#he needs to get beaten with hammers

[ignissanctus]

there he is

the undying sun, Urakon

or as i like to call him, bastard who ruined everything

[archersgoon]

& band au perri doesn't listen to music. goodnight!

[luxrayz64]

jill should leave kramer behind and marry me instead I wouldn't have blamed her for having a miscarriage and I would support her work trying to help drug addicts because I fully believe in and support her cause and I would have supported her through her grief because she lost that child too and she was the one carrying him and she was the one who was assaulted and I wouldn't have started fucking killing people because I am a well adjusted adult (TWENTY YEARS OLD)

[letterboxdd]

Seeing a lot of weird takes on Bix and I think what people need to realise is that not all people are cut out to be soldiers. You can be a part of the Rebellion but not actively participate on missions.

Bix is a mechanic. A mechanic living a somewhat normal life - apart from selling illegal parts to Luthen - on Ferrix. Then everything changes. She’s beaten and sees her boyfriend shot and killed right in front of her eyes - because of her, because he tried to save her. Then she’s left to sit and stare at his dead body until Paak and Wil helps her get away. After that, there’s the capture, interrogation, torture. She is brave, she is strong, she doesn’t tell them what they want at first. But eventually she breaks.

The torture is horrifying. You can see how much it changes her, she is so out of it, she is broken, when Cassian rescues her she even tries to stay saying ”No, they’ll get angry.”

A year later we find her on Mina-Rau and we see that she still suffers from nightmares. During the day she looks somewhat content, doing her job as a mechanic on a peaceful planet, the moment with Wil and Bela is sweet and shows us that. But the threat of the Imperial ship brings that fear back immediately.

Then she is brutally attacked, almost raped, and ends up killing her attacker with a hammer and shooting an imperial. This is the first time we ever see Bix kill someone. Then she loses another friend, Brasso.

One year later, things are very different. No longer peacefully hiding out on some planet, she has joined Cassian to go on missions for Luthen. One thing remains the same: She still has nightmares.

What’s interesting about this nightmare compared to the first one is that in the one on Mina-Rau, Dr. Gorst comes after her, standing over her, removing her blanket, the one thing she had for comfort when she was captured on Ferrix.

In the nightmare on Coruscant, there’s Dr. Gorst and a dead soldier who Bix feels guilty over because we learn later that Cassian killed the soldier because he saw Bix’s face.

But in this dream, the way Dr. Gorst is talking to her, it’s not really as if he is an enemy to Bix. It’s almost as if Bix sees herself on the same level as Dr. Gorst.

She’s a killer now and she’s not handling it well.

We see Bix taking drugs in order to sleep. She can’t stop seeing the dead soldier’s face. When Cassian is away on Ghorman, the place becomes a mess. When Luthen visits she says ”I’m not loving Coruscant”, and you can tell she feels boxed in. When Cassian returns and asks how she’s doing, she dodges the question.

Luthen sends them on the mission to kill Dr. Gorst and she gets her revenge. We see her smile when she walks away, the Bix is back.

Jump to arc 7-9, Bix and Cassian are living on Yavin. This is definitely the most healthy that Bix has ever looked since before her captivity on Ferrix. They have a cozy home, they live among people who are fighting for the Rebellion, the one thing she has left except for Cassian. And oh, do we find out how strongly she believes in the Rebellion here. Much more so than Cassian who is struggling and wanting to leave.

Here is where I see people wanting Bix to go to Ghorman and kill Dedra. After all the things listed above, I think it’s quite clear that she’s not a soldier. In the end, Bix is a mechanic, she is brave and she is strong, she’s a fighter and a survivor but she’s not a soldier. I think I can draw a parallell to Mon Mothma’s character here and state for the record that women can be fierce and strong and interesting characters without being ruthless killers.

And while I’m sure I would have enjoyed seeing Bix killing Dedra if that’s the way they went with her character, I do actually like that they went this way with Bix. After everything she has been through and all the dealing with her trauma, I find it more interesting that she doesn’t go down that path but instead went with a more healthy path. Besides, we have other female characters for the ruthless soldier type of roles - such as Vel and Cinta.

Now for the ending. Bix makes the most selfless, difficult, cruel sacrifice. Leaving Cassian - the one who she has leaned on during her recovery, the one she can not even remember not knowing, the love of her life - behind for the sake of the Rebellion.

This is Bix’s choice.

In the chaos that’s been following them, with the danger that’s been surrounding them, it’s quite clear Cassian has taken the lead. This can be shown in the scene at the end of S2x09 where he says he wants to leave and I quote ”We’ll leave before it gets too complicated.”. He didn’t ask what she wanted, it was merely ”I’ll talk to Draven tomorrow.”

I’m not at all looking down at Cassian as a character, I love him as much as I love Bix, I’m merely stating the facts here.

Then Bix makes her own choice. It is a cruel one, very much so, because she makes the choice for them, for him, and leaves him without saying goodbye in person.

It’s not fair to him.

But it is a selfless act, all for the of the sake of the Rebellion. Bix believed that he had an important part to play in the Rebellion (and we know that she was right).

That is a very interesting story arc to me. She made her choice. And along the way, she realised that she was no soldier like Cassian and instead she found her own path. And had we gone down the soldier path, the only way to write her out before Rogue One would have been to kill her off and I am glad we didn’t get that for Bix after everything that she has been through.

Sure, it would have been interesting to see what else Bix did on Yavin but there are a lot of storylines and too little screentime. I’d like to believe she did work as a mechanic for the Rebellion there, doing what she’s best at. Knowing Bix, I’m sure she wouldn’t just sit in the house all day and wait for Cassian, some people seem to believe that if you’re not a fighter for the Rebellion then you’re simply a housewife.

Besides, even if she would have became a housewife, if that’s what she became content with after all her trauma, then good for her.

But I doubt that’s what she became. What I love about this show is that they don’t need to spell it all out for you. Her skills as a mechanic are also very useful to the Rebellion, every single person and their contribution matters.

In conclusion, not everyone are cut out to be soldiers but that does not diminish their character.

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧

→ premise: all of deans life pain has always ran parallel to love. he needs them both, he needs you to hurt him and take the pain away all at the same time, turns out you were more than willing to, you may even need it reciprocated.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: 2.3k words, small bit of angst that turns quickly into smut | 18+, kinda switch!dean, pain kink [slapping, biting, pinching, scratching, etc], praise kink [both reader and dean], unprotected sex, small bit of choking, multiple mentions of blood & reader nearly dying

→ a/n: kinktober 08

Dean was accustomed to pain, he learned to tolerate and push through it from a young age as his father hammered into him that it was his job to always look after Sam and conditioned him to become a hunter. Love always came alongside pain in his life, losing everybody he ever cared deeply for; it happened so often that he began to associate one with the other. And so somewhere along the way he came to yearn for both pain and love as he felt they always came together. When Dean began having feelings for you, he was scared like he’s never been before. He avoided telling you for a couple of years simply because he thought if he voiced it out loud then he'd lose you like he did everyone else.

However when a demon came very close to killing you when you were being reckless, that scared Dean a hell of a lot more and in a screaming match about it he revealed his feelings on accident.

“You couldve fucking died, ya’ know that right? If me and Sam got there even a minute later you’d have been laying in my arms dead not just unconscious” when he mentions sam, he gestures towards the couch in the small motel room where the younger brother last sat. Though when he turns to look over hoping for backup he finds Sam gone, he groans out in annoyance. Sam had figured it was best to leave the two of you to your fighting alone, yes he was also upset with your careless decision but not as heated as his brother.

“Well I didn't okay? I can take care of myself. I had it under control!” you scream out, punching your words out to get your point across, flailing your arms in frustration though the fast movement aggravates your injuries making you wince slightly. Seeing you in pain makes Dean stop short for a second, a ping in his chest as his heart aches, it however only morphs into making his blood boil more when the memory of finding you beaten and bloody on the floor of that warehouse flashes in his head. “I'm sooo glad you can take care of yourself, but what about me HUH?!” He screams out, sarcasm dripping from his voice until the latter half with his question where it breaks off taking you back. Confusion crosses your face but before you can say anything back to him he continues.

“I dont know what I’d fuckin’ do without you, im so pathetically and utterly in love with you that the thought of you dying makes me wanna lie in the dirt just so i can be buried with you!” he had been stepping closer and closer as he yelled out in frustration, not realizing exactly what he just said. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the adrenaline from his confession and proximity coursing through your veins.

“You love me..?” Your voice comes out softer than Dean swears he's ever heard it before and it melts all the anger out of his body. He knew there was no turning back now that he blurted that out and even though he was worried more than ever, he couldn't stand not being with you anymore. “I think i fell in love the moment i met you sweetheart” he sighs and brings his rough hands up to cup your face and wipe away the tears you hadn’t noticed we're slowly falling from your eyes. After a long stretch of comfortable silence as the tension of the fight has dissipated you speak up.

“Would you just kiss me already ya’ idiot” you tease, smiling softly at him through your tears as you stare deep into those stupid green eyes that turn your brain to mush.

Using his hold on your face he pulls your lips against his in a desperate kiss, trying to drown out all the swarming negative voices in his head. Your soft lips mold against his perfectly and he thanks any and every god he can think of for letting him have something he knows he doesn’t deserve. Your eyes flutter shut as you kiss back, the fight over your thoughtless decision not forgotten but put on the back burner. You were deans the second you told him to kiss you and if you thought you were gonna be able to continue with your bad decisions boy were you in for a surprise, he just finally got you he wasn't ever letting go now. You grab at his chest, your hands balling up his shirt as you try pulling him impossibly closer deepening the kiss. In a tangled mess of limbs and mouths still latched to one another’s you and Dean tumble back and fall down onto the rundown motel bed. Dean landed on his back in the middle cushioning your fall with you landing on top of him between his legs.

“Baby..” he mumbles against your lips making your heart skip a bit at him calling you a name normally reserved for his impala. He even squeezes your hips lightly to break your focus from the make out.

“I need you to do something for me” he groans out as the kiss heats up and your tongue slips in his mouth during his statement, your hands running all over his chest and arms. Your body was pressed up to his, hips flush against each other making it impossible for you not to feel his hardening cock on your thigh. “Anything, what do you need, baby?” You question, desperate to please him and more than willing to do whatever he asks. Now Dean was well aware if he said jump you'd ask how high, he just hoped this request as odd as it was didn‘t make you run for the hills.

