do and into territory where I'm frankly disturbed.

Yes, BNHA started out as a clever critique of hero society and of the very idea it's now seeming to uphold: that the human instinct (which is universal in real life to) to idolize people leads to a lack of humanity for those who do not have those traits we idolize, whether their fault or not, and for people to become villains in response. But not only has it failed to deliver on this premise by upholding society (hey, Naruto and to a degree Tokyo Ghoul also failed to completely change society), it's gone so far as to endorse what it previously criticized.

It's more akin to Game of Thrones Season 8 upholding racism, sexism, and classism, than it is to Naruto or Tokyo Ghoul. GoT ended with a joke about prioritizing brothels being open, as if the misogyny was actually a good thing and not what caused a lot of the problems. There's no critical lens here. It's just like "hey, there was no point in struggling. Monarchies that abuse women, rah rah, let's go!"

BNHA seems to be going a similar route. Deku's murder of Shigaraki, Ochaco's crying over Toga, the way Shouto reaches out to Touya--it's sad, but not framed as something the audience should see as a wrong done on behalf of heroes. In fact, the heroes are not criticized at all. Frickin' Edgeshot, whom no one cares about, is fine. All of them are fine. Their statuses are generally fine, too, except maybe Enji's and even then he's not like going to face the fate of the League and die alone. His family still supports him. Hawks is completely fine and framed positively. His regret over Twice is pure lipservice. Deku really did just need to kill Shigaraki, and all his "I want to save" spiel, much like Ochaco's, is for naught. He just needed to learn to grow up and get in line.

Even if Tenko comes back, and even if Deku like... somehow knew this would happen via vestiges or whatnot (let's be real, he will if this is the case), and the message is just that society isn't ready to move forward, but at least they can live, then... I don't know, y'all. That's still depressing. I don't see how Deku is a hero for that, much less the greatest number one hero. He decided to be a hero at the cost of his own integrity, and if this was a gritty story about the realistic struggle of living in a capitalistic society where ethics are always compromised that would make sense, but... it's not. Even until the final battle, the characters were endorsing idealism.

At the very least, Horikoshi didn't deliver on his promise in the first chapter. At the very worst, he's endorsing fascist ideals.

Like, I'm sorry, but "kill this person for the good of society," the violent upholding of oppressive societal hierarchies, the importance of being a cop hero and the way the military hero brutalities are worshipped, the way heroes are lauded and everyone who doesn't get in line with this is punished, went from being criticized to being endorsed. Those are all central elements of fascism.

The little guy deserves to lose, but, but Deku is the little guy, so it can't be! Except it can be. Because it's actually pretty common irl even to trot out examples of people like Candace Owens to be like "hey, you can't possibly say Republicans are racist!"

And don't you dare say "but Japanese culture makes it unreasonable to expect a non retributive justice!" The Japanese people are not a monolith. Not to mention... Naruto, Bungou Stray Dogs, Monster, Hunter x Hunter, Yu Yu Hakusho, Mawaru Penguindrum, Oshi no Ko, Dragon Ball, Attack on Titan, and Tokyo Ghoul all say hi.

I hated the TG ending, and still hate it, but I'm not going to say that it upheld the CCG as right all along because it didn't. BNHA thus far is doing that with hero society. And even if the answer is for the League be revived and to leave society or whatever, then how can we be happy Deku is a part of this society? How can we root for him, or his classmates? Is he going to work from the inside to change it? Why wasn't that emphasized beforehand as a theme or struggle?

tl;dr Horikoshi has cooked his story no matter what he does now, and I don't think it's salvageable. Either way it has themes that are disturbing especially considering real world events across the globe, and that people should be more aware of instead of focusing solely on stories that have fascism and monsters in them but don't uphold it.

[justatalkingface]

I find Endeavor giving up on Toya once he found out that his son's quirk (Blueflame) was self-destructive to be, not only out-of-character, but incredibly stupid.

Endeavor is loaded, he bought Rei. Why not buy Toya special support gear costume with cooling? Aoyama's belt, Mirio's suit, and f*cking Mecha Might basically suggest that support gear can do anything as long as the plot demands it.

Besides that, has Endeavor literally never heard of endurance training? That's literally the only type of training Class 1A does most of the time. Just have Rei on standby if anything goes wrong. It's not like being a human cooler would be the most degrading thing she's suffered.

It's like the first time Aizawa criticized Deku for injuring himself with One for All. Did they try thinking of solutions before trying to get them to give up ?

Also, it's kind of messed that Toya's inability fulfill Endeavor's goals is because Rei, the bought mother. It could've easily been Endeavor's fault, like his intense training at a young age ruined Toya's developing body.

OK, you see, the thing is you're thinking about this logically. Like, Endeavor has been many things, but 'rational' isn't one of them. Deeply toxic and twisted, on the other hand?

You need to think like someone desperate to prove themselves, filled with about eight superiority and inferiority complexes, and yet so resigned to his own inferiority that he ended up needing to make someone else to do it for him. The fact that Toya hurt himself? It meant he was weak. That's it. He was weak for being unable to use his powers safely.

And the second he was weak, he was no longer useful, because he could no longer beat All Might.

(Nevermind, of course, that there was nothing he could do to make someone able to beat All Might, because All Might and All For One are both setting breaking hacks that single handedly break the balance of power. Even a super Shoto with the blue flames of Dabi and, like, absolute zero ice, perfectly balanced and able to withstand his own power, would get casually bitchslapped by All Might. That's how overwhelmingly broken he is.)

Beyond that, it's worth pointing out that, 1, Mecha Might is, again, setting breaking bullshit, even in the bullshit casually tinkertech setting that is MHA, and that 2, while Quirk training is a thing (presumably that's how Dabi was able to be as high functioning as he was with his... well, entire everything, that he grinded with his Quirk until he was able to work beyond the pain), there are limits without Awakenings... and let's be honest, Awakenings are just how Hori tried to explain people's various power ups to try and keep them relevent in the ever increasing clusterfuck of his story. No amount of training would make it so that Toya would not burn himself; training like that increases limits, but it doesn't change how the Quirk works.

There's basiclly no reason, in setting, for someone not to suit themselves entirely in support tech to be a purely tech driven hero, beyond institutional culture that is built around people's Quirks. I can't even say it's expensive, because hell, Mei just pulls them out on the regular, and there's every reason to think she was making them even before she actually got into UA, instead of somehow learning to make them within a week or two of getting into school.

The fact that support tech is so damn underused is almost criminal, especially for people with more limited abilities; can you imagine if Kirashima, with his hardening, was given some kind of ranged tool? An air blast or something?

You're also ignoring all his complexes in implying that, 1, Rei could do anything, when literally she only exists to be a breeder, and I don't think he's ever shown imagining her able to do... anything helpful.

And, most importantly, 2: Endeavor always blames everyone but himself. Always. Even in the 'canon' (I have opinions on the sheer level of retcon there) version of events, with how soft that is on Endeavor, Endeavor sets up Toya to have a psychotic break. He isolates him, orients his entire life around one thing (surpassing All Might) and then takes away the very foundation he built his life on, before basiclly ignoring him and never trying to fix him afterwords; of course the kid is messed up! Yet, all this time, he looks back, and all he can think is, 'I couldn't stop him! Toya was so driven, Toya wouldn't stop hurting himself, Toya wouldn't listen to me!'

Toya, Toya, Toya. Everything wrong with Dabi's story was blamed on Toya, even though he was an actual child and Endeavor was the one with all the control in the family; his recollection of things was so warped you could see how it contracted with literally everyone's experience of events... Of course he was going to blame Rei over himself! Rei is the person he bought, and he's the top hero, rich and famous! Nothing is ever his fault!

(Also, I have opinions on Aizawa, and they're overwhelmingly negative. The fact that Aizawa wanted to ditch Izuku first thing is a result of his overwhelming biases and prejudices..... exactly like Endeavor. MHA has this thing of making massively biased authority figures that are obviously so and then going through fire to protect them from their own actions.)

[suzannahnatters]

Having shared my RINGS OF POWER s2 eulogy, and while assuring you all that I am also mourning the loss of one of the best things about the show, I would also like to take a moment to defend the decisions being made by the showrunners and writers here.

Before I get started, I just want to acknowledge the members of my writers' group. This post owes much to our discussions. Anyway, when it comes to Adar's death, there are three reasons why I'm not calling his death pointless, or blaming the showrunners for bad writing. The overall reason is this: Adar represents the show's efforts to treat Orcs like people. In this sense, his character was a blazing success. Look at us all, with a hopeless crush on an Orc? Success.

But let's go a bit deeper.

SIMON TOLKIEN'S EXECUTIVE MEDDLING

The fact that Simon Tolkien made an EXCELLENT call in asking the showrunners to keep Adar around for an extra season...still doesn't stop what he did from being executive meddling, or from causing tricky ramifications in the second season. Adar was a first-season antagonist, brilliantly well-written, but ultimately only intended to be a supporting character. The decision to keep him on, suddenly made him more charismatic, more mysterious, and more sympathetic. Given how he'd been set up as a warm-up baddie...season 2 suddenly turned around and made us think he was here to stay. The writers had cornered themselves: on the Tolkien Estate's behest, they had a dark horse who was about to run away with the show. I'm not going to fault them for going ahead with their original plan, because they would have had to retool subsequent seasons massively in order to fit in an Adar redemption arc, and you can't necessarily do that when the whole arc of your story is already planned.

JRR TOLKIEN'S LEGACY

All of us have written things we're not proud of. JRR Tolkien wrote a story world with something problematic hard-baked into the foundations: an entire race of beings for whom genetics determined ethics. Can you even imagine what it must have taken for him to get to the end of a long life spent in the dedicated pursuit of this story world, and to have the courage to admit that he might have been wrong? That really isn't something most authors are capable of. When Peter Jackson went to make LOTR and HOBBIT into movies, he did nothing to scrutinise this issue. His Orcs are flat: monstrous, comic, but never people.

TROP challenged that, and exercised significant skill, care, and wisdom in doing so. But they are still attempting a faithful adaptation of Tolkien's source material. We know where this story is going. Galadriel will end up in Lorien with her elf wifeguy. The Orcs will fall under Sauron's dominion and become his tools, enslaved to his will with the Ring. I did fantasise about Adar being Celeborn, and possibly some of his "children" getting to nope out of Sauron's dominion or even be turned into Elves. But we now know that was never on the table. The Orcs were always meant to fall to the Enemy. But here's the point: for the first time in the history of Tolkien works and adaptations, TROP allowed them the dignity of a fall. Going forward in the show, the Orcs won't be monstrous cannon fodder: they'll be people we knew, people we were pulling for, people whose deaths matter. They are, not a waste, but a tragedy.

TOLKIENIAN TRAGEDY

Look...there's nothing more Tolkienian than a beautiful disaster of a man who dies far too early.

And yes, I know that it's something we've seen before and wish storytellers would move away from - the Moment of Grace that never becomes anything more than a Moment. The villain who has a five minute redemption, then dies conveniently so that the heroes never have to work through the messy business of forgiveness and accountability (although I always did wonder how it would play to see a redeemed Adar, possibly Celeborn, living the rest of his life as a redeemed Uruk among people who hold an undying enmity with his children). It's happened so often that when I, Suzannah Rowntree, sit down to write a six book series where the irredeemable villain has to live and build a new and more accountable life for himself, there's startlingly little template for it, at least in Western media. We live in times that are starved for happy endings and genuine redemption arcs. I wanted so badly for Adar and his "children" to be blessed, and not cursed, by this narrative. So I get the rage. I get the grief.

But tragedy is still a valid art form. Again, all this is a function of the show successfully making the Orcs matter. And the reason the Orcs needed to matter is because they are about to be enslaved to Sauron. They were so close. They genuinely could have been good. Adar could have led them into an alliance with the Elves against their enemy - but instead, just like Celebrimbor, just like Galadriel, they are deceived by him. They turn to him out of fear that their father figure is treating them like cannon fodder, and now they have no one to advocate for them. And that's the tragedy of their situation.

We might all be a little tired of tragedy, but it's still valid, especially insofar as it never, ever forgets to treat its characters like people. Did the writers have to choose tragedy? No. Adar might have lived and undergone a redemption arc.

But the writers didn't have to give Adar a redemption arc, either. Any more than they had to so deeply humanise the Orcs and their father. It's not perfect writing, but it's not bad writing, either. Indeed, for a Tolkien adaptation trying to both honour the author's work and scrutinise his failings, in my opinion it's doing brilliantly.

And...honestly, I'm kind of happy that they left me wanting more, and better, for Adar. Because now I get to write that story myself.

[splatsvilles-fashionista]

So over the week I've been replaying Return of the Mammalians, because I haven't played it since the week Splatoon 3 launched and I wanted to see how I felt about it without the excitement of playing a brand new game clouding my critical judgement.

(spoilers for RotM below, just in case)

That said I didn't feel like it changed my opinion very much. RotM's biggest problem is that it feels like the developers thought of a couple of really cool ideas (The fakeout in the intro, Deep Cut being bosses, the lore in the Alterna Logs, the final fight against Mr. Grizz) and then put them all in the game without really trying to connect them all in a very tangible way, and as a result Alterna is a very nebulous space that doesn't make any sense from a narrative standpoint (if it was a human settlement why is it full machinery and tests only inklings and octolings can use? What even IS the treasure we assemble except "a tool that just happens to solve the current problem?) but only really exists for gameplay.

The story also suffers as a result of this, too. Narratively nothing really happens until the very end of the game, where we end up just kind of stumbling into Mr. Grizz's plot to fuzzify the world right as he puts it into motion. Octo Expansion got around this by using its lore snippets to give the supporting cast a story of their own that unfolded as you progressed through the game, and ultimately it's Agent 8's actions that push the story of OE forward. In RotM we just happen to be there when things happen.

But despite all of its problems RotM also just plays really well. The combination of OE-style shorter trial levels with Hero Mode-styled hub areas you have to explore for levels and secrets work really well together, and those hubs in particular are an absolute blast to dig around in for secrets and open up a little by little. Deep Cut are incredibly fun as ineffectual Team Rocket-esque villains, and the whole final fight against Mr. Grizz is really good, especially the music. I don't even think Calamari Inkantation is especially good by Splatoon standards, but 3MIX is genuinely just an astounding track.

But I think what ultimately makes me feel more positive than negative about RotM is that I think its' thematic undertones actually really work for me. Mr. Grizz's actual involvement in the story might have been mishandled but as a villain he works. I've already written about him a bunch so keep things brief Splatoon has always been about the dangers of clinging to the past, and Mr. Grizz pushes that idea to its limits, because he is the past. He is a relic of a lost age, and he is so desperate to return to the world he knows that he will burn the future and turn back time (metaphorically) to achieve it.

But there's also the Alterna Logs and the reveal that it was human dreams of seeing the sun that drove sealife onto dry land. I think there is a compelling argument to be made that they didn't need to explain any of that to begin with, but I also think the explanation works with everything the series has been setting up on a thematic level. Humanity is gone, and will never come back, but our dreams lived on in the minds of the inklings and the octolings (and the jellies, and everyone else), and while they didn't know why, they reached for the sun together, and by achieving humanity's dreams they earned the right to take our place.

TL;DR: RotM good actually

[markantonys]

Rafe said that they have plans for Anvaere down the line and I am like 90% positive she's gonna be the show's version of Colavaere with her motives being restoring the Damodred name. And with Rand knowing her plus her being Moiraine's sister that's gonna give that whole plot, especially with Rand refusing to kill her (and it'll be cause she's all he has left of Moiraine rather than cause she's a woman) a lot more emotional weight

yes!!! i might even go so far as to say i'm 100% positive haha the idea of this merger had never occurred to me prior, but once rafe said they have plans for her later, i went OH. i should've guessed straightaway that all the focus on a basically show-only character would be A Surprise Tool To Help Us Later in addition to the present benefit of fleshing out moiraine and cairhien! the show's always doing its best to kill multiple birds with one stone.

anyway, audiences typically feel the impact that killing someone has on a character more strongly if the victim is somebody we and/or the killer and/or other major characters have a connection to. of course in real life, for an innocent country villager who's not accustomed to violence, killing someone would be traumatic no matter who they are, but this isn't real life, it's a story, and in a story audiences are more likely to roll their eyes over a character being overburdened with morality for freaking out over killing some random asshole we hated anyway (especially a fantasy story where death and violence are commonplace). this is why laila's death being the origin of perrin's fears of his own capacity for violence hits harder than it being the deaths of a couple of random whitecloaks who were threatening him and egwene.

and similarly, we will feel how traumatic anvaere's death is for rand way more deeply than colavaere's, because out-of-world she's a character we've spent time with who was friendly to our heroes and who we came to like and because in-world she's someone rand came to like and is the sister of his mentor whose death he feels responsible for, like you say. plus, the show establishing anvaere as someone who spent her whole life working admirably hard to improve the reputation of her family - not only does it set up why she might be driven to suicide upon having her house stripped of its titles, it even lends some sympathy and dignity to it, framing it as that popular idea of honorably falling on your sword rather than living to be humiliated in defeat (very roman of her), and this will make it more emotional, and if WE'RE emotional over anvaere's death on its own merits, then we'll completely understand and feel rand's pain over it too. colavaere was just some random selfish power-hungry idiot with no redeeming qualities whom rand only tried to spare and whose death only upset him because Women Are Delicate And Precious And Must Be Protected.

sudden thought: if the end of this plotline is house damodred being permanently stripped of its status, could that be more evidence to predict elayne's dad was not a damodred in showverse? since she wouldn't have a claim on the sun throne if house damodred were to be completely, irreversibly ruined in this plotline. i've already been assuming her dad wasn't a damodred in showverse since there are other signs pointing in that direction, but this could be yet more possible evidence to add to the pile.

[askmerriauthor]

Pokemon S/V - Story Themes: Failure and Abuse

Something I actually really like about Pokemon S/V, which is somewhat ironic given the state of the game itself, is that its underlying story theme is about how the adults of the setting have utterly failed the younger generation.

General discussion and rambling about Pokemon S/V after the jump, as there's sure to be spoilers. This is a long one, so buckle up.

Throughout the many stories Pokemon has told over the years and its iterations, the role of adults in the series and how they relate to the kids - ostensibly, the Player themselves as well - has varied wildly. They've been mentors, friends, allies, enemies, or even just odd folk we encounter. But, for better or worse, they've always been fairly direct in a What You See Is What You Get sort of way.

Pokemon S/V subverts that a bit in that all of the adults - even those we don't meet and only hear about through dialogue - have completely failed the children of the story. The results of those shortcomings range from very mild to absolutely disastrous, but nobody is untouched by it. Even the Player isn't spared.

Right up front we've got the Friendship Trio: Nemona, Arven, and Penny. Being the core to the story, they're the biggest examples one has out the gate. Common themes they all share are that they're each left without support from their families or peers, and that they're each desperately lonely as a result. Nemona is a star pupil, a battling prodigy, and daughter to a wealthy, powerful family. But despite all her talents she's left adrift without aim or goal. Her younger sister is the one being given control of the family business and Nemona's own talents set her apart from other students, meaning she struggles to find peers. Her family seem all too happy to focus on the younger sister, while Geeta from the Pokemon League and the academy itself happily makes use of Nemona's skills for their own ends. Nemona is constantly eager to please, always looking up to powerful people like Geeta and Professor Turo/Sada, but admits that she's just sort of floundering without any anchor. The people she looks up to only see her as a tool to be used and immediately discarded until the next time they need her.