Reluctantly he pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath as well as watch your face when he tells you what he needs. You open your eyes and look at him with that same sparkle they always hold when your gaze is locked on him. His cock was getting painfully hard now from the mixture of the make out session and your body so close to him.

”I- shit okay im just gonna say it uh. I need you to hurt me. I just- I need you to get the image of you laying in a pool of your own blood barely breathing out of my head” he rambles, his voice sounding unfamiliar to his own ears with how pathetic it comes out. He silently prays you won't just get up and walk out of his life at his weird desire. He avoids eye contact when you are still silent after a minute. A fire ignites in your body and settles in your core as a million and one thoughts are running through your head at the speed of light. Every single last one however being the different things you wanna and finally get to do to Dean.

You grab ahold of Dean’s face squeezing it as you turn it so he is looking at you again. You now have a small taunting smile on your face, your nails are lightly digging into his cheeks making his cock twitch. “I can do that, but can you be a good boy?” You teasingly question as you lean up maneuvering your body so you're straddling his hips, peering down on him. The sight of you on his lap, thighs spread either side of his body and lust blown hooded eyes staring down at him knocks the breath from his lungs. It's an image pulled from his many dirty depraved dreams of you that riddled him with guilt but now it's a reality, his wonderful heaven like reality.

He frantically nods his head yes while your hand not pinching his face is working at undoing his belt.

“Gonna be such a good boy, can be s’good for you baby” he huffs out and lifts his hips to help you out as you pull his jeans down and off his legs. You let go of his face and dean has to fight back an actual whine when the small sting of pain leaves with it. Though he swallows his complaint as he watches you strip yourself of your dirty still blood soaked t-shirt, going at a teasingly slow pace when you undo your own belt pulling it through the loops and discarding it on the floor besides his pants. “Come on don't be a tease sweetheart please” he softly begs as he grabs your hips, thrusting his up to grind his bulge against your core. The rough fabric of your jeans sends a jolt of pleasure up his spine as it rubs over his aching boxer covered cock. You bite back a moan and slap his chest with your good arm to stop him before lifting your body up to help you rid yourself of your remaining clothes. He is not far behind you, nearly ripping off his shirt and tugging down his boxers making his leaking cock bounce free between your bodies.

Saliva practically pools in Dean's mouth at the sight of you stripped bare for his eyes scanning over every inch of you. Your thighs spread back over his hips leaving your pussy on display for him, your slick coating his cock as your hips take up his previous action of grinding. “Such a good boy” you praise and lean down digging your nails into his sides, the pain making his eyes screw shut in bliss. Lifting your hips once again this time however sinking your pussy down onto his throbbing cock. Your slick and his precum help to aid your cunt into taking every inch of Dean's cock to the base as you smash your lips against his in a passionate kiss. The mixture of stinging pain and sweet praise and pleasure drown out all bad thoughts, all images that were flashing in Dean's head of your limp body unmoving and bleeding fade from his head finally, his only thought being of how good you feel.

“Mhmm~” He whines out in pleasure and surprise, the sound muffled in your mouth. Your hips immediately set into a rhythm of grinding and softly bouncing, his cock dragging across your velvety walls and his tip hitting your cervix when you bounce down. “Ah- Ahh~ fuck sweetheart knew this fuckin’ pussy feel amazing” he grunts out, his fingers holding onto your hips in a bruising grip that has your head spining. You bite down on his plush bottom lip in retaliation making a small almost growl erupt from his chest. The sound vibrates through your body to your core making your hips flatter a bit and a whine escapes your lips.

Within the blink of an eye dean has your legs wrapped around his waist when he sits up and flips your position breaking the kiss. Laying you flat on your back with him nestled between your thighs his cock still buried deep inside you. “Dean~” your whimper morphs into a wanton moan when his hips start at a punishing pace, your slick already forming a creamy ring at the base of his cock as it pounds into you. His heavy balls smacking your ass creating an obscene noise that fills the room with your moans and his grunts. “As much as i love how you sound and wanna hear it for the rest of my life baby, you gotta be quiet sweetheart” he taunts as his hand slips up the side of your body to palm at your bouncing tits. you whine out and paw at his lower stomach and v-line almost pushing him away slightly to stop his tip from abusing that one spot deep inside you. “Mm~ I can’t, it s’good, feels too good, i needa cum” you whine out your words slurring together as the knot in your stomach tightens. “Aww well don't want the staff or other guests hearing you scream my name now do we?” He questions with a small smirk that morphs into an almost slack jawed look when your nails dig into his back and drag down. The stinging pain of you scratching at his back so hard he's almost certain you drew blood makes his hips speed up even more.

“Bite down on my shoulder to muffle yourself when you cum okay baby?” He softens a bit though his hips don't slow down, you nod desperately in understanding. “That’s my good girl” he beams at you praising you in a sweet tone making your pussy clench down on his cock.

You grab at his hand that rests on your breasts and pull it up to your neck hoping he gets the message. A smile forms on his lips as what you want registered in his head, you wanted pain the same as him. Dean didn't think he could love you anymore than he did and yet as his hand wraps around your throat his heart swells, you're the same as him, you needed pain with the love and pleasure, he was the luckiest fucking man alive in this moment. He smirks and softly kisses your lips as he leans down and his cock somehow reaches even deeper inside you.

The new angle causes the knot in your core to snap and your high to crash into you, making you pull away from his mouth and bury your face in his shoulder. Baring your teeth you bite down a bit hard onto his shoulder to muffle your loud moans and cries as you cream on his cock. “Oh fuck yeah, there we go sweetheart good girl baby” he praises, his head going foggy in pain and pleasure as his climax hits him head on, spilling his cum deep inside you not caring about the loud noises that leave his own mouth.

→ a/n: as always this wasnt proofread and its late, whos shocked? anyway i got a bit carried away well more like a lot. this is only my second time writing for dean and i got excited i really like writing for him. It is however my first time writing smut for him so sorry if hes out of character.

[kingkat12]

So Kate's (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: dom/sub dynamics, foul language, humiliation, office misconduct, reader is a freak ouf

summary: being a brat has its consequences-- did you really think Mr. Godfrey was going to let that go with no repercussions? time to smarten up, and dress up too.

word count: 9,670

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a/n: I've been obsessed w Zendaya's shoes as of late, so you best believe I managed to squeeze in a chapter about Louboutins....... and we are FINALLY getting reader and Letha being cute besties again omfg so TIHI ENJOY<333

Handling pain is a skill.

However, there are some people that are born without the ability to feel pain, and that is often a lethal flaw-- if you don't feel pain, then you're actually more susceptible to injury, did you know? I didn't. After scouring BDSM forums all over the internet, I had quite frankly gotten obsessed with finding out everything I could, and the more I got into the pain aspect of it, the more I found myself unable to understand. 

I didn't like pain. Never have, never will like pain. That wasn't the part I enjoyed, or wanted, out of my odd relations with my boss. Although, it seemed I might be into the emotional pain of being Mr. Godfrey's secretary-- it certainly made my brain hurt and my cheeks burn, but in the most intoxicating way. Something told me that was a feeling I had been chasing my whole life, and now that I had it, I finally felt complete, and unable to let go.

But, back to it-- if you're unable to feel pain, then you're prone to unintentional self-injury, because you literally can't feel it when you get a paper cut, or when you've bitten your tongue too hard, or even broken your bones. Maybe it's alright to be in pain sometimes? Maybe it's fine to feel it in exchange for health? I had no idea. All I knew, was that I had managed to triumph over the worst pain a woman could handle; not my period, no, not childbirth, but--

Wearing So Kate's.

The classic stiletto by Christian Louboutin, famously worn by Zendaya and probably all of Hollywood.

I'm joking, of course-- I know there are much worse things I could go through. However, I had gotten a pair as a gift for finishing college, and originally, I fucking hated those pretty sons of bitches. They were gorgeous, elegant, classy, perfect, yet agonizing to wear. I couldn't walk for more than five minutes before my feet would beg to be beaten with a hammer in order to not be able to walk in them anymore. However, after about four months of wearing them around my apartment, making dinner in them, washing the dishes in them, doing my laundry in them, they almost started to feel like socks.

I had pushed past the pain, and gained something beautiful-- a wearable pair of Louboutins. 

And today, I finally dared to wear them to work. It wasn't like I was running track around Godfrey Industries, right? I could totally wear them without even noticing how ridiculously tall they were. I knew how to handle them, after all. I could totally fucking do this. 

Anyway, I needed something to distract me from the psychological warfare Mr. Godfrey was waging on me for biting his fucking thumb. Stupid, stupid girl.

Using my shoulder, I nudged the door to his office open and slipped in like a shadow, keeping myself small and unnoticeable. Hoping to get it over with soon, my first step was hurried, and that made the cup clink clumsily in the saucer; with a quiet hitch of my breath, I deliberately slowed, pressing my steps into silence. Thank fuck I wasn't a spy-- I'd get myself killed with my heavy damn steps. Or was it the Louboutins? 

One cube of brown sugar.

Not too much milk.

Stirred three times, exactly.

I always got Mr. Godfrey's coffee just right. I always made it with the utmost precision. If anything, I was the picture-perfect secretary right now (if you excluded the times I got off behind my desk, or the two times in my boss's office whilst he watched me). Had Godfrey Industries been a fair place to work, I wouldn't have any problems here. However, it wasn't-- this place was somewhere I'd guess the Anti-Christ would set camp, if he could choose. 

So, with my heart lodged in my throat, I continued making my way to Mr. Godfrey's desk, not daring to take my eyes off the coffee; there was no way in hell I'd spill any of it and give him more reasons to deem me incompetent. 

But just as he had done every day for the past week, Mr. Godfrey didn't look up. 

There was not as much as an acknowledgement, not as much as a glance. He sat behind his desk, back perfectly straight, one hand poised near his temple with a pen resting lightly between two long, slender fingers. His green gaze scanned some document with such intensity that it was almost theatrical, like he knew I was standing there and he was choosing, with full awareness, not to acknowledge me. Fucker. 