A lot of Players joke about how battle obsessed Nemona is toward the Player, or how yandere jealous/possessive she becomes immediately upon meeting us. She even stands up to Geeta - who she absolutely hero worships - about our attention being poached. But can you really blame her for realizing there's finally someone who not only matches her skill, but seems dedicated to following a route the game itself states virtually nobody else in the region ever comes close to achieving? Nemona is not only the youngest Champion ever, but the only Champion in years, until the Player shows up. Regardless of what the person holding the console feels toward the Gym Challenge, in-context of the story the Player is proving through their own actions that they value Nemona as a friend/rival and are putting in genuine effort to meet her. When you defeat her, especially at the very end when she goes all out in a way she's never been able to with anyone else, she's thrilled. To Nemona, it's got to be the most amazing validation she's ever had in her life. Why wouldn't she hold on dearly and enthusiastically when nobody else, let alone her own family, are able to keep up with her or offer her the validation she needs?

Arven is just absolutely wrecked by his parental failure. His parent (Turo or Sada depending on which version you're playing) was so obsessed with their research in Area Zero that they threw away their entire family. Their spouse left them and took Arven, leaving the boy growing up constantly feeling the void of that missing part of their life. They keep hearing about the things their Professor Parent has accomplished and how well-regarded they are, but that's always just a reminder that the parent put more effort into their work than into being with their child. When Arven tries to go into Area Zero to find their parent himself, his Mabosstiff (his beloved Pokemon companion he's had literally his entire life) is near mortally injured as a result and Arven spends the rest of the game desperately trying to save it. Later, it's revealed that the Professor's work is endangering literally the entire ecosystem and stands to destroy Paldea itself, leaving Arven with the knowledge that not only was he abandoned for the sake of research, but that research was both ultimately harmful and pointless.

By the time the Player reaches the depths of Area Zero and meets the AI Professor, they find out a few things about the Professor. Namely that they're dead. It turns out that the Box Legendary they brought through time killed them years prior and the person the Player - and Arven - has been interacting with all throughout the game is just an AI replica left behind. While exploring the Professor's various labs, the Player first finds an empty picture frame that had its photo removed and, when in the final lab in the heart of Area Zero, they find the photo pinned to the Professor's work board. A photo of Arven as a tot with his beloved Pokemon (still an unevolved Maschiff at the time). This yields two big realizations. One is that the Professor still absolutely harbored love for their child and family, but allowed their drive - or possibly insanity - to overcome them. They were lying to themselves all those years saying "I'm doing this for my family" while outright ignoring said family entirely. Second is that the Player is the only one who learns outright that the Professor was killed, which means they - albeit off-screen - were the ones to break the news to Arven. Even in death, with the AI Professor's remnants of its creator's memories showing love for Arven, they failed him again and again. It's always up to Arven himself to carve his own way through his parent's wake, relying on his own abilities and the help of his friends, to struggle through the mess his parent left him.

Penny is failed on multiple fronts and to multiple degrees. She's a complete introvert and clearly suffers from a fair level of social anxiety due to the bullying she endured during her time at school. She's not shy, per say; when it comes to interacting with the Player and others, she's actually rather outspoken once she feels comfortable. But there's absolutely a wall put up that she doesn't let anyone past until she's ready, controlling her level of exposure and interaction through mediums like only communicating via phone or intentionally restricting her in-person time behind excuses.

At the most basic level, Penny is failed by her own father who doesn't understand her. She mentions that he's always doting, giving her childish nicknames and basically fawning over her. That sounds great on its face - exactly the sort of thing Nemona and Arven crave - but it shows that her father doesn't understand his daughter. Penny doesn't enjoy or respond well to that type of affection and it's being forced on her, causing a wedge in her home life. Next up are Penny's friends, the bosses of Team Star. They gained that rank and gang affiliation because of Penny; she's the one who set it up as a means of rallying all the students who suffered from constant bullying to stand up for themselves as a unified resistance. By that point she was so emotionally battered that she couldn't even stand to be in the company of other people directly, isolating herself and communicating only through phone calls. The Team Star Bosses and Penny all considered each other to be the closest of friends, yet they had never once met her face to face. While it's not explored as much (criminally so, I say) each of the Team Star Bosses show that they're in a similar state as Penny; they rely on each other for support but also self-expression and validation. It's shown throughout their stories that they're let down by the systems they trusted and their families, not able to find what they need from those establishments and instead turning toward one another.

As it's revealed through the events of the Team Star story, the previous administration of the Paldean Academy allowed a brutal level of bullying to go on at school. So much so that it resulted in the targeted students dropping out, falling to truancy, and literally forming a gang just to protect themselves from their aggressors. When Team Star finally did put their collective foot down (peacefully by both intent and action), they were wrongfully branded as the villains of the story and stigmatized. Team Star was shown that not only would adults not protect them, but would actively punish them for protecting themselves. The school admin at the time - who were fully aware of the whole situation - not only allowed it to happen but then actively attempted to cover it up for the sake of protecting their own asses. They were content to sit by and allow their own students to suffer, ultimately leading to drop outs and expulsions, just for their own sake. This led to both the admin and the entire teaching staff to resign and be replaced by the staff we see in the game, and Director Clavell starts to fall into the same error as his predecessor.

When the Player gets involved, Clavell is about to expel all the Team Star members for good (and there's a TON of them). But, hey, credit where it's due; Clavell really puts in the work and goes to considerable lengths to uncover the truth of what happened. He puts into motion the start of healing those wounds by setting aside not only his time, but his own ego for the sake of understanding his students, protecting them, and rectifying the mistakes of those who came before him. There's a part at the very end where Clavell outright apologizes to Team Star for the abuses they suffered at the hands of the previous Academy staff and deeply bows to them. That may not seem like much on its face, but one has to consider the context of this being a Japanese game. A major authority figure like Clavell bowing and apologizing to those younger than himself, let alone those he's an authority over, is a MAJOR demonstration of genuine regret.

That's not to say Clavell is perfect though. Far from it; while he succeeds in this area, he fails in others as he readily allows Geeta to use both the Academy and its students as she pleases. Geeta outright takes advantage of the students for unpaid labor - the Player included - even though none of them actually work for her. The teaching staff themselves, while all good people who are trying their best, show similar failures to varying degrees. Saguaro doesn't show who he really is because he's afraid of disrupting the image students have of him. Miriam - beloved by students for her skills and nature - languishes unable to fulfill her desire to be a teacher because the credential testing (presumably set by Geeta, who establishes similar needlessly exclusionary tests) keeps knocking her down. Hassel is endlessly harangued by his family to give up his passion for art and teaching to take the lead of their House.

It continues with the Gym Leaders and Elite Four as well, given how Geeta readily abuses her position of power to her own ends. All the Gym Leaders readily discuss their dislike of Geeta, how she holds them back or interferes with them, and the various shortcomings of their lives due to structural failures in their society. People like Larry, Brassius, Grusha, and Iono are wholly at the whims of capitalism in a region where the economy itself is tied directly to the Pokemon League they work for. Larry and Hassel pull double duty as both a Gym Leader and Academy Teacher, as well as members of the Elite Four, further showing how much Geeta is intentionally intertwining all these systems together into a narrow, unstable medium. Poppy, a LITERAL TODDLER, is somehow a member of the Elite Four - when Geeta doesn't even pay adults a living wage to be Gym Leaders/Elite Four and also readily takes advantage of students for free labor, you cannot possibly tell me Poppy isn't an overt case of child labor abuses. Seriously, who are this kid's parents and where the hell are they? Later in the game, Geeta calls the Player on their phone out of the blue and one of the responses you can give is "How did you get my number?". She replies that because you're a Champion, she has access to your personal information. Information you did not consent to give her, that she used her position to look up and privately contact you - a child - for work, without the consent or awareness of your parent. Geeta has set the Pokemon League in a way that best suits her desires and warped the entirety of Paldea around it, endangering and weakening other institutions as a result.

There's actually a lot more to this scattered throughout the game, such as a student who's languished in the Academy system for twenty years without graduating because he's constantly failing. Or everything that has to do with History Teacher Raifort. But this has already gone on long enough of a ramble. In summary, Pokemon S/V has some honestly interesting explorations of institutional and personal failure from the past and how it impacts the future. Themes of generational trauma wasn't what I expected out of a Pokemon game. I hope to see it expanded on in the coming DLC content or, even better, in the upcoming anime series.

[tickly-tufts]

Entertainment (N$FW)

@tickles-tea ordered a MEAN serving of spice… so this one is for the hardcore 18+ knismos

—————

CONTAINS: bondage, nudity, non-consensual tickling, forced orgasm

—————

The Tickler.

He’d been knocked out and kidnapped by the Tickler.

Miguel had always known his luck was bad, but the multiverse had to be mocking him at that point. It’d looked like such an easy mission, too, which was why he’d opted to go alone… except this variant was no common thief. If only he'd realized before it was too late.

He didn’t know where the villain had taken him, but it must’ve been some kind of personal base. Heavy metal clamps had been locked around his limbs, raising his arms and spreading his legs into a kneel-like position. He was fully elevated off the ground, held slightly below his usual eye-level, and while his hands and feet were technically free, he couldn’t reach anything with his talons.

And as if all of that weren’t bad enough... he’d been stripped right down to his boxers. Lyla would never let him live this down�� although, she'd have to reconnect with him first. Miguel felt a stab of unease at the thought.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, the Tickler making their official entrance. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long! I was just gathering a few of my tools.” Miguel glanced warily at the bag in their hands, which they proceeded to set on a nearby table. Then they faced him, beaming brightly. It was as unsettling as it was irritating.

“Let me go,” Miguel snarled, flashing his fangs as a threat. Rather than being intimidated, though, his captor simply looked intrigued.

“And why would I do that?” they countered simply. “It was so much trouble getting you down here. But now I have you all to myself, and I intend to make the most of it~”

The tone in which those last words were delivered was almost enough to make Miguel shudder. Without his watch, his suit, or even his clothes, he knew he was in a dangerous position. Variants of the Tickler were generally just a nuisance, but this one had defied every convention thus far.

“What do you even want from me? Information? Ransom?”

“Entertainment.”

Of all the answers they possibly could’ve given… that one promised to be the worst.

—

The Tickler’s very first tools of choice were a pair of mini feather dusters. They fluttered them around Miguel’s neck first, pouting when Miguel refused to give in.

“Aw, don’t pretend it doesn’t tickle! I can see your mouth twitching. Being stubborn won’t help.” They scoffed when Miguel pressed his lips into a line. “Well, can’t say I didn’t give you fair warning.”

Miguel had hoped to hold out longer, but then the dusters were tickling right under his arms. The feathers were silky against his bare hollows. He promptly burst into a fit of giggles.

“That’s more like it!” the Tickler preened, speeding up when they noticed Miguel’s arms were shaking. “Those muscles aren’t doing much for you, huh? Sure made you look tempting, though,” they winked.

The feathers really shouldn’t have been that bad, and yet the light tickling soon proved to be maddening. Every fiber of Miguel’s being urged him to twist away, to just lower his arms… but the clamps held firm.

“Knohock it ohohoff!” he tried to growl, though the effect was ruined by his giggling.

“Hm? Did you wanna switch things up already?” The Tickler dropped both dusters… then dove in with their fingers.

“AGH!” Miguel choked, then burst into laughter, unable to resist the Tickler’s expert touch. Manicured nails scratched and skittered with glee, unhindered by the hero’s biceps straining above them. “Dohon’t- noHOHO!” The villain’s fingers vibrated against the center of each underarm. Just when Miguel thought to try and bite them, the Tickler’s hands migrated downwards.

“Bet your ribs are ticklish, too!” This was quickly confirmed with a few clawing motions. “But honestly… I’m more interested in these abs.” Miguel flinched when the Tickler’s fingertips trailed lower. He couldn’t back up, so he tried sucking in when the villain began tracing along said abs. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t help, and he flushed when he noticed the Tickler’s amusement.

The tracing didn’t last very long, as the Tickler inevitably escalated. Two hands were soon dancing across Miguel’s midriff, spurred on by the peals of laughter that followed. Nails sunk into his lower belly when the softness there proved especially exploitable. The accompanying taunts about his ticklish tummy only exacerbated his embarrassment.

Targeting his navel next, the Tickler teased a finger around the rim. “Oh, I’ve got just the thing for this!” they said as they reached into their pocket. Miguel blanched when they revealed a lone feather, smaller yet fluffier than those on the dusters. “Any last words?” the Tickler asked, the puff far more threatening than it should’ve been.

Miguel had been doing his best to ignore it, but anxiety began to creep up on him. His life didn't seem to be at any risk, but… how long would he have to endure this? Did anyone know that he’d been kidnapped? How would they locate him once they’d realized?

For better or worse, these thoughts ground to a halt as soon as the feather slipped into his navel.

“Shit!” Miguel cursed before falling apart, the feather tickling more than he’d dared to imagine. He felt every bit of it against his skin, absurdly soft and endlessly swirling.

“Sometimes you just can’t beat the classics!” the Tickler spoke as if making conversation. “There’s just nothing as simple yet effective as a feather. Don’t you agree, Spiderman?”

The tickling continued for a full minute, during which Miguel struggled to catch his breath. When the villain finally did step back, they didn’t take their implement with them.

“Gehet it ohohout!” Miguel squirmed, still overly aware of the feather’s presence. The Tickler simply gave it another twirl. “¡AY- BASTARDO!”

“Seems perfect where it is~”

With that, the Tickler happily moved on, forcing Miguel to cope with yet another indignity. Even just panting made the feather’s fronds shift, tickling enough that Miguel struggled to stop smiling.

“You’ve just got the cutest little waist,” the Tickler teased next, pinching Miguel’s sides. “And nice hips, too,” they continued, dropping down to give those a squeeze. “Ohh, you like that?” they observed when Miguel jolted at the action. He cackled when they dug into the dips, thumbs rubbing firm and relentless circles.

“Heh, I knew you’d be super ticklish. Got a sixth sense for that sort of thing. The second I saw you, I could tell you’d be fun… but somehow, you’re even more ticklish than I thought!” Against his best efforts, Miguel blushed, much to the Tickler’s obvious delight. Even worse, their gaze soon wandered down to Miguel’s parted thighs.

They reached out both hands to knead the thick muscles, grinning when they were rewarded with a screech. “Did I hit a sweet spot?” the Tickler mused. “Let’s see how loud you can really get~”

“¡MIERDA! NOHOHO!” Miguel writhed as the Tickler honed in on his inner thighs. They scribbled their way down to his knees, then lightly pinched a path back upwards. As they neared the top, they switched scratching, which proved ruthlessly effective. Then they slipped past the edges of his boxers, burrowing right into the creases of his thighs. “SHOCK! DOHOHON’T-!” was all Miguel managed, before he lost the ability to form words. The laughter that followed was nothing short of frenzied, and soon enough, there were tears welling up in his eyes.

The Tickler lingered there for what seemed an eternity, right at the edges of Miguel’s boxers. It was only when something new caught their eye that they stopped… then smirked openly. “Well, looks like someone’s getting excited. Are you actually enjoying this?”

Miguel’s face burned when he realized what they meant. Despite everything… he was getting hard.

The physical response was involuntary, of course. Almost unavoidable, which the Tickler knew. The captive hero’s humiliation was a treat, though, and they fully intended to savor it. Following the outline of Miguel’s cock, the Tickler started teasing him through his boxers.

“No!” Miguel gasped, trying to jerk backwards, but there was simply no getting away.

It tickled more than it had any right to. His boxers might’ve even made it worse. The villain’s fingers slid over the material with ease, skimming ticklishly along his length.

“Stohohop! STOHOP!” he ordered frantically, unable to resist the stimulation. It would’ve been nice if it weren’t a blatant violation… and it was only going to get worse.

“Alright, that should be enough for now.” The Tickler withdrew sooner than expected. But then, before Miguel could relax, they pulled out a small blade and slashed right through the fabric. Just like that, Miguel was exposed, his only scrap of clothing falling off in tatters. “Time for some attention in the back!” Miguel’s heart plummeted in his chest.

Skipping out of Miguel’s line of sight, the Tickler soon whistled appreciatively behind him. “And I thought the view from the front was great. Ever think of modeling instead of being a hero?” What came next should’ve been predictable, yet it still managed to catch Miguel off guard. Fingers pinched playfully at his ass… and because everything was against him, even that tickled.

“Was that a squeak?” His captor sounded gleeful. “I was so hoping you’d be ticklish back here!” Then hands were massaging both his cheeks, and Miguel could only cackle through his mortification.

It was ridiculous, humiliating, and only got worse when one of the feather dusters reappeared. Miguel couldn’t see it, but he could certainly feel it, laughter pitching higher at the soft sensation. The Tickler was thorough in their ministrations, dusting all over Miguel’s rear. They attacked from every angle, until inevitably-

“AH! Not there!”

Miguel froze, pure dread flooding in as soon as he realized his mistake. Deathly silence followed… tension building… with every second that ticked by. He was doomed. They both knew it. The suspense was entirely unnecessary. Even so, the Tickler made him wait…

Until the feather duster was right between his cheeks.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle!” The villain taunted as Miguel exploded into helpless hysterics. They used one hand to spread him further while the other continued wiggling the duster. The motion was overwhelmingly ticklish, enough for the tears in Miguel’s eyes to spill over. They rolled down his face as he wrenched at his bonds, unable to find even a second of relief.

Miguel’s composure collapsed further when the feathering migrated towards his front. Sliding down his cleft and across his taint, it was clear where the Tickler was headed next. They took a quick detour at his thighs, just to goad him that much more. It was only when Miguel was ready to snap that the duster finally settled over his cock.

“¡PUTA MADRE!” he swore violently, before mirth fully overtook him. Feathers enveloped his testicles, along with a good portion of his shaft. It was then that the second duster returned, fluttering directly over his head. With that, his whole length was nestled in softness, ticklish plumes caressing every inch.

“Such a feather-ticklish cock~” the villain cooed over Miguel’s anguish. “I could just stay right here forever~” They wiggled the dusters even faster.

“SH- NOHO-!” Miguel struggled to speak, to say anything that might earn him a reprieve. “P-Plehehease!” he finally cracked, too flustered to maintain the illusion of pride.

“What was that?” The Tickler lit up. “Could you say that again for me, Spiderman?”

Begging felt like giving up, but what choice did really he have?

"Please!" he repeated in English first, and when that wasn't enough, he fell into Spanish. "¡Por favor, no puedo más!" Each appeal was an uphill battle through laughter. The Tickler basked in his desperation, drawing it out until they were satisfied. "Well, since you asked so nicely, I suppose we are due for a little break."

Little proved to be an understatement. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few moments. Once Miguel was no longer on the verge of passing out, the Tickler resumed, focus still between his legs. Embarrassingly, Miguel was erect, the array of feathers having done their job.

“How rude of me, leaving you like this… It’s only right that I finish what I started.”

Miguel didn’t like the sound of that at all.

The Tickler turned toward the bag they’d brought, rummaging around inside for a bit. “Ah, here we are!” They spun back around… donning a pair of sleek, furry gloves.

“Don’t-“ Miguel’s voice shook. “Please… don’t.”

With a terrifyingly innocent smile, the Tickler reached down and started rubbing.

Miguel shrieked. That was the only word for it. Every touch of the gloves tickled like hell. Every stroke and fondle was accompanied by fur, equal parts titillating and torturous.

“This material’s actually an invention of mine,” the Tickler admitted casually. “I designed it to be soft, exactly as instructed, but all our testers said it was unbearable on skin.” The Tickler circled the tip of Miguel’s cock with a single fluffy finger. “They were right, of course, but I’d put in so much work. I couldn’t just let it go to waste.”

Eventually, just as promised, Miguel came in spite of himself. The Tickler didn’t halt at all in their motions, rubbing Miguel through his moaning, sobbing laughter.

“Fun fact,” they announced once Miguel was spent. “Sensitivity tends to spike right after an orgasm.”