With a subtle roll of my eyes, I cleared my throat; "Your coffee, sir,"

I put it down one inch from the edge, centered with the stack of papers to his right, just as he had instructed me to do during my first week here. It was perfect; I was perfect. I put it down with a trembling sort of reverence, my hand ghosting over it for a second, unsure, like maybe if I lingered just a little longer, he'd finally look at me. Maybe he'd say something, acknowledge me? I didn't need much at this point. I'd take anything, just a glance, a huff, a sigh, anything.

But... nothing.

The air between us stretched thin. I could hear Mr. Godfrey's pen scratch against the paper in front of him, could see the way his sharp jaw flexed once, twice, like my presence was physically bothering him-- and then, he moved.

I held my breath as Mr. Godfrey's hand reached forward, slow and unbothered. For a moment, I thought he was going to say something, that this would finally be the morning he gave in and spoke to me again, even if it was just a snide comment or a thinly veiled insult-- I was so starved for his attention, I would've taken it like praise. I would've taken it with open arms, whatever it would be. Even if it was just a tiny 'this coffee sucks', it would probably make my day, and maybe even make me orgasm on some higher level right in my Louboutins.

But instead, Mr. Godfrey lifted the coffee cup by its delicate handle, turned a fraction in his seat, and... dropped it into the trash bin beside his desk. The ceramic hit the bottom with a sharp crack, and I flinched. The sound echoed in the quiet room like a slap-- I stood frozen, watching the faint steam curl up from the bin, mixing with the scent of scorched sugar and shame.

I balled my hands into fists. 

Mr. Godfrey had been pulling this crap on me for a week now, and I knew that it was because I had bit his thumb. I knew it, deep in my gut. But after he had let me cum on his shoe (yes, I know, I'm deeply ashamed, don't you worry), and I bit him (because I was overwhelmed by the power he held over me, like any fucking newbie would be), he had stepped on me and called me a brat! Who the fuck does that?! If anything, I should be spitting in his OCD-coffee!

... Oh, that's a good idea, actually.

I wanted to spit down at his feet too, maybe even specifically on his right shoe, where I had gotten off. How dare he make me feel this way? How dare he play these games with my head?! At the end of the day, it was fucking childish, and at the end of the day, it... was getting to me. Ugh. Why couldn't he at least look at me?

I forced a swallow past the burn in my throat, and I nodded even though he couldn't see it. Or maybe he could? Maybe he was watching me through his periphery with that sick, surgical precision he had, cataloguing my humiliation like it was data, like it was proof that this was working?

Bastard.

However, in the midst of my frustration and anger, I recognized that I had missed the sickness of it all. The twisted feeling of being scorched, and feeling my skin swell in resistance to the burn. I stood in Mr. Godfrey's office a beat too long; way too long, actually. Maybe I was stupid enough to believe that if he got uncomfortable enough, he'd say something? I just needed him to speak to convince myself that I hadn't imagined the whole thing, that I hadn't invented the way he had pressed me down onto this very desk, the way he had looked at me, and the way I had unraveled in his hands like a silk ribbon--

But Mr. Godfrey didn't change his mind. He wouldn't-- not for me. He didn't look at me, nor did he give me anything as much as a hum. Instead, he merely raised his hand and gave a short, dismissive flick of his fingers, a wordless, effortless command for me to leave, the same way one might shoo away an insect buzzing too close to their ear.

The flick of his wrist felt like a phantom bruise, and as though I had been slapped, I turned around on my Louboutin heels and marched out of Mr. Godfrey's office, stomping my every step to his floor. Hopefully, I'd leave a large scratch or two. 

How long would this war last? What did I need to do to get him to sign a peace treaty?

Ugh.

This day sucked.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

.... Okay, fine, maybe this day had some redeeming factors after all.

"--He's really sweet and all, but I feel like he can sometimes be too sweet. This isn't high school, y'know? I don't like going on dates with him and feeling like I'm going to prom every time!" Letha swirled the rosé in her wine glass, tutting the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth with disapproval. "What the hell happened to normal men in the 21st century? What happened to them, seriously? Where did they go?"

I could only laugh, glancing down at my Louboutins as she continued complaining-- lunch with Letha was always amusing. She also worked for Godfrey Industries, but much higher up (nepotism alert), and therefore always had access to my schedule. Even though she worked remotely from inside some mansion her father bought for her as her graduation present, she could therefore calculate when she could swoop by the lobby on the first floor and ask for me to be called down for lunch; the Godfreys were all smooth like that. 

Letha was the one who had gotten me my Louboutins for graduation, and Letha was the one who got me the interview at the company-- I could trust her. If anything, I needed her opinion on what was happening between me and her cousin, without her knowing who I was talking about. However, I needed to get to that somehow, eventually. "I don't know," I answered, placing my elbows on the table and putting my face in my hands. "But I promise you, you could find someone way crazier than someone who wants to date you the old-school way." Much, much crazier.

Letha sighed, cocking her head to the side as she looked back at me with those classic Godfrey-green eyes. It was almost scary how similar they were to Mr. Godfrey's-- well, of course. They were cousins, after all. Maybe I could keep looking into Letha's eyes for the rest of my life, and that'd relieve the withdrawal symptoms I was having from my boss no longer looking at me? Yeah, that sounded like a good plan. 

"You might be right," she purred, steepling her fingers as well, mimicking me. "Or maybe I just find it repulsive that he's into me? I've been scouring the internet, and that's what comes up most of the time."

I shrugged; "I don't know, Lee. Maybe you should bring that up with the guidance counsellor, just like in the good old days?"

"Ha-ha," Letha rolled her eyes, grinning from ear to ear. "But I think my main issue with this guy is that he seems genuinely nice. Big difference from Chad-- do you remember Chad? That asshole didn't even bother to pay for dinner when we flew to Aspen together!"

"Of course I remember Chad! But him not buying dinner for you doesn't really indicate whether he's a nice person or not, though?--"

"Come on! It's enough to show he was a shitty boyfriend!-- Oh, wait, yeah, that one's mine," 

Our conversation was cut off when our food arrived, and as we exchanged polite smiles and short thank you's, I couldn't help but notice the look in Letha's eyes when she scanned our waiter; it was almost flirty, yet openly hungry. She brought her hand up to her shiny blond locks, twirling it around her finger as she locked eyes with the guy, blinking sweetly, innocently-- I had to do everything in my power to not groan or laugh. It was crazy how this sort of stuff always worked for Letha without fail, because as predicted, our cute waiter left the table with a pink tint colouring his cheeks.

Godfrey-green eyes met mine once more with a playful smirk. "I love the waiters here," she purred. "That one's my favourite. He's particularly yummy!--"

"Okay, enough!" I grabbed my cutlery, suppressing my giggles. "You were just talking about the guy you're actually dating. What was his name again?"

A rather pregnant pause ensued. Letha swallowed, clearing her throat with suspicious anxiety. "Well, I call him Barty..." she mumbled, barely audible.

Wait. Immediately, I put down my fork. "No," I breathed, stunned. "Lee, don't fucking tell me his name is!--"

"He's from old money!" Letha whined, placing her glass next to her plate. "Of course he'd end up with a name like!--"

"Bartholomew?!"

"I know!" With a cry-like sigh, Letha grabbed her fork and stabbed her salad, visibly upset. "Okay, now it's decided. I should definitely break up with him."

I bit down on my lower lip, crossing my legs at my ankles as I hoped to regain my composure and hopefully not be too harsh with Letha's endeavours. "Again, I don't agree with that. Maybe he has a crazy name, but at least he seems normal! There are much worse men out there, believe me. Seriously, maybe you should stick around and take it slow, this time?" Believe me, believe me.

Letha stabbed another cherry tomato with such force you'd think it had personally offended her. "I'm not so sure about that," she mumbled. "Ugh... Bartholomew just sounds like the kind of name you moan by accident when you're trying not to finish."

I choked on a piece of salad. "Jeez, Letha!"

"Tell me I'm wrong!"

"You're... not," I muttered, trying very hard not to imagine anyone whispering Bartholomew in a sexual context. Ew. Could not be me. "But I'm also begging you to change the subject."

Letha smirked, clearly pleased with her joke. "Fine, but I'm not wrong about him. He wears Balenciaga shoes unironically. You know how I feel about men who dress like they're about to blow Kanye West in the middle of January!

Ew, ew, ew! "Yeah, but you've dated worse!"

"And that's not a comfort!"

I ended up rolling my eyes, letting her spiral while I pushed my salad around my plate. This restaurant was glossy and cold in that exclusive way, and I knew I had to eat my food until its last crumb to not offend the head chef or something--- with its white tablecloths and modern chairs, this was the kind of place that pretended it wasn't trying too hard, even though you knew a thousand-dollar lighting consultant had planned the ambience. It was a typical Letha-place to dine. The wine was crisp, the water had cucumber in it, and someone was definitely eavesdropping from the next table over.

Still, it was better than the office, where Mr. Godfrey was ready to make my life pure hell. 

"Well," Letha said suddenly; "At least your love life's probably better than mine. I haven't seen you in a while, so I expect a good fucking update! Who are you dating at the moment? Does your guy also insist on intense eye-contact during sex? Sickeningly long cuddles afterwards? Ugh, I could barf..."

My fork paused halfway to my mouth-- I set it down gently. Eye-contact? If only. Physical intimacy? I wish. Sex? Oh Lord. I cleared my throat; "Actually, about that..." Your cousin is into some form of office sadism and has seen me cum multiple times. Did I tell you I came on his shoe last week? "I know you have more experience than me regarding relationships and men, so I need your opinion on something."

Immediately, Letha's ears perked up, and she beamed at me from across the table. She grinned like a cat who had just heard a mouse blink; "You're seeing someone?"

"Oh, hardly,"

"You're... sleeping with someone, then?"

"Not really?"

"What?" Letha chewed on a cherry tomato as her brows drew together. "How can you not really sleep with someone? Do you, like, exclusively dry-hump or something?"

"I'm-- yeah, I don't know what the fuck this is," I scooted closer to the edge of the chair, lowering my voice so that the rich aunties next to us wouldn't hear me. "It's not sex, but it's not nothing... it's much deeper than that."

Letha blinked, putting down her cutlery with urgency before leaning closer. "What do you mean?"

"There's-- there's this guy," I whispered. "And I feel like he's literally inside my head! It's like he knows what I'm thinking, like he knows my nastiest thoughts, and it's freaking me the fuck out because he uses it against me!"