Miguel couldn’t keep himself from trembling, cock still resting in the villain’s gloved palm.

“Please… there has to be something else you want…” Something, anything beyond making him suffer.

“Aww, poor thing,” the villain commiserated, before their smirk returned in full force. “Unfortunately for you, this is all I want, and we still have so many toys to try. Now, cry pretty for me, alright?”

Miguel let out a broken whimper.

—

Spiderman did not kill. No matter the villain, no matter their actions, killing was simply not on the table. Peter B. Parker knew that, of course. It’d been his policy for over 20 years.

Even so, he had to remind himself before hurling the Tickler through the nearest wall.

“Miguel!” Peter shouted once the villain was down, concern overshadowing everything else. When he’d arrived, the Tickler had been raking at Miguel’s thighs with clawed finger caps. By all accounts, Miguel should’ve screamed. The treatment was certainly brutal enough. Instead, his agony had been near silent, made evident only by a fresh stream of tears.

“Por favohohor… noho mahahás… Plehehease…” Miguel babbled, shivering in his restraints. At first, Peter assumed he was feeling aftershocks, only to realize his torment wasn’t actually over.

Vibrating brushes had been strapped to his soles, centered just enough to avoid his toe talons. Peter pulled them off, crushing both in his hands, then returned to Miguel’s front, gaze dropping low. He winced as he eyed Miguel’s weeping cock, two buzzing egg vibrators taped to the shaft. He took a steadying breath before crouching down, removing every bit of it with care.

After that, Miguel calmed, visibly sagging with relief. Peter reached out to cradle his face, only for Miguel to flinch away. “Migs, it’s just me…” Peter’s voice wobbled, his heart tightening in his chest. Fortunately, the nickname seemed to spark some awareness, and Miguel began to recover himself.

“P… Peter?” he croaked weakly, watery eyes coming back into focus.

“Yes! I’ve got you!” Peter pressed in close, wiping Miguel’s tears away with his knuckles. “I’ll have you out of there and back home soon.”

True to his word, Peter freed Miguel quickly, then wrapped his own robe around Miguel’s body. As soon as Jess acknowledged his ping, he left the villain for her, out cold and webbed-up. Tapping his watch, he opened a portal directly to 616B. When Miguel’s legs refused to cooperate, Peter scooped him up and carried him through.

—

Waking back up was a gradual process, made more difficult by pure fatigue. Nonetheless, Miguel persisted, drawn forth by the gentle hand in his hair. When he eventually opened his eyes, a soft sky blue was there to greet him.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” MJ murmured, her smile an absolutely breathtaking sight. Her hand moved carefully from his hair to his cheek, and Miguel instantly leaned into the contact.

“How long was I…” Unconscious? Captive? Miguel wasn’t sure which he wanted to ask. Without missing a beat, MJ answered both questions, frowning as she recalled the worst of it.

“You were missing for all of yesterday… then Peter got you home around 4am.” MJ had stayed up waiting for them, of course. “You’ve been asleep for around 10 hours.”

At that, Miguel attempted to sit up, only to discover he was being held down. Peering over his shoulder revealed a slumbering Peter, one arm and one leg slung over Miguel’s form.

“He was really worried,” MJ explained. “Didn’t tell me much, but…”

“You saw how I was.”

MJ’s brow furrowed, her own worry clear, but Miguel knew she wouldn’t ask until he was ready.

"Wanna see Mayday?" she asked instead, offering him the balm of domesticity. It made him feel warm... and more importantly... safe.

"I'd love to," he accepted gratefully.

[good-beanswrites]

I’m thinking about the angst of the restraints headcanon again. There’s the two with the least physically violent crimes, and they rank relatively low in strength. There’s the child who was violent but had to be really crafty about it; she’s the weakest of all of them. And the most dangerous of the guilty prisoners cannot be restrained.

This makes me so emotional!!! All three are the smallest of their circles. Two of them are extremely ordinary people who have never experienced/expressed physical violence before. One hadn't even fathomed the idea of someone dying until they actually did. And yet, they're subjected to the type of restraints you'd expect to see on someone who is uncontrollably violent. The fact that prisoners who committed very gruesome murders can walk free (including Mikoto) just adds insult to injury. I still couldn't everything into words, but here's a Mahiru-centric drabble featuring the same thoughts. It takes place after T1 closes but before the attacks.

“Where are our rights?”

Fuuta’s shout caused Mahiru to wince. She perched on her bedding, watching the two prisoners she’d invited to her cell. It hadn’t been the fun kind of invitation, though. Back in school, she always wanted to have parties and dates back at her place. Moving to the city, she imagined what it would be like to make university friends and take them back home with her to talk, eat, and have fun. 

Sitting in her dim gray cell with Fuuta and Amane, all of them held fast by complex sets of restraints, was not what she’d had in mind.

Amane knelt in the corner. Her arms were crossed, as if pouting, though the opposite was true. A moment ago her eyes had lowered in prayer, but it was difficult to find any peace of mind now. Fuuta snapped and shouted as he paced the length of the cell bars. They were unlocked, but like the others, he didn’t feel like being out in front of everyone. He’d give his uniform a violent jerk every now and then, but it didn’t do any good. Between his strides and growls, he made Mahiru think of those poor wild animals they keep at the circus.

“Take it easy, Fuuta.” She mustered up a smile. “Come rest with us.”

“I can’t believe you two. You’re just gonna sit here and take it? I didn’t do a fucking thing! They’re acting like I’m some big danger to society,” he yanked his arms again, to no avail. “All I did was type some things onto a screen. I’m not gonna go around stabbing anyone or anything. And you, you didn’t hurt anyone either!”

He nodded his head to Mahiru. If her arms weren’t already folded over her chest, she would have hugged herself anyway. 

“Well… I did hurt him in the end… I broke his heart badly enough that… I mean, he…”

Fuuta made a disgusted sound. “That’s all stupid romance stuff. I’m saying, you never stabbed him. Never strangled him. Never poisoned his food, or –”

“Oh god, no! How horrible…”

“Exactly! From what we’ve heard, it sounds like Haruka killed someone with his bare hands. I think Muu had a knife or something. Shidou had a whole arsenal of grisly doctor tools. Kotoko has openly talked about how she beat that guy to death. Why are they allowed to walk free while we’re tied down like wild animals?”

Mahiru was glad she hadn’t mentioned the circus.

“And Amane! It’s not like she did anything violent, and here she is!”

“That is not true.”

Both paused as Amane spoke up for the first time. 

“Eh?”

“While I disagree with my verdict, the restraints make sense.” The others still stared blankly. As matter-of-fact as always, she continued. “I killed with my own hands. I used the amount of force I was instructed to. Just as the sinner fears the wrath of heaven, I can understand how the godless warden would fear my justice.”

Fuuta’s passion wavered, but Mahiru could feel her heart ache for the girl. “Oh Amane… I had no idea. To be pushed to the point of violence at your age…”

“I am not to be pitied. As I said, I am dangerous, and proud to be. I am doing god’s work. All heroes must be dangerous.”

Fuuta grunted, but said nothing. Mahiru gave her a gentle smile. “It’s not pity. Even if you were dangerous, it’s horrible to restrain someone like you. You’ve already had to brave so much, as the smallest of the bunch.”

She looked between the two. A sad laugh escaped her. “Now that I think of it, I guess we’re all the smallest here, hm? Aside from maybe Muu, we don’t have much height or strength on the others…”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Fuuta cried. “The fuck do they think we’re going to do?” Mahiru was just glad he’d focused on that rather than the fact she’d just called him weak. 

Voices raised in conversation down the hallway. Mikoto’s laugh echoed faintly into the cell.  

It warmed Mahiru to hear. Things had been so hard on him here. Though it had been frightening to hear him shouting at the restraints til his voice was raw – well, it wasn’t him shouting – it had been a relief when he appeared free and relaxed the following day. He seemed sheepish that he wasn’t able to help the others, having no memory of his escape. Mahiru just kept telling him how happy she was for him.

Fuuta didn’t share in the sentiment. “Meanwhile, Mikoto gets to stroll around free, and he beat the shit out of Es! He could snap and kill any one of us here, and they don’t even give a damn. But ooohhh, god forbid the guy who’s never been violent a day in his life is allowed to use his own two hands!”

The harshness of his voice wasn’t doing his argument many favors. Still, his words were beginning to get through to Mahiru. 

She’d worked so hard to be a model citizen. She was supposed to have a perfect life. She could cook, clean, sew, and take care of children. She did herself up every day; she was never a slob or a slut. She was generous to everyone she met. She showered the world around her in love. Wasn’t it unfair that her hands were tied like some common criminal? What was all that effort for – being patient when people upset her, being kind even when she disagreed with someone, all of that – if she was going to end up in the same place as someone who had stabbed another out of sheer malice?

Amane didn’t seem to be whirling with the same doubts. She closed her eyes once more. “It is simply a trial from heaven. We may be small, but all of us have an internal strength that will carry us through the ordeal.”

“I don’t think it’s any sort of religious thing, but you’re right,” Fuuta puffed his chest out. “Trials like this only make people stronger!” 

“Do you think so?” Mahiru wasn’t sure if she was asking either of them or just musing to herself. It was a nice thought. This was all part of destiny, something meant to be that would make her stronger in the end. 

But she wasn’t so sure she believed in destiny anymore. It hadn’t quite worked out the first time. 

“Hell yeah!” Fuuta must have assumed she was in fact asking him. He gave a wide, toothy grin. “It’s not like we can get any weaker, right? The warden better watch out next trial – they’ve got a big storm coming!”

[halfamask]

I’m in love with big brother Yusei.

Yusei taking Leo on rides in his duel runner in the evenings while listening to Leo talk his ear off about all his duels at the academy and the new cards he’s got and pouting about whatever Luna and dexter made fun of him for. Yusei letting Leo tinker on his duel runner with him when he’s got too much pent up energy to do homework, teaching him how to use the different tools. And then making sure he still does his homework after. Giving him dueling tips and teaching him how to throw a proper punch at the punching bag he and crow + jack keep in a corner.

Yusei listening to Luna talk about the book she just finished or the interesting card theory she learned that day, paying rapt attention. Luna sitting silently next to Yusei while he tinkers because sometimes the world is too loud and Yusei gets that. Luna being initially apprehensive of Jack and Yusei telling him in a low voice about Luna’s new book fascination or whatever so jack can check it out and ask her about it. Yusei keeping track of all of Luna’s new interests at the moment, whether it’s a trap card or a book series or her attempts to learn German or her random deep dives into the origins of her favorite fairy tales. He knows when she’s into what and asks her about them and lets her talk at him while he tinkers, and she sits by him and has observed him so closely she knows exactly what tool he needs just by what bike part he’s looking at and when to hand it to him. She doesn’t ask to go on rides on his duel runner like Leo does but Yusei catches her staring at it so he offers and she immediately says yes and he smiles while strapping the smaller helmet he bought for them on her. He pretends to be sneaky about taking her out for a spin so Leo doesn’t insist on joining. They both know Leo’s aware of them going but Leo’s always been the energetic one whom people are drawn to and Luna appreciates that Yusei makes such a point of having one on one time with her.

The twins falling asleep in the garage apartment because it was a long day at school and Yusei putting his jacket over them and turning his music down. Yusei teaching them to cook because they are, fundamentally, rich kids and thus have never actually set foot in their kitchen except to grab a snack. Yusei coming to their parent teacher meetings like “guys are you sure this is okay” (Leo’s like “of course it is Yusei you’re legally an adult and also a hero so they can’t say no to you!” while Luna actually filled out the forms beforehand). The kids dragging him to the card shop. Them learning more about the Satellite when they visit with Yusei + co. I just. Big bro Yusei guys

[thecorpuscorpse]

#6- An Anonymous Source

CW: Knife use and blood, some 'fighting', mild kidnapping

It had been two months since the sealed letters began showing up on Villains bedroom window at night when they weren't there. Each one with a different wax embellishment on the front, made of paper worn with time, and never signed. The swirling perfection of the calligraphy was unlike anything Villain had seen before, just like the words they formed. Five letters were stacked on the desk, and the sixth Villain held by the lamplight, eyes scanning over words they always wished to hear. In brief moments, they almost believed them.

The life they lived was not as tender as the words directed at them. There was no beauty in bloodshed- not anymore, at least. Yet, whoever seemed to be hiding in their blind spot thought otherwise. With how long they ran Headquarters, it was refreshing to have a little spice in the routine of wondering who thought so highly of someone as lowly as them.

After sending their squads out for recon, Villain remained tucked away in their office at headquarters to keep an eye on cameras when one detected movement in the server room. Villain knew each employee schedule inside and out- after all, they arranged each one. Within the orchestrated machine-like facility Villain spent so many years building up, the blaring alarm was akin to grinding gears.

Hero.

Every so often, Hero would figure out a new password Villain set, or intercept shipment plans that then would lead Villain to foil Heros plans, and the process would repeat in a few weeks. It was so hard to find good help nowadays, so Villain found handling Hero a nice break from handling paperwork. There was monotony in routine, but at least they could take their impatience with their anonymous admirer out on the other.

"Dammit... now of all times, Hero?" They snapped as they stood from their desk.

As much as the alarm irked them, Villain was more irritated their work was being interrupted. Scanners failed to pick up any DNA trace, leading them to another dead end. Somewhere, someone saw Villain and thought fondly of them. For a while, the simple knowledge of it was enough to qualm the loneliness, but now was more of a curse. They called the author a coward. They called the letters a trap. Yet, Villain headed down the hall to pursue a perpetrator after they stayed up until four in the morning... again... to read the letters in hope something would tell them who claimed to adore them so.

The door to the server room was ajar, main lights turned out. The dull glow of blinking red, blue and yellow lights cast shadows on the wall in varied patterns. The main lights were shorted, forcing them to identify misplaced figures in the dim light. It only dug further into Villains impatience with the matter. Against the low hum of the computers, a tinny clank echoed near the back wall.

Villain kept steady strides slow, mindful of the linoleum under their shoes and how quiet their breath was. Silence, as well as any leverage, was better than none, and it worked to Villains virtue when it guided the blade to the turned back of who they knew was tampering with their tech.

"I don't have time for you tonight, Hero," Villain said as they pressed the knife against their spine. "There is plenty of work for me as is without you getting involved."

Dressed in all-black, which happened to be quite flattering for the Hero, they tuned after setting their tools down and raising their hands. Villain took a step forward and pressed the edge to their throat.

"That's why I figure I'd lighten the load~" Hero said, offering an innocent shrug. "By-"

"Yes, yes, thwarting my recruitment of more people through disrupting our log system," Villain droned, pressing the blade harder. "Now really, I do have pressing matters to attend to."

There was a static in the air, and not from the whirring machines around them. The more Villain stood in it, the more irritated they got. It showed in the quick right cross-swing of butt-end of the knife towards Heros head before the move was blocked by Heros hand.

"Wow, whats the matter with you?" Hero mused with a shit-eating grin as he twisted Villains arm into a lock behind their back. The knife clattered onto the floor. "Not very like you to 'not have time for me', Villain. Plus, what a sloppy execution."

"You don't know me, Hero," Villain hummed with a smile in their voice, flexing their hand under Heros grip. "So I'll show you a real sloppy execution."

Villain dug their heel into Heros foot, and used the momentum to twist them to slam into the server paneling. With the grip loosened, Villain snaked away and went for the knife. It was only a second more before Villain was swept off their feet- literally- and hit the ground.

"Yeah, that was pretty sloppy too," Hero said as they went to further restrain the fallen Villain. "You're making me jealous, don't tell me there's another Hero you have to go cause havoc for~ Ugh, I'll be heartbroken!"

Villain struggled against Heros grasp, writhing and twisting their body so they could never get a solid pin. While Hero had their brawn at their side, Villain knew it was only a matter of leverage.

"I do, but they aren't a Hero~"

They took the moment Hero stalled in their attempts to pin them down to get their lets out to kick Hero back, knocking the wind out of them. Villain went for the knife again and came up behind Hero to hold the knife to their throat again.

"Bullshit," Hero gasped out, though an amused smile graced their stupid face. "I can barely tolerate you as it is."

Villain contemplated for a moment. What harm would a white lie do when they didn't even know who was writing the letters? There would be no one else to go after. It would be nice to pretend- Villain did it enough as it was.

"Oh, you should hear how they talk about their love for my vile and vulgar ways Hero. How they adore the plans of misery I make for the thousands," Villain gripped Heros hair and tilted their head back to look at them proper. "And the tongue they have..."

"Then why aren't you with them now?"

"Because I'm dealing with you," Villain said as their jaw set. "A thorn in my side since we crossed paths, and always coming back like a damn infection," They brought the edge up against Heros neck. "You are pestiferous- a plague in my life every time your head pops up." Villain narrowed their eyes, bringing small beads of blood against the blade. "And I think I'm going to purge the source tonight."

"Then do it."

Below them, there was a rumble followed by a blaring alarm from what Villain assumed was a few floors down. It only took one distracted second for Hero grab Villains wrist and flip them over and onto their back before they dove behind a rack of server blocks. There was a flash, and the room filled with smoke. The colors against the smoke were disorienting, yet once Villain got hold of their knife, they could barely make out a figure escaping through one of the vents.

"One thing after a-fucking-nother..." Villain hissed as they ran out from the server room and towards the blaring fire alarm down below.

Once done dealing with the aftermath of a blown-apart storage unit, Villain trudged back up to their office and collapsed in their chair. It was now six in the morning, and looking at the camera they had set up to face their bedroom window at home- no letter to be seen on the window. They pushed their hair back with a sigh, before deciding to freshen up there, and continuing their monotonous work for their empire, with breaks reading loving words Villain needed to hear after such a long night.

---

The seventh letter was different than the rest.

It had taken longer than the rest to arrive- almost a month later than the last one, when the others came once or twice a week. Nights were seemingly endless when Villain would simply stare at the window from the camera. They knew if they were home, they wouldn't arrive, and so they worked long into the night, going home every few days to make sure their plants were watered.

Unlike the other ornate and delicately put together envelopes, the newest came in a simple black one. The handwriting was reminiscent of the others yet the words scrawled unsteadily. The droning news anchor in the background discussed the impending weather as Villain attempted to make sense of everything they were reading.

What was said was not the romantic poetry they were used to, of regrets and promises they wished to keep to Villain of seeing them, of truly being with them and being sure there would be nothing keeping them apart anymore.

The signature at the bottom made Villains heart sink. Not because of who had written the confession they read. Not because it was from someone they wouldn't have wanted at all. But because it wasn't a signature at all.

Except a smear of blood.

Villains head felt light, the corners of their vision hazing a little as they tried to make sense of what it all meant. They sat down in their chair, still staring at the letter before them. It wasn't until the news anchor interrupted their broadcast with breaking news.

'The beloved and respected savior of our beautiful city, Hero, has officially been pronounced dead today by coroners after their body had been returned to city officials by an anonymous source. Further details the cause to be released.'

"No..."

They took a long look at the radio, eyes wide in disbelief as their mind began to piece everything together. In a moment, they were at their sequencer and after they got a sample of the paper, pulled out their knife. What little blood left from their fight with Hero remained, and they flaked off the dry remains in the other bottle. Time blurred as they waited, walking crop circles into their carpet while the machine processed the samples.

They didn't see anyone on the cameras the night before. No sound, no disturbance. First nothing was on the window, and when daylight broke, there it was. They hadn't dealt with Hero recently, which they only grew to notice the more they thought.

They couldn't settle down, and any time their office door was knocked on, they would simply throw a book at it and tell whoever it was to bother them tomorrow. Word must have gone around because soon the knocking stopped and Villain was left alone with the machine, which whirred just like the servers did their last night with Hero.