Letha looked like she was about to explode like those birds in Angry Birds, barely able to contain her excitement. "I'm listening,"

"No, no, this is not a good thing!" I tried, fiddling with the napkin nearby. "He knows what I want before I even know it, and... these past few weeks, I've done some really crazy shit, and I just-- have you ever let someone control you?"

Letha's plush lips parted slightly, eyes scanning my face with confusion. "That sounds really... kinky,"

"Yes, but have you ever?"

"... No? I don't think so,"

"Are you sure? Has a guy never, like..." I couldn't even say it out loud. I glanced at the nosy ladies next to us who were trying to eavesdrop, and they quickly turned away from us and our conversation. Sighing, I turned back to Letha-- how was I supposed to avoid making it obvious that I was talking about her intimidating (and ridiculously hot) cousin? "Have you ever, like, for example... humped guy's a shoe?" Maybe it was a normal thing? Maybe I just wasn't experienced enough?

But then, Letha practically jumped in her seat, gasping; "Humped a shoe?!"

"Shut up!" I hissed, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. Oh God. "Lee, please, I!--"

"I need to lie down!" Letha exclaimed, blissfully stunned. "Preferably in traffic, because this is so much juicier than Bartholomew! What the fuck have you been up to, seriously?! Who are you, and what did you do to my best friend?"

"--I didn't know what I was doing, okay? It just happened, and now I can't look at him without thinking about it! And even worse, he won't even look at me anymore! 

Letha had both hands over her mouth, but I could still see the unhinged smile hiding behind her fingers. "Oh my god. This is... this is the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life," she whispered, barely containing herself. "You humped a shoe? His shoe?!"

"He told me to!" 

"And you just did it?!"

"I told you, I've lost my mind!" I stared down at my plate in shame; I knew I had gone mad when a piece of lettuce started to look judgmental of me as well. "Forget I said anything... Seriously, just forget it."

"Right..." Letha's voice was now a reverent hush, like she was observing a religious moment. "So, you're saying he won't look at you anymore?"

"Yeah," I breathed.

"Maybe he's ashamed?"

I cocked a brow; why was she suddenly sounding like she was actually helping me? "Nope,"

"Well, to me it sounds like he might be toying with you, then," Somehow, Letha had calmed down, and was now casually back to eating her salad. "If he's the type of guy that tells you to hump his shoe and then ice you out, he's playing a game."

"... Oh?"

"Definitely," She tilted her head and flashed me her pitiful, green eyes. Gorgeous. "And I don't know too much about this sort of stuff, but if I were you?" Her voice dropped, soft as a dare, yet served with concern; 

"I'd learn how to play the game."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

There was a woman waiting for Mr. Godfrey. 

I stared at her from where I sat behind my desk later that day, wondering what on earth she was here for. She had been waiting patiently outside his office for about fifteen minutes, refusing to sit down on the designated seats, and it had now gotten to the point where she was clearing her throat and squirming uncomfortably because of her heels. 

They weren't very tall, yet I guessed they were a pair of those kitten heels that felt really comfortable in the morning, but became absolute killers by the end of the day. 

However, she was gorgeous. With legs that could probably reach all the way to China, she was statuesque, poised, and everything I'd guess Mr. Godfrey was usually into. Something in me burned when I realized that he'd be alone in his office with her, and images of me throwing my computer at her and ruining her beautiful face flashed before my eyes-- I shook my head, hoping to get the thoughts out of my head before I continued smashing my fingers against the keyboard to hopefully complete the weekly report I needed to hand in soon. The harder I clicked the buttons, the more I felt my aggression relieve itself-- God, how I wished I could relieve myself my usual way, yet Mr. Godfrey had installed something in my brain that wouldn't let me. For some reason, I couldn't physically bring myself to go against his words, and that scared me more than anything.

Ms. Long-Legs cleared her throat again, making me wonder whether it was a tic, before she approached my desk for the fourth time today; "Are you sure that he remembers my appointment? I was scheduled for 13:45, and I have been waiting for fifteen minutes! It's almost two o'clock now!"

With a long, dramatic sigh, I glared up at the woman; I couldn't bring myself to be nice to her, knowing she'd be alone with him shortly. Would she also be asked to hump his shoe? Did she get off in front of him too? "Mr. Godfrey is a very busy man," He's not running a business for fucktards, after all. "He will be with you shortly." And you can shove your cock up your ass.

Was he maybe toying with this woman too? Was he making her wait because he knew this would drive her crazy? It seemed he had a pattern.

She scanned me up and down, sensing my hostility. "And you're sure he knows I'm here?"

... Something told me she had been a part of the Godfrey circus longer than I. 

Bitch.

I blinked, angered. Because this, I wasn't actually sure about. Mr. Godfrey's blinds were rolled down. Therefore, I had sent him an email about this ten minutes ago, yet he hadn't answered any of my emails the past week, so... ugh, I knew what I had to do. With a sharp breath and an unprofessional roll of my eyes, I got up from my seat, expertly poised in my high heels. As I graciously made my way past her and her pained feet in Louboutins that were nowhere near a heel-height threshold she could handle, it made me feel on top of her in some evil way. Better than her. Why would Mr. Godfrey want someone who couldn't deal with some pain?

Hoping to hide my anxiety from the woman waiting for him, I knocked thrice on Mr. Godfrey's office door. 

No answer, of course.

I glanced over my shoulder-- Ms. Long-Legs was still watching me like I was an idiot. Frustrated, and keen not to be seen as incompetent, I knocked again, this time a bit harder. My stomach knotted with anxiety, because I knew the woman was still staring, arms folded, one foot angled awkwardly as if trying to relieve the pain in her heel. When I didn't get any answers again, I pressed my ear closer to the door, feeling as though I was breaking all the laws in the universe. 

I quickly pieced together that Mr. Godfrey was on the phone; "--No, I said I don't care who signed off on it, you run it past me first, that's the entire goddamn point!--"

Then, the door flew open.

It was clear that Mr. Godfrey had dragged his hand through his hair multiple times; it was a mess.  The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and the anger flaring in his green eyes was unmistakable. However, despite all of it, he looked handsome as ever-- bastard. 

I blinked up at him, staring; up close like this, I could smell his cologne, probably with hints of his aftershave as well. Just as I started to feel pink mist seeping out of my ears, I cleared my throat, hoping to get his attention through his scattered energy, and--

Oh.

He looked at me.

Mr. Godfrey looked at me.

For the first time in about a week, eyes wide with frustration with the person on the other side of the phone he had pressed between his shoulder and his cheek, he looked at me.

"Sir," I tried, nodding towards his guest. "Sorry to disturb, but you have a-- a visitor... she was scheduled for 13:45."

Visibly annoyed, Mr. Godfrey's green eyes landed directly on her, and immediately, his expression faltered. It was momentary, like he was horrified to see her, and his jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on the beautiful woman waiting to get a moment of his precious time. "Right," he breathed, probably debating whether to jump out the window in his office, or if it'd be easier to shoot himself with the gun I knew he had in his third desk drawer. "And you are?"

The woman straightened up; "I'm with HR. We met a few weeks ago,"

HR?  What the fuck had he done, now?

Mr. Godfrey sighed, relenting; "Come in, then,"

Ms. Long-Legs straightened immediately, her discomfort forgotten in favour of the crisp swish of her designer skirt as she strutted past me and into his office. I remained outside, still holding the handle, uncertain whether to close the door behind her or not, until Mr. Godfrey made the decision for me-- he slammed it shut in my face.

The blinds stayed up this time, and for a second, just a second, I saw him-- Roman Godfrey. Not the suit, the tyrant, or the freakishly composed bastard I'd come to hate and want at the same time, but the man; pale, quiet, and rattled.

He was visibly uncomfortable, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed over himself, as though that would somehow protect him from whatever the woman was there to tell him. I watched as his eyes narrowed and fixated on the way Ms. HR shifted in her heels in hopes of relieving her discomfort.

Then, through the blinds, I watched as his gaze flicked to mine.

My heels.

His lips parted, just slightly. Was he maybe thinking about the difference? The way I looked like I could be in these hell-bringers for hours, yet the other woman couldn't even hold herself for fifteen minutes? High, thin stilettos, black patent; perfectly balanced. I hadn't shifted once-- I didn't need to, and I wouldn't. I could stand in these all day.

But Mr. Godfrey didn't seem to allow himself to stare on any further. Without a word, he stood up with a sharp clack, and approached the blinds-- I couldn't read him when we locked eyes, and I didn't have any time to, before he snapped the blinds down again. 

Ugh. I couldn't see anything now, so I did what any dangerously curious person would do; I stayed frozen and pressed my ear up against the door, just close enough to hear.

"I'm here about the complaint filed last month by your previous secretary," came the woman's voice. Cool, measured, practiced, HR; that was what she was. Not a girlfriend, not a sub, but an executioner. Thank fuck. "I assume you've read through the preliminary documents. There were some... disturbing claims. Specifically about a personal dynamic between the two of you that was allegedly coercive."

A sharp scoff followed from Mr. Godfrey, almost a laugh. "She begged for that job back after I fired her," he huffed. "There was even a whole fucking scene the day I interviewed for my new secretary! If anything, she should be the one in trouble right now! There was nothing coercive of the sort, and I'm even suing her for saying that crap, ask my paralegal!"

"That may be," the woman replied, cold. "But the concern is the power imbalance. The possibility that you encouraged certain... behaviours."

Mr. Godfrey snapped back, raising his voice; "That's bullshit! She was undeniably nuts, you must've realized that during your talks with her?!"

"-- Mr. Godfrey, please, this is simply a formality! You must understand that!"

"I do!" he hissed. "And you've done your job, so are we done? Can I go back to doing mine?"

"If you're asking if I'll be filing a formal report, then no... But this will stay on record,"

Mr. Godfrey groaned-- I didn't need to see him to know that he was rubbing his temples. He did that whenever he got properly annoyed. "If every woman I'm going to work with is going to try to squeeze this company for my money, then I'm compelled to only hire men! But I can't fucking do that because of your fucking inclusivity regulations!"

"Mr. Godfrey, I suggest you stop speaking!--"

"This is my company! If my previous secretary is going to press with crazy claims, then I expect you to be on my side!--"

"I am not here to shield you, sir! I am here to protect your employees, and quite specifically, your young, new secretary who frankly looks terrified of even being in your vicinity!"

Something thudded inside the office-- maybe a drawer slamming, or a fist. I couldn't make it out. In an instant, I scurried to my desk, sitting down with the utmost hurry. So, my suspicions had been correct; the previous secretary had definitely been his sub. Why couldn't Peter have told me this? How many people knew? With trembling fingers, I tried to go back to working on the weekly report-- I had to submit it in about ten minutes, and I realized all I needed was Mr. Godfrey's signature. Fuck. 

Then, I heard harsh footsteps nearing. The door to Mr. Godfrey's office whipped open with a gust of air, and the man himself stormed past me like I was invisible. 

The HR woman stepped out shortly after, smoothing her skirt and offering me a polite smile; I could see the evil glee behind those gorgeous eyes of hers. I didn't return it. Bitch. 

For some reason, I felt beyond angered by what I had just witnessed. If Mr. Godfrey was being hounded for something that was consensual, that was simply unfair. I would never do that to him. I would never, ever, even though Letha confirmed that my afflictions were irrational, even though I knew it was irrational-- in a hurry, I grabbed the weekly report from my desk and rushed after him.

I wasn't terrified of Mr. Godfrey; I needed him to know that. If anything, I wanted him near at all times. The HR bitch had no idea what she was talking about!

That was why I was now on my feet, heels clacking sharply against the marble as I chased after him. "Mr. Godfrey-- sir-- wait!--"

But didn't stop; he wouldn't. He was a storm in motion, cutting through the office like it offended him just by existing. A few people looked up as we passed, some quickly ducked their heads back down behind their screens, and others openly stared. I didn't care; all I saw was the back of his head, the sharp angle of his jaw as he strode ahead of me, fists clenched so tight the tendons in his forearms stood out.

"Mr. Godfrey!" I tried again, clutching the paper against my chest. Maybe talking about the report would make him see that I wasn't scared? I had no idea what I was thinking. "I just-- I just need your signature on the!--"

In an instant, he stopped so abruptly that I nearly crashed into him. Mr. Godfrey turned around, eyes blazing, lips parted with fury-- and before I could take a breath, duck, save myself, he shouted at the top of his lungs; "What do you want?!"

The hallway went silent. Several doors cracked open. Somewhere, a printer stopped mid-page. All I could hear was the thundering pulse in my ears.

I blinked up at him, stunned.

"What," he spat, "is so fucking urgent that you need to chase me like a lunatic down the goddamn hallway?!"

I froze. "Sir, I-- It's just the weekly rep--"

"I don't give a shit about the weekly report!" he barked. "You think I'm in the mood to babysit your paperwork right now?! Don't you see I have more important things to deal with right now than your incompetence?!"

My ears were burning red from the humiliation, but this wasn't the kind I had previously liked-- this felt like torture. I couldn't yell back, couldn't oppose him, not in front of the whole office. My body betrayed me, and I felt my eyes well with tears; did he think I was incompetent? Was that maybe all this week had been about, that I just... wasn't good enough? 

Had I imagined everything?

Mr. Godfrey wasn't done. "Oh, don't stand here and look like a victim! I told you to stop stuttering, and to wipe those fucking tears you always have! And still, week after week, you hand in your work like I should be grateful you managed to use a stapler!" he yelled. "If you need my signature on bullshit like the weekly report, learn to forge it, and save me the fucking waste of time! How incompetent is it possible to be?!"

A lump rose in my throat, and I pressed my lips into a straight line, not wanting to give away the way they quivered with my building tears. 

But then, Mr. Godfrey's voice dropped, and he got all up in my face-- to truly cross the line, he pressed his finger into my shoulder, giving me a harsh shove in hopes of me losing my balance; I didn't. Not in my fucking Louboutins. I didn't dare to look at him, and I screwed my eyes to the floor. 

"Fix it," Mr. Godfrey hissed, low and lethal. "And get out of my fucking face."

With that, the scratch of the heel of his shoe violated my ears before he stormed off, yelling something I couldn't catch at the rest of the employees who were watching. 

My hands were still gripping the report, wrinkled now and damp where my fingers had started to sweat. My vision blurred as hot tears finally spilled over and fell, one after another, down my cheeks and onto the paper. I didn't even wipe them away. I just stood there, crying silently like some stupid little girl who couldn't even handle a bad grade. How could I have been so thoughtless? How had I manage to convince myself that Mr. Godfrey was into me, when all along, he was just a plain fucking sadist?

Letha's words stung me as I stood there, frozen, staring at the floor, and specifically at the marble that shimmered faintly beneath the artificial lights. Somewhere behind me, someone coughed. A keyboard clacked. A door eased shut. Life went on, yet I couldn't move. How was I supposed to play Mr. Godfrey's game? 

Then, a voice cut through the blur, urgent but soft; "Hey-- hey, hey," A warm hand appeared on my arm, and I instantly knew who it was. 

Peter's handsome face was a mix of worry and fury, his brows drawn tight as he stepped between me and the eyes of the office. "Come here," he murmured, shielding me with his body. "Don't just stand here, come on."

I shook my head and tried to push him off, tried to regain my dignity, but he wouldn't let me; "Don't argue with me right now," Peter said, gentle but firm. "Look at the state of you... Jeez, you're shaking. You're coming with me."

Like the saviour he was, he ushered me toward his office, blocking the view of every curious face that dared look up, his hand never leaving the small of my back. He opened his door, pulled me inside, and shut it behind us with a soft click. "There you go," he murmured, guiding me into the chair across from his desk before leaving to close the blinds. 

The moment I knew no one could see me, I allowed myself to unravel-- the sob clawed out of my throat before I could stop it, and I bent over my knees, hands clutching at the short skirt I had specifically worn for Mr. Godfrey, just trying to hold something, anything. My pride, maybe?

Peter was already crouching beside me, his sigh falling warm against my knee. He didn't touch me, didn't shush me-- he just stayed still and let me fall apart. "Hey," he eventually said, voice barely above a whisper. "He doesn't get to talk to you like that."

I shook my head, but I couldn't speak. The tears kept coming, thick and hot, soaking my lashes until the whole world looked smeared. My ribs hurt from holding it all in, and now it poured out with everything I had been hoarding for a whole week.

Peter shifted closer, eyes round with concern. "You're not stupid," he said, softer now, reading my silence. "And you're not bad at your job. Roman just needed someone to bleed on, and you were standing too close... It's not your fault, kid."

I let out a shaky laugh; my tears were shockingly salty as they spilled over my lips. "I'm so pathetic," I whispered, voice breaking. "Crying in your office... Over him."

"No, you're not pathetic," His voice was steel now; "He's the pathetic one, for taking his shit out on someone like you."

Someone like... me?

The phrase echoed. Someone like me. Someone who still wore short skirts because she wanted the attention, someone who played pretend-submissive in her head like it meant something, someone who thought she could turn lust into safety, or longing into control. Someone delusional. Someone small. Someone pliable. Someone discardable. Someone unimportant. 

"I just thought he--" I stopped, swallowing another sob. "I thought he liked me." Stupid, stupid girl. Why would anyone like someone like me? Especially Mr. Godfrey, who could have anyone he ever wanted.

Peter's silence was heavy. It wasn't cruel, wasn't judgemental, but full of all the things he didn't want to say too quickly. "He did-- He does," he tried. "But not in a way that's good for anyone." Peter looked at me, earnest, eyes kind in a way that only made it worse. "I can't say much because of legal reasons, but the way he handled the last secretary wasn't... it wasn't okay. None of it was alright."

He shifted, gently placing his hand on my knee; something about it made my skin pleasantly buzz. "Look... This is a guy who grew up being told he was a God. He's been bathed in wealth we can't even begin to comprehend, and his mind is all screwed up because of it, so anything he says, comes from his sheltered little dream-land. He doesn't understand consequences. He doesn't understand that you're sitting here, upset. Imagine it like... like he's constantly in a moderate bubble of psychosis. Life is not real to him, so you can't make him real. Roman Godfrey is the virus in your computer, and it's time that you either tossed the whole thing out or built a firewall,"

I blinked at him, my heart aching in some small, tender way I wasn't prepared for. "But... I like my computer," I whispered. 

Peter reached out with his free hand, slow, careful, and peeled the wrinkled report from my grip. "It's a very nice, shiny computer," he said, rubbing my knee with his thumb in soothing motions. His eyes rounded out further with concern and pity, and he sighed before he landed his last blow;

"But you really need that firewall if you want to keep using it,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Handling pain is a skill.

Going through a full workday at Godfrey Industries was also a skill. It could break the strongest of soldiers, kill the most resilient of wolves, yet somehow, I had gotten through to the end of it. 

Mr. Godfrey hadn't come back from where on earth he had ran off to (probably his palace in the depths of Hell, if you ask me), and I had been back from Peter's office for a while now, sitting behind my desk playing my favourite game-- snake. Now that Mr. Godfrey wasn't here to give me any assignments, I had nothing to do, and quite frankly, I couldn't focus on anything that garnered my full attention; I needed something to space out to, and this was perfect.

I had about thirty minutes until I could go home. Hopefully, my crazy, evil, handsome bastard of a boss wouldn't return from Satan's secret lair, where he probably resided, and I wouldn't have to face him until the end of the day.

But as you likely guessed, speaking of the devil--

Mr. Godfrey's steps were usually harsh, quick, rash, and I'd usually be able to hear them from miles down the hall. However, he had somehow managed to appear in front of me with the swiftness of a CIA-trained spy, completely undetected. He leaned against the wall opposite my desk with his arms crossed over his chest, not looking at me-- instead, I saw the way his eyes had fixated on my Louboutins, and most specifically, the heel of them.

Then, just as I thought he was about to yell at me some more, and just as I grabbed my desk with dread, his first words were shockingly soft; "Those are sharp," he mumbled. "Sharp and high. I wondered why you were so tall today."

Stunned, I shifted in my seat, straightening up. I couldn't believe he was talking to me again. Swallowing over and over, I scanned him; was he wearing a different shirt? Maybe he had sweated through the previous one-- the whole incident with the HR lady seemed intimidating, after all. "I'm glad that how I dress doesn't utterly disgust you anymore," I huffed. "Is there anything I can do for you, sir? Maybe I could go get another cup of coffee for you to dump in your trash?"