They were pulled out of their mind when the machine stopped, and the face glowed green with the information Villain already put together in their walk about their office.

DNA Sequencing Completed- Results: 100% Match

---

Villain drummed their thumb against the steering wheel of the car. Occasionally, it would follow the tempo of their racing heart, or the shake in their muscles from the adrenaline in their blood. The timer they set on their phone for five minutes was halfway through. Villain regretted even permitting that much time to wait. It had been too long already, and with any more time, they could be too late.

Three minutes and no sign. Villain shifted in their seat, instead now tapping their foot and squeezing their hands together. The last they slept was indistinct, waiting for the right moment to make their next move. A drastic one, which would leave more loose ends than they would like, but it was just as a drastic situation they had on their hands.

Four minutes and Villain was getting ready to get out and handle the ordeal themselves. They checked to make sure their gun was loaded, as they did a dozen or so times before even though they hadn't used it. Before they reached the door handle, the passenger side opened to Villains relief.

"Very good. Hurry up." Villain said, gesturing with the gun to get in.

Five minutes was all Villain needed. As they sped off, the silence was cushioned by the low hum of the car. Villain didn't know what to think. What to say. What if, in the time they were gone, Hero was too? The thoughts were heavy as Villain drove, until their passenger pulled them out of their head.

"I shouldn't be doing this..."

"Then why are you." Villain said, rather than asked.

"Well, you told me with a gun to my head that you hunt me down and kill my girlfriend in front of me, then send my body parts to various family members."

"Good memory, and I will if you make any attempts to run."

"Good to know..." The accomplice said with a tight-lipped smile before looking down at the bag.

"And... I'm helping someone, aren't I?" They asked after another moment of passing silence. "Someone you care about?"

There was a thick lump that sunk into Villains throat. It irked them to know they had to get outside sources with such a high risk, but they were pushed to no other choice. They offered a single, but humble nod before turning off onto a dirt road.

"What the fuck did you say you did again?"

"I'm a first assistant," they said as they shuffled the medical bag on their lap while twisting the handles nervously. "Not quite a surgeon, but I'm getting there."

"Of course, I pick up the intern in the operating room..." Villain uttered as they watched the road. The car, being small, only allowed the young surgeon to hear the remark clearly.

"The operating rooms of the ICU," they huffed a bit too confidently for Villains liking. "Much more intense and less room for error. I mostly make sure the room is clean but I do help with sutures, and other general care."

With a less than patient sigh, Villain parked the car in the driveway and looked the young surgeon square in the face, gun held towards them with a finger threatening pressure on the trigger.

"Keep your attitude in check, and keep them alive." They said flatly. "Both the person I'm bringing you to, and your girlfriend."

It had just been the two of them since Hero showed up battered, beaten and bloodied just two weeks before. They hadn't gotten better and while Villain was good at many things, medical diagnosis weren't one of them. They took leave from work to get Hero somewhere more secluded than Villains home closer to the city.

When Hero was awake, Villain limited themselves to one question because Hero would get winded from speaking too much. Day by day, they learned how Hero wanted things to be different, not only for themselves only, but between the two. How they grew to love Villain, admire them and respect them, to want them yet be restricted from doing so. Hero detailed how they convinced a select few to assist them in faking their death with a glow which made Villain hopeful, but then Hero fell asleep before telling them how it went, and hadn't woke up since. It'd been three days.

With a nervous nod in understanding, the two got out of the car, and Villain walked the man to the house with a gun drawn on them the entire way. Sleepless nights were still to come, yet there was a bit more relief in knowing Hero stood more of a chance now. Villain hoped they didn't make a mistake, for Hero wouldn't be able to survive it.

[trixy812]

006 - Ambushed.

{Erwin Smith x reader}

⁀➴ Content: erwin smith x reader, levi is a really good person, reader is a victim of her own circunstanes, reader!soldier, tw: implied sa, angst, love it is not the end just a part of the story, self-love

⁀➴ Summary: You are recuited by Erwin Smith. He saved you from hell but, you need much more from him.

⁀➴AN: A couple of years ago, I sent this idea as a request, if you see something similar then, you will know it was me who sent it because I do not remember if I did it as an anon or with my username. I like the end of this. Please let me know what you think! :)

༘⋆📼˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚༘⋆📼˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚༘⋆📼˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚༘⋆📼˚

The gray skies and dense air of Mitras District were memories that never left your mind. The day Erwin Smith entered your life, the walls around you seemed to close in and open up all at once. You had been passed from one aristocrat to another for as long as you could remember, treated as an exotic commodity because of your distinctive features that set you apart from the average population. To them, you were nothing more than a form of entertainment. However, that hellish cycle ended the moment Commander Erwin Smith extended his hand to you.

“With the secrets you've overheard, you could change the course of this fight,” he said in a voice that left no room for argument. He knew you had learned more than you ever wanted about the vices, frauds, and conspiracies the elite sought to conceal. It was a recruitment based on your traumas, but to you, it was an opportunity to escape your personal hell and become useful to someone like him.

Since then, you had served faithfully as one of his trusted aides. But your role in the Scout Regiment was unique. Erwin, aware of your past experiences, sent you on covert missions where you used your charisma to secure funding from wealthy nobles and merchants. Though you were aware of the morally gray nature of your tasks, you never questioned them. You were grateful to be useful, to be noticed by him—even if it was in that way.

You admired him, almost to the point of reverence. To you, he was a hero, someone who had given you not only a new life but also a purpose. Over time, however, that admiration deepened into something more. You couldn’t help but watch his imposing figure, his determined gaze, the way he commanded with both authority and compassion. You were in love with him, though you knew he likely would never see you the same way.

One night, after a long meeting, you overheard a conversation between Erwin and Levi. The latter, questioned the commander about the missions he continued to send you on. Erwin’s words sent a chill through your body:

“You know these donations wouldn’t last without her. It’s a necessary sacrifice.”

Your heart sank. Was that all you were to him? A tool to fund his dream?

That same night, after much deliberation, you summoned the courage to confront him. You found him in his office, absorbed in maps and strategic documents. Taking a deep breath, you spoke.

“Erwin,” you began, your voice barely audible, “do I... do I matter to you only for the money I bring to the regiment? Or do I mean something to you as a person?”

He looked up, his expression as stoic as ever. But his piercing, analytical eyes revealed something deeper. He took a moment before responding, the silence between you stretching painfully.

“y/n,” he began, his tone serious yet warm, “everything I do is for the sake of humanity. The decisions I make aren’t always fair or easy. You’ve been vital to our progress, but it would be a lie to say I only value you for that.”

He paused, letting his words settle before continuing.

“You are more than a tool to me. Your loyalty, your courage… they mean more than I can express. But my priorities will always lie with our mission. If that hurts you, I have no right to ask for your forgiveness.”

His words were a mix of comfort and brutal honesty, as was typical of Erwin—a man bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, unable to fully give himself to anyone, no matter how much he might want to.

You stared at him, feeling a mixture of pain and determination. “If I’m truly more than just a tool to you,” you began, stepping closer, “then I want you to do something for me. It’s the least you can do after all I’ve sacrificed.”

He raised an eyebrow, a mix of confusion and caution crossing his face. “What do you want?”

“I want to spend the night with you, Erwin,” you declared, your tone serious even as your chest tightened with nerves. “For once, I want to be with someone I care about—because I’m always with grotesque, cruel men...” The words spilled out as an emotion-laden whisper. “And if you can’t meet this condition... I’ll leave the regiment.” As soon as the words escaped, you realized the weight of what you had said.

Erwin’s gaze bore into you, as if trying to decipher every corner of your mind. He couldn’t tell if you were bluffing, but he couldn’t afford to take the risk. The regiment depended on you more than he cared to admit.

The silence was worse than any reproach. His intense blue eyes scrutinized you, leaving you feeling utterly exposed. The pressure was too much, and you sank to your knees in front of him.

“It’s not true! I’d never leave the regiment! Please, forgive me, Commander,” you sobbed, covering your face with your hands. “I was an idiot to speak to you like that... You saved me from hell, and I...” Your words dissolved into broken cries.

“Stand up, y/n,” he said, his tone characteristically firm yet calm. His voice was an anchor in the storm of your emotions. Hesitantly, you obeyed, rising to your feet as his hand rested on your arm.

Erwin didn’t look away, and what he said next left you breathless. “What you’ve asked for will happen, but it will be a one-time thing. And we will never speak of it again.”

You hadn’t expected that response, but you couldn’t find the words to oppose him. You nodded silently as Erwin calmly walked to the door to lock it.

That night, you shared something you never thought possible. Being with Erwin, both of you vulnerable and exposed—not just physically but emotionally—was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. In his arms, without words, you felt safe.

The intimacy of being held by someone you admired so deeply was incomparable to anything you had endured before. It was different: there was no demand, only a silent understanding between two people carrying their own burdens.

As your breaths synchronized, you knew this wouldn’t change anything for him. But for you, it was enough. For once, you had been with someone you truly wanted.

When you opened your eyes, the soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains of Erwin’s office. He was already awake, staring at the ceiling with a calm yet distant expression. You were still in his arms, but the warmth of the previous night had been replaced by a cold reality.

“It’s time to get up, y/n,” he said softly, gently pulling away. His tone was respectful yet final, as if he wanted to draw a clear line between what had happened and what was to come.

You dressed in silence, avoiding his gaze. As you adjusted your shirt, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made a mistake by risking everything. But at the same time, that night had given you a sense of intimacy you’d never known, and you couldn’t entirely regret it.

Before you left the room, he spoke. “This doesn’t change our responsibilities. I expect you to continue fulfilling your duties as you always have.” There was no reproach in his voice, but his words reinforced that this had been an isolated event, nothing more.

As the days passed, things seemed to return to normal, but you knew something inside you had shifted. You no longer felt invisible under his gaze. You knew he saw you as more than a tool. Yet his commitment to the cause would always outweigh any personal bond. Your feelings for him deepened, but you began questioning your role in the regiment. Was it enough to keep serving him, or did you need to find a purpose beyond being his loyal ally?