Despite my sharp words and attitude, I flinched when Mr. Godfrey's green eyes darted to meet mine. However, they weren't terrifying like they had been earlier. Something had changed. "Yes," he said, pushing away from the wall and swallowing the reprimand he wanted to give me for mouthing off. "There is something you could do. Follow me."

There was something unbelievably relieving about hearing Mr. Godfrey talk to me and treat me like a normal person. If anything, it made everything worth it, and I felt sick for even thinking it. Some part of me would maybe even let him yell at me every day, if he'd come back at the end of it and speak to me softly like this. Without saying a word, I nodded and followed his long steps into his office.

The door shut behind me with a muted thud.

I stood in the middle of his office, unsure whether to sit or wait for him to tell me to. It felt like I had walked directly onto a wooden stand, ready to have my head chopped off by the dreaded Godfrey guillotine. 

However, Mr. Godfrey didn't look at me. The silence was suffocating, and the room smelled like that expensive cologne he wore, mixed with the adrenaline still lingering from whatever fire he'd walked through to get back here.

Without saying a word, he went to the bar cart by the dying orchid, fingers brushing over a crystal decanter before pouring a glass of what I could only guess was brandy. That alone told me something was off-- he never drank during office hours, meaning something was brewing, and it might be the cauldron where he was going to cook my remains.

Mr. Godfrey walked over to me and handed me the glass. What? I took it because I didn't know what else to do, and placed it beneath my nose; yeah, this was brandy, alright. 

Then, finally, he spoke, still not looking me in the eye; "What happened earlier... wasn't supposed to happen,"

"What are we talking about?" I asked, clutching my glass. "Me getting off on your shoe, or you yelling at me in front of the whole office?"

That did it-- Mr. Godfrey's eyes snapped up, ready to burn a hole through mine. It was clear that I had caught him off guard, and that he had obviously meant the latter, but I had been dying to finally say it out loud. You've seen me cum. You've seen me cum!

I was building my fucking firewall, piece by piece. Thanks, Peter. 

I had to play Mr. Godfrey's game to defeat him, the ultimate boss. Was he perhaps the modern equivalent of Bowser? That wasn't a thought I wanted to think right now, but anywho-- thanks, Letha.

"I crossed a line," Mr. Godfrey finally said, his voice tight with discomfort. "But I'm not usually surrounded by like-minded people, so... I got ahead of myself. I got too excited."

"Like-minded people?" I took a careful sip of my brandy as my words echoed the office. What was that supposed to mean?

Mr. Godfrey's mouth twitched like he regretted saying it out loud. He turned away slightly, running a hand through his hair; it was disheveled again in a way that made him look younger, almost boyish. "I saw something in you," he said after a pause, quieter this time. "Or, well, I saw you, and what you did, and I suppose I took that as an invitation. But was it?"

"Was what?"

"Was it an invitation?" he pressed, swallowing. "That first time I saw you? Did you want me to see it?" 

I stilled, pressing the glass to my bottom lip as I tried to find my words. "No," I breathed-- that was the truth. It'd had nothing to do with Mr. Godfrey. I was simply doing what I had been doing for years, and I had only wanted to relieve myself, but... "But I think I part of me wanted you to."

"To?"

"To see me, sir," My gaze fell to the floor, glancing at my Louboutins as anxiety burned its way into my fingertips-- or was that the brandy? "I just... wanted to be good."

Mr. Godfrey blinked. "Good?"

"Yes, sir,"

"Good for... me?"

Green eyes burned into mine when I dared to meet them again. The tone of his voice, the way it was painted with a delicate stroke of uncertainty, made my heart skip a beat. "You're doing it again," I breathed. "You're talking to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like this is something more than me being your secretary, and you being my boss,"

The air between us grew thick with tension as Mr. Godfrey's gaze never left mine. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His broad chest rose and fell as if trying to steady himself, like he was trying to catch up with something that had just slipped through his fingers. "You're right," he said, his voice low and controlled, though there was a hint of something raw beneath it; "And I don't think I'm able to stop."

Oh God. 

I didn't know how to respond; I was suspended in that breathless pause, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me, and not because of anything cruel, but because Mr, Godfrey was so composed now, so gentle. I opened my mouth, daring to speak, but he lifted a hand-- calm, slow, before he delivered the final blow; "So, if you wish to leave, you're not going to walk out of here with nothing. Don't worry. You'll get the severance package, full benefits, letters of recommendation, glowing ones... You'll be taken care of. I want you to land softly after what I've put you through,"

I stood still. 

Very still. 

Too still. 

It felt like any movement might shatter the fragile air between us, but in this tension, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't exist. So, I downed the brandy, to Mr. Godfrey's surprise-- I put it down on the floor next to me, flexing and unflexing my fingers like a nervous tic. I could feel my eyes well with tears as all my air got stuck in my chest; was this really happening? 

No, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

"Sir," I breathed, hoping my voice wouldn't crack. "Are you firing me?"

Mr. Godfrey's eyes widened slightly-- not with anger, not with that usual razor-sharp contempt he wore like a suit, but with something closer to confusion. However, there was no uncertainty when he gave me his answer; "No," Immediate. Definite. "I'm not firing you. If I fired you, you wouldn't get the severance package, so no. I'm not firing you. You're just... allowed to leave."

Something within me had cracked, and I couldn't mend it. I was trying to scoop up my emotions and stuff them somewhere I couldn't reach, but there was no going back. My tears had blurred my vision completely, and I had no idea how they hadn't spilled down my cheeks yet. This was an immediate panic unlike anything I had ever felt before. It felt like I was about to be executed, and like my entire reality was shattering. "Am I really that bad?" I breathed. "Did I-- Did I do that bad?"

"... What?"

"Did I do that bad of a job? Was I-- was-- I that bad?"

Mr. Godfrey stilled, but not like before; this was different, quieter, slower, like I had said something in a language he only half-understood. He took a single breath, and then, almost cautiously, exhaled; "You think this is about your job,"

"I just!--" I swiped at my eyes, furious that I couldn't stop my tears. "I'm just trying to-- to understand, sir! What did I do-- do wrong?"

Mr. Godfrey blinked. His hands gripped the desk even harder, as though that would ground him in this unforeseen conversation. Something told me that no one had cried like this in front of him before, and that he had absolutely no idea what to do with the crybaby in the room. "I thought I was doing you a favor," he tried. "I thought you'd want out, after what I've been putting you through?"

I placed my fingers beneath my lower lashes, hoping to salvage at least a bit of my makeup. 

Now that I was faced with the option, I finally knew what I wanted, after all the different inputs of the day. Just the thought of no longer seeing Mr. Godfrey, no longer being told what to do, no longer chasing the pain, the humiliation, the exhilaration, along with the high of having his full attention, made me want to scream. I needed him like water, despite what everyone else thought I needed. I'd had a taste of what I could have with him, and I needed, needed, needed, needed--

"No, I need this," I said, suddenly, voice thick with the kind of desperation I didn't know I was capable of exposing. "I need this job, sir. I need the rules, I need you to keep telling me what to do, I need-- I need this."

I watched as Mr. Godfrey flinched and pushed away from the table, shaking his head as though I was telling him something he shouldn't know. He paced back and forth, chewing on his bottom lip. He stopped with his back to me, his hand dragging down his face. "You can't need that," he muttered. "You shouldn't."

"But I do!" I cried, louder now, surer; it was a relief to say it out loud. "This, whatever this is, has been the only thing that's made any sense to me in a long time! It's like-- it's like I've been living under a damn rock for years, and all your bullshit makes me feel alive!"

Mr. Godfrey practically spun around on his heel, facing me with his brows drawn together in a look of offence; "My bullshit?"

"Yes, your bullshit!" Sniffling, I rubbed my nose, trying to get myself together. "You haven't even as much as looked at me for a week now because I showed some resilience!"

"That's not!--"

"No, that was why, sir! That's why, and I've loved it!" Tears ran down my cheeks as a broken laugh slipped past my lips. God, what a relief, and what a revelation-- all the emotions from my week of being ignored had culminated in something I had never felt before; important. Because Mr. Godfrey had taken the time to single me out, put his energy into ignoring me, and that made me feel beyond special, beneath all the pain and confusion. 

I needed this. I needed this.

Mr. Godfrey stared at me like I had just spoken in tongues. He was absolutely baffled-- positively scandalized. I watched it ripple through him; first the disbelief, then the reluctant understanding, and then that flicker of dark, stunned delight. "Are you sure?" he eventually asked, scanning me for any possible cracks. "Are you sure that this isn't just some new obsession of yours?"

I took a shaky breath; I was sure. "It's not,"

"And how can you be sure?" Something told me that Mr. Godfrey was nervous about this too, somewhere behind his deep, green eyes. He had previously had a hefty telling-off from HR, which I definitely should've have witnessed, so I could understand that he was reluctant to step into this again, no matter how much he wanted to; however, something in my head stopped working, and went into a gear I didn't know I had.

My brain short-circuited and did the most instinctive thing I could've done. I stepped forward away from the door, one step, two step-- I was sure, and this was the only way to show him.

I dropped to my knees before Mr. Godfrey.

The carpet grazed my knees, but I barely felt it. My breath came down in hard, choppy motions, but I didn't let it show. I simply placed my hands on my thighs and waited. I waited for him to say something, to deny me, to accept me, to step on me once more and call me a stupid little girl with a brain the size of a nut, anything-- I had to lower my gaze.

And for a few agonizing seconds, nothing happened. 

Then, I heard the sound of his shoes.

Mr. Godfrey stepped forward, silent, until the tips of his expensive shoes were nearly touching my knees. I didn't look up, I didn't move-- I couldn't. I was offering myself up to his dominance, to his control, to his liking, so I needed to stay very, very still. This felt like a mating dance I'd see birds do on National Geographic, because that was their nature, and this was ours. I could sense the air change above me, hear his soft sigh, and then--

Mr. Godfrey snapped his fingers, and I didn't need to talk to know what he wanted.

I tilted my head upwards, daring to meet his green, unreadable gaze. From this angle, he was gorgeous as ever, breathtaking-- I couldn't believe I even had a sliver of his attention.

Mr. Godfrey's thumb touched my bottom lip; his skin was warm. The pad of his thumb pressed inward with gentle pressure, and his eyes never left mine, even as they fluttered with my shaky exhale. 

I parted my lips, inviting him, accepting him.

He let his thumb rest inside my mouth a moment longer, not controlling, just there, like a question he already knew the answer to; I wouldn't bite. I wouldn't do that again, and he knew that now. When he eventually pulled it out, slowly, carefully, he brushed it against my cheek, smearing my spit into my skin, wanting to see whether I'd whimper with discomfort or squirm with disgust.

I did neither.

With a dreamy sigh, Mr. Godfrey crouched down in front of me, getting on my level for the first time-- it almost felt symbolic. We had accepted each other. It was done. He leaned in closer, so close I could smell his cologne again, so close I could trace the outline of the blessed Forbes nose, close enough to make me wonder whether he'd kiss me or not, before he whispered; "Are you sure?"

My lashes were heavy with my drying tears. "I'm sure,"

"I've been burned here before, so I need you to be clear with me. Do you consent?" Mr. Godfrey's green eyes seared into mine as his words clung to the thick air-- he needed to know. He needed to know, the same way I needed him to doom me.

I needed him to specify; "To working here?" 

"No," Mr. Godfrey breathed. "To being my submissive."

My heart stuttered-- finally.

It was out in the open, and in the midst of my joy, my eyes scoured his, searching for lies, searching for anything Mr. Godfrey could trick me with, but this was one of those rare moments where he was laying out everything for me to see. Something told me I wouldn't get him like this ever again. If anything, this was the opportunity of a lifetime, and an opportunity I had been waiting for him to give me since the second I met him. 

Finally, there was no question in my mind. I didn't need a firewall; I needed a dominant.

"Yes,"

(a/n: there is so YUMMY about this guy.... wtf is wrong w me?? OH WELL<333 HOPE U ENJOYED, MWAH MWAH MWAH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT!!!<333)

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[reginaphalangelobster]

Hoodie

Steve Rogers x Reader (romantic or platonic)

Summary: A mission doesn't go to plan and Steve blames himself.

Warnings: mild description of injuries, beating, mild blood, a lot of pain, angst, hurt/comfort, a little fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

Author's Notes: I wrote this with a platonic female reader in mind but apart from one reference to girls night it could be read as gender neutral. It could be romantic but I love Steve as a friend to the reader and there just don't seem to be that many fics where he's not a love interest or parental figure, but those are just my experiences. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

He was supposed to have your back but he saw a civilian who needed help, he got them to safety but not you. In the minute he had his back turned they had taken you.

He got the rest of the team to help and they eventually found you, on the floor. You were laying on a dirty concrete floor, chained to the wall. You were curled up, bloody and beaten. You had pretty substantial internal bleeding, at least that's what Bruce said. You had a huge bruise on your face, covering one of your eyes and a few small cuts. You had bruises all over your body but most of them were on your torso. You had a few broken ribs and a fracture in your left leg, making it much harder for you to move.

You were in a hospital bed for a few days and you almost went stir crazy so you moved to your room. Everyone in the team came by to check on you between missions. Tony showed you some new prototypes he was working on, after you begged him too. Sam brought some old family recipe he'd cooked up that was supposed to be good for healing, you didn't know if it was or not but it tasted great. Clint dragged Bucky in and made him play Uno with the two of you. It was fun for a while until you were about to murder Clint, luckily Bucky was there and he stopped you from busting your stitches, just barely. Bruce came to check your vitals but he ended up staying for a bit and you watched some trashy TV show that he loved, definitely not what you would've expected but it was fun to yell at the idiot, who was probably named Chad, for picking the wrong girl. Nat, Wanda and Loki came by for a girls night, Loki may not be a girl but he's one of your girls in the truest sense and he would never let it go if he wasn't invited to a girls night. You painted each other's nails, did each other's hair and watched cheesy romance movies (purely to annoy Nat). Thor stopped by at one point, of course it was when you were painting Loki's nails, at this point Loki couldn't exactly surprise Thor anymore so he just sat down with you all and joined in. By the end of the night he had let you paint his nails and he loved the little hammer designs you put on them. Even Vision floated in through your wall, scaring you half to death, but he was surprisingly good company.

The only person who didn't come to see you was Steve. He felt incredibly guilty and threw himself into missions and paperwork and anything to get his mind off of his failure, off of you and your pain. You called him a few times but he wouldn't answer. You knew he could because you spent a week teaching him how to use his phone. You called Bucky and asked him to check on Steve but he said that Steve wouldn't let anyone in his room, let alone talk to someone. You finally caught him on his way to the quinjet. He told you he was going on a mission and he couldn't talk.

Steve knew the mission was dangerous but he had to be Captain America and go anyway. You begged to come with him but he insisted you stay back and recover. You still weren't back to your usual self, it still hurt to move too much. Steve wouldn't let you go, he was still beating himself up for what had happened to you. You tried to get him to at least take someone else with him but he wouldn't listen, he just left.

He had been gone for three weeks and you couldn't stop worrying about him. When he didn't check in on the day he was meant to you cried, Steve always checked in. You were convinced something awful had happened to him. You were walking back to your room and you saw his door was open just a little. You stepped in and your senses were overwhelmed by him. His room was everything anyone would expect, very clean and tidy, not much stuff but enough. There was one thing that seemed out of place, a hoodie was laying atop his perfectly made bed.

It was the same hoodie that you got him for his birthday. It was dark blue, matching his stealth uniform and it had white writing on it, it said 'Est. 1918'. When you gave it to him he laughed at first, then he gave you a huge hug since most people don't know anything about his birthday except the whole 4th of July thing. Most people just say he's over a hundred and make jokes but you really cared. You picked up the hoodie and it smelled like him, making you smile. You pulled it on over your head and it felt like Steve was right there, hugging you and making everything feel okay. It was huge and it hung loosely over your body, going halfway down your thighs. Some would say you looked ridiculous but you felt comfortable and safe.

Days later and you were sitting on a big armchair in your room with your legs curled up under you. You were just staring out the window and watching the city, still in Steve's hoodie. You sat there for hours, completely zoned out, before you heard a knock on your door. You didn't respond, still not sure if you heard it or not.

"It's me" A low, sad voice said from behind the door. You immediately recognised Steve. As you rushed to get up you felt a large twist of pain in your side and sat back down.

"Come in" You called out through gritted teeth, trying not to alert Steve of your pain.

He slowly opened the door, almost afraid to come in and face you. It sounded ridiculous Captain America afraid of you, but he was, he was afraid you hated him. He stood behind the chair you were in, not wanting to face you.

"Are, are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah, are you okay?"

"Me? Why would you care about me? It's my fault y-"

"No it's not, don't think that"

"But it is"

"You were doing what you are supposed to do, save people"

"But I didn't save you"

"Yes you did"

"But I was too late, they already hurt you"

"I've been hurt a lot of times, this wasn't anything new"

"But-"

"But nothing, I'm alive because of you and I won't let you say otherwise"

He let out a small chuckle "God, you're stubborn"

"Yes, but that's why you love me"

"It sure is"

He came around to stand next to you and he saw what you were wearing.

"Is that my-"

"Sorry, I'll give it back"

"No, you look...comfy"

"Yeah, it's um, it's really soft"

"Is that why you took it?"

"No-not exactly"

"Then why?"

"It, it smells like you"

He looked at you for a moment with a questioning expression on his face.

"I know it sounds stupid but, it makes me feel safe, you make me feel safe"

"After everything that's happened, I make you feel safe?"

"Yeah, I was scared you wouldn't come back and this was, nice"

"Why did you think I wouldn't come back?"

"You didn't check in with Tony when you were supposed to"

"I didn't? I sent the message"

"You did?"

"Yeah, it mustn't have gone through" He pulled out his phone and checked his messages "Oh, I didn't press send"

You started to cry and laugh at the same time "You big idiot!"

Steve stared to laugh too "Hey I'm not, okay fair enough this time"

"Come here" You grabbed his arm and pulled him down into the chair with you "You may be an idiot sometimes but you're my idiot"

He was so close to you, he could really see your face, he could see the fading bruises and cuts. He brought his hand up to your cheek and his fingers grazed over the bruise, feather light. He travelled over the bruise on your eye and the small cut just above. His palm cradled your head and his thumb brushed across your cheek.

"I'm so sorry"

You placed your hand over his and squeezed gently "It's okay, Steve"

"I know it's not"

You finally broke, you started to cry and you leaned into him. You buried your face in his chest and wept, soaking his shirt with your tears. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight.

"It hurts" You whimpered through heavy sobs.

"I know" He said as he kissed the top of your head, squeezing you a little tighter, not wanting to let go.

You laid in his arms for hours, letting yourself feel the pain you had been repressing. You were so tired, you eventually fell asleep, but Steve still held you.

Tags:

@impetusofadream @goldfishthegr8 @avengers-official-recruit-agent @goreygirl03 @xenasolos @sparklyturtlefox @rios-sythe @nekoannie-chan @ilovemarvel12 @hayneyney @n3ponen @8812-342. @everyonesfriend @pinkthick @craftytacopiecash @meryuniverse @aliljaybird

[centaurianthropology]

'EXU: Divergence' is the Series I Didn't Know I Needed Right Now

I’ve now watched ‘Exandria Unlimited: Divergence’ fully through twice, plus the cooldown multiple times, and from the beginning to the end of the first episode it hit me like a sledgehammer. It's probably the most brutal EXU to date, and it is also somehow the most uplifting.

It's such a departure from the other Calamity-era EXU series in the best possible way, and I wish we could have an entire longform campaign with this cast in this time and place.

Spoilers for episode 1 of EXU: Divergence below the cut.

‘Calamity’ was a tragedy in the most classic sense: powerful people at the height of their strength who damn the world in their hubris. ‘Downfall’ was also a tragedy in a different way, a family of gods coming together briefly to save themselves, but at what cost?

But ‘Divergence’ is a story about ordinary people. As the gods play their family games, and the powerful vie for even more power than they could ever use, and hoard wealth and resources beyond what they would ever need, these are just five people trying to get enough food and water and rest. Trying to survive in a world that acts first as an oppressive prison and then in indifferent chaos as the gods fight above them.

They're not even Level 1 adventurers. These are level 0 nobodies. NPC stat blocks. They don’t have classes; they have jobs. And in each of these people, we see the true heart of what good people can do in desperate and damning times.

I want to talk about all these characters, because I love them so much. I love the story they and their rolls are telling.

Nia isn’t a cleric with magical healing; she’s a nurse with some herbs and bandages and a little knowledge. Hell, in a world where misery is endlessly and pointlessly perpetuated by the games of the powerful, she’s not even a healer. She’s a repairer of bodies. She keeps feeding them back as grist in the mill, because what else can she do?

She can hope. She can believe that change is coming. But more than believing in it, she can act toward it. She can enact tiny acts of rebellion and kindness. Because maybe she is just repairing bodies, but she will desperately overreach and overplay her hand to try to buy them a little more time, a little more comfort, a little more light in the darkness.

She's young and naive, but her hope is still chosen at every terrible moment. Even when she falls into exhaustion, having prayed over her sister's locket and received nothing in return, Nia still chooses to act. She chooses to get up and, if water isn't coming to her, to go looking for it instead. She is doing better than the others, even if she's not doing well. And so she goes. She looks. She sees a friend die, wishing with his dying breath to see the rain.

And it rains. Not, to her mind, because a god walks across the world before her. Even if she sees the god, she's not looking there. She knows that Starmian made the rain. She sees the acts of people good and bad. She sees the power in hope.

Garen isn’t a fighter or a druid; he’s a stonemason with one arm and a hammer. And he’s a man who has spent so long under the boot of oppression, so long being ground down into nothing that he’s learned never to hope except when exhaustion takes him so fully that he forgets not to hope. That's when he can still see the faces of his family, instead of the prison he's lived in for so long he built most of it.

He is a character we meet in complete despair, but he's also the first to move past it. As soon as the opportunity for action arises, as soon as there are people in need, Garen takes his old and tired body and makes it work for people he’s never met, simply because an injustice is being done to them. Because he’s been waiting for longer than he can remember to stand back up after being beaten down. When he brings his hammer down on a guard’s head, when he breaks through a wall to save a bunch of dragonborn he’s never met, when he insists that they will not leave children to die. This is a man remembering what it is to stand up.

He wants to save everyone, well beyond what he's currently capable of, because once hope is rekindled he clings to it. He believes firmly that if people who can help others don’t do so, then what is the point?

Fiedra isn’t a rogue; she’s a gang leader with the ability to talk her way out of trouble. She also isn’t nearly the altruist that Garen and Nia are. She acts out of self-interest because that was how she’s survived as long as she has. She has a roach tattooed on her arm. She is a survivor, someone who can worm her way into a position of slight privilege even in the worst prison imaginable. And when she’s starting to feel the effects of exhaustion from their march north, she sneaks a meal from their dwindling food stocks that no one else gets. Because that is what a survivor does, even if it hurts others.

But she's also not so simple. She only eats the cheese after she checks to make sure her friend isn’t becoming exhausted as well. Because as much as she knows how dangerous it is, Fiedra cares. She shows it again and again in her interactions with Crokas, how she drops everything including her position of privilege and relative comfort in the prison to try to break him free.

Crokas is her family; her gang was her community, and she cared for them fiercely. And now all she has is Crokas (because the dice tell an amazing story, and those terrible rolls were incredible for her character development). So she looks after him. She jumps to his defense when it’s revealed that his breath weapon doesn’t work. She talks him up, tells everyone how great he is, explains things to him when he doesn't understand.

She’s not to the point where she’s capable of expanding that compassion out beyond the two of them (“The best I can do, kid” was a hell of a line). But she’s making steps in that direction. She survived a hellish march with these people. When she and Crokas found Starmian’s body she was the one who immediately asked where Nia and Erro were. Sometimes, when the shit hits the fan, all you can do is care for yourself and those you love. Learning to care for more than that tiny sphere is part of part of reclaiming the best of one’s personhood in the worst of times, and part of finally building a future instead of just surviving now.

Crokas isn’t a barbarian; he’s a massive bodyguard in way over his head. He has no idea what’s going on most of the time. He has an intelligence stat of 6, and he’s stuck in a world that keeps upending itself on him. Maybe he understood how life worked in a city with his gang and with Fiedra guiding him. Even in Rybad Kol, the worst prison imaginable, a man as massive and imposing as Crokas probably did all right, especially with Fiedra talking the Roaches’ way into running the Slop.

And then every dragonborn in the prison was taken to be carted off to die for a goddess he’d never heard of, purely because they were dragonborn. He can barely even understand that he’s part of a singled-out minority group, and certainly can't grasp the machinations of gods.

But he can see that, in the cart with him, there are children. And when they escape he might not understand how this happened. But he understands that this long march toward some hope for a future is currently killing them. They don't have food or water. Their feet are damaged for the rest of their lives by this endless walk north. It is SO BAD.

But he notices when those children start to become exhausted, so he walks like a monitor lizard with them riding on his back.

Because that's what strength is for.

Not to rule. Not to hurt. To lift up those who can’t stand, and carry them. Crokas may not understand what’s going on, but he understands what needs to be done, and what he can do. And the fact that he starts carrying those children, taking penalties against his constitution saving throws at the end of every bad day on the road, right after Fiedra ate that cheese in secret? The look on her face says it all.

Erro is not a ranger or a druid; he's a mapmaker who has survived for far too many years seeing far too many horrors. He is clearly almost as old as Garen, and is far more stubbornly jaded. Their lives have both been destroyed, but all of Erro’s travels, everything he’s done has ground him down to basic survival. He is practical, but still not cruel. Liam said in the cooldown that he’s been on a teeter-totter between simply surviving to live another day, and the thought he could even hope for a better world.

He’s not there yet. He’s more like Fiedra in his fatalism, even if he's not as openly cynical. And yet he still follows Nia when she goes out with Starmian to find water. He still looks after her, just like Fiedra looks after Crokas. And like Fiedra, he sees in Nia the hope he tries to smother in himself. Starmian dies, as Erro knew he would, because he’s seen dozens of Starmians.

But then the rains come. The gods give and take and take and take and give and take. The world is a cruel place, but he still watches a younger, more hopeful person fall to her knees with the rain in her hands as she cries in thanks.

I am immediately and completely enamored with these ordinary people living through extraordinary times. I can’t wait to see what becomes of them, how the world shapes them and breaks them and how they might lift one another and a community up out of the rubble.

I didn’t know how much I needed this right now. Because it’s SO BAD, but the very first word in the very first episode is hope. And more than hope, these people are embodying acting in tiny ways to build a better future. I know that myself and a lot of people have been watching the enshittification of the world around us and feel like ants under the feet of uncaring, cruel tyrants and gods. Like their games always lead to suffering, and they either don’t care or actively enjoy that part of it. And it's so easy to give in to despair, to become convinced that there is absolutely nothing that can be done.

But we are all level 0 ordinary people too. And we can still hope. We can still take acts of defiance and kindness, great and small. We can stand up again when we’re knocked down, even when it hurts. We can help those we love to live day to day, even while we can take what steps we can to build and lift up a larger community. We can live through hell, because even in that hell there will be moments of exquisite beauty and joy.

Because maybe all of us can find the rain.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo's little sister seducing Choso at Shibuya

Pairing: Choso x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,6k

Synopsis: When Gojo's little sister is at Shibuya in order to find her brother, she meets none other than Choso - a man that seems to have everything she has ever dreamed about. Is she able to seduce him?

Warnings: the end is spicy as hell so read at own risk, Choso being a lil slow but straightforward in the end, this has no real plot so be aware of brainrot

Tags: @96jnie @shebibtedmypepnis @chososwhoresblog @sanicsmut (you didn't ask for that but I tagged you anyway) @curlynoodle937565 @ifuckfictionalmen (thought you might like that) @nyahctrl @khaleesihavilliard

„Let’s see where you are…”, you mumble to yourself.

Satoru has some nerves, letting himself get sealed when the whole country needs him and his stupid six eyes and hollow purple. You’ll definitely make fun of him for the rest of his life for that. What else should you do? After all, you are his little sister. It’s your job to get on his nerves.

Your heels klick against the hard floor beneath almost therapeutically while your eyes scan the area. Seems like none of these fuckers are here. Who the hell is responsible for this whole mess? Surely not that volcano and flower guy from before, right? If Satoru is smart, he already exorcised both of them.

Something inside you makes you stop in your tracks. There is someone, without any doubt.

“Don’t be shy, you don’t have to hide from me. I promise I won’t bite. Just beating the shit out of you”, you announce into the darkness, the only thing lighting up the hallways being the colorful signs.

This definitely isn’t one of Satoru’s students, that’s for sure. None of them is already skilled enough to hide from your sharp senses. Fuck, even Nanami can’t escape you.

So, who the hell is this?

Your nerves begin to tickle just the way you like it, a bright grin plastered on your face. Finally some action, finally someone you can fight eye to eye. How long has it been since you’ve experienced that? Too long, that’s for sure.

Despite being Satoru’s little sister, you aren’t gifted with six eyes or unlimited cursed energy. No, even though being a member of the Gojo-clan you were never able to meet his standards, always a shadow by his side. Gifted with the same blue eyes but without the glow, gifted with a few strands of white hair but your head isn’t fully snow-colored. That didn’t stop you from becoming a grade 1 sorcerer, one of the bests under the special ranks. Yes, you are an exceptional jujutsu sorcerer all by yourself, without being gifted since birth.

But regardless of your big brother always came first, he loves you with all his heart. Protected you when you didn’t want to be protected, trained you even though you hated getting beaten by him, comforted you when all you could do was cry. To be honest, Satoru is the best big brother you could have asked for and it’s your responsibility to save him. What do you have siblings for?

“You’re starting to get on my nerves. Come out or get out of the way.”

Foreign steps start to echo through the hallway, making your heart hammer against your ribcage in an instant. These footsteps don’t sound familiar to you, you haven’t met whoever this is yet.

Your vibrant blue eyes dart towards the figure of what seems like a man, coming closer and closer to you. He’s tall, dark hair hanging into his face. Oh, his face…he’s really handsome with that tattoo over his nose. Since being Satoru’s sister comes with meeting many good-looking man, this is nothing new to you. But something about him is special, more your type. A look into his brown violet eyes is enough to get lost in them.

“You’re hot”, you coo out, heels clicking while you approach him.

“Who are you?”, his deep but bored voice questions.

Choso hates to admit it, but you’re easy on his eyes. Something about your appearance seems familiar while he’s sure he has never seen you before. That ocean eyes