On the other hand, Erwin remained just as focused on his mission. However, there were subtle signs that the night had affected him as well—longer-than-usual glances, a slight softness in his voice when he spoke to you—that betrayed the fact that, even though he would never admit it, the encounter had left an impression on him. He knew he had crossed a line by agreeing to your request, but he also understood that he had given you something you desperately needed: to feel desired by someone you respected. He had agreed not because it was strategic or necessary, but because, deep down, he wanted to alleviate the burden he saw in your eyes. Though he knew he could offer no more, that night had been an emotional truce for both of you.

Yet, each time he saw you, a small pang of doubt gnawed at him. Had he been fair to you? Had he strengthened your loyalty, or only complicated your place in the Scouts? Still, Erwin buried these thoughts like he did with all his personal dilemmas, choosing instead to focus entirely on the mission.

⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅•

The training yard was empty except for you and Levi. You had decided to channel your emotions through exercise, hoping to distract yourself from the occasional glances at Erwin and the heavy feelings you carried. Levi eventually approached you.

“You seem more lost than usual,” he remarked, arms crossed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you replied, trying to sound indifferent.

“I’m good at reading people, y/n. And I’m not stupid,” he said bluntly, though his tone wasn’t unkind. “I know what happened between you and Erwin.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You dropped your gaze, feeling exposed. “How… how do you know?”

Levi shrugged. “It’s obvious. The way you look at him. And the way he avoids looking at you for too long. Plus, I saw him lock his office door with you inside.”

“Levi, I…” You began, but your voice faltered. The words spilled out in a rush. “It was my fault. I pressured him. I blackmailed him, you know? It was awful of me. I love him so much, but I know it meant nothing to him. And now I don’t know what to do.”

Levi stayed silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed and spoke. “Erwin’s complicated. He’s got too much on his shoulders to think about anything other than his damn mission. But what you did wasn’t blackmail. It was a cry for help. You need to decide if carrying this weight is worth it.” Levi had never agreed with how you were being used.

“What if I leave it all behind?” you asked, uncertainty thick in your voice.

“You won’t,” Levi answered with certainty. “Because you know this place is about more than just Erwin. But you need to learn how to separate your feelings from your duty. Because in the end, Erwin can’t give you what you want, and you deserve more than that.”

His words hit hard. You realized that, while your feelings for Erwin were real, you needed to redirect your energy toward something that wouldn’t consume you. Levi was right. Staying with the Scouts might mean finding your own purpose, even if you never achieved the love you longed for.

After your conversation with Levi, something shifted within you. His words were like a beacon of clarity cutting through the emotional fog you’d been lost in. You decided you couldn’t let yourself be consumed by your feelings for Erwin, nor could you let your emotions cloud your sense of duty. Though you still loved him, you knew you had to channel that energy into something beyond him.

You threw yourself into your missions, working harder than ever. You became an even more valuable ally to the Scouts, earning the respect of your comrades with your dedication and resilience. Although your love for Erwin didn’t vanish, you learned to accept it as something beyond your control and moved forward, cultivating emotional independence.

Though Erwin remained your commander, and in many ways, you still admired him, you began to forge your own path. You found satisfaction in being useful—not just to Erwin, but to yourself and the greater cause.

Your relationship with him subtly changed. Erwin was no longer the center of your universe, and though his glances sometimes lingered, you no longer sought his constant approval. You had discovered a strength within yourself that granted you a freedom you’d never known before.

Your feelings for him remained, but deep down, you knew the most important thing was what you could build for yourself���without relying on anyone else to define your worth.

[grimwood-notice-board]

Unforeseen: A New Twist on Merlin and King Arthur

By Eldon Macwood

(Trigger warning: I'm not afraid of cussing, and it shows. If you have virgin ears that gets offended easily, don't read on. You do you. Reader discretion is advised)

I have a confession, no, nothing too taboo or naughty: I’ve always loathed the Chosen One trope in fiction. Nothing annoys me like the idea of one pre-destined savior emerging out of the mist, without a hint of unpredictability. It’s as if they’re wearing a sign that says, “Plot Armor” like some cosmic cheat code that cuts out any real struggle or failure. And that is the kind of easy heroism that doesn’t do justice to the grit, sweat, and bloodshed of truly earned valor. Not to mention, not all heroes are good people, often they are very flawed, and hopefully become better through their journey.

My new series, Unforeseen, is my way of taking this trope and making it trip over its own prophecy. I wanted to strip it down, shake it out, and rewrite the fate that it always seems so smugly certain of.

A Glimpse into Unforeseen: Where the Hero Isn’t Chosen, but Stumbles

This journey kicks off with an unlikely hero: an old, washed-up wizard named Emrys. Yeah, you might recognize that name—Merlin’s got plenty of monikers floating around, but here, he’s far from the wise sage you’d expect. My Emrys is worn, weary, and frankly, just a little bit worthless. This isn't Emrys in his prime; it’s an Emrys who’s seen too much, done too little, and is all but ready to fade into obscurity.

And this time, he makes a deadly mistake. It’s the kind of colossal screw-up that doesn’t just blow up in his face; it takes down a so-called chosen warrior in the process. In one night, with one tragic blunder, Emrys manages to defy fate and rob the world of the hero it was supposed to get. But fate doesn’t take kindly to meddling. It doesn’t just throw its hands up in defeat; instead, it shoves Emrys headfirst into a brutal wake-up call: if there’s no hero left, he’s going to have to step up himself. That’s the premise of the first novella, and as you can probably tell, it’s a journey laced with dark twists and biting irony.

Subverting the Prophecy with a Disgraced Wizard

The fun of writing Unforeseen has been in peeling back the layers of Arthurian myth and poking at its contradictions. I always wondered, what if fate didn’t hand out perfect candidates? What if there wasn’t a shiny young king primed to pull the sword from the stone, or a noble knight who can tame any monster that crosses his path? What if all we had were the people nobody ever believed in?

So Emrys—the same Emrys who would one day become Merlin—is faced with a bitter irony. He’s spent his life being told he’s nothing but an instrument of destiny, a tool to guide others towards greatness, not someone destined for greatness himself. As it were, Emrys never found the opportunity to guide such great heroes. He was powerful sure, but he failed more than he succeeded. He gave into lust and booze, which sure, it can be fun, until it's not. In robbing fate of its hero, he painted himself into a corner. He must either accept his mistake and wither into irrelevance or find a way to fill the void he’s created.

This journey is not about one savior but a band of underdogs and outcasts, each with their own scars, broken dreams, and tragedies. Emrys, initially a reluctant antihero, will begin to gather people who fate would have never chosen. These warriors, misfits, and rebels are all the "almosts" and "never-weres" of the Arthurian realm—those whose stories were written off before they began.

The First Novella: OF SPELLS AND MEAD

In the opening act, Emrys’ failure sets the stage for a series of increasingly grim choices. The chosen warrior’s death is an event that shatters every semblance of prophecy, creating a vacuum of hope that starts to rot away at the land. If there’s one thing worse than having no prophecy, it’s realizing you’re the one who broke it. Emrys is haunted by visions of what he could have done differently, but the truth he comes to grips with is far more damning—there was no room in the prophecy for his failure. There was no contingency for an old wizard’s frailty, and stupidity. The myth of the chosen hero wasn’t built to withstand real, human error.

So, where does that leave Emrys? He has to do the unthinkable: reinvent himself as a hero. But this isn’t your conventional transformation. I didn’t want to write a redemption story where a character conveniently learns to be good or strong. Emrys is going to have to claw, scrape, and bleed his way through the ugliness he’s caused.

One of the biggest themes I wanted to explore in Unforeseen is the tug-of-war between fate and free will. When you’re told your whole life that you have no control, that everything is written, there’s something deeply unsettling about having to pick up the pen and rewrite the story yourself. Emrys is someone who, despite all his wisdom, never really had to choose his destiny. He was always the supporting character, who embarrassed himself more than empower others.

Now, without a prophecy to lean on, Emrys must forge his own identity. He has to face the consequences of his own actions, not just as a wizard but as a man with flaws, regrets, and a lifetime of half-baked decisions. And there’s no one there to swoop in and fix things if he falters. This is a journey into uncharted territory, where the stakes are high, the path is murky, and the only certainty is that nothing is certain.

Building a World Without Heroes

In Unforeseen, I’m not interested in creating a world of easy answers or convenient escapes. This isn’t a story where you can count on honor, love, or courage to save the day; but there is love, sometimes it empowers, sometimes it's crippling, and sometimes it creates a far darker path.

Every choice Emrys makes will carry a cost, and that cost will ripple across time and space for generations to come. These aren’t knights in shining armor. They’re thieves, outcasts, former enemies, people with little loyalty to anything except their own survival. And that’s precisely what makes them perfect for this story. They’re not bound by the rules of chivalry or destiny. They’re bound by the fact that they’re the last, desperate hope.

Each installment will introduce new faces, each with their own complicated history, baggage, and moral dilemmas. Some of them might only join because they want revenge against fate, while others are seeking redemption for sins they can’t forget. But one thing unites them: they’ve been overlooked, cast aside, and now they’re being given a chance to redefine what it means to be a hero.

The first book is all about Emrys, this takes place before Arthur is born. A soon to be legend who never would have lived if Emrys hadn't fucked up. Arthur will be introduced in the following book, where we get to meet not only the once and future king, so to speak, but other familiar faces.

This series will introduce new journeys, and even include another legend, who again, isn't that tales would one day tell. And it is that legend that sparked my desire to write in the Arthurian realm to begin with. More on that later.

This new series will be written as grimdark, and a splash of grimhope, with some dark humor sprinkled in. It will not be for the faint of the heart, the easily offended, or traditionalists. As with any adaption, I aim to write it with an identity of it's own. My two favorite versions would be, the BBC The Adventures of Merlin, and King Arthur starring Clive Owen.

Until next time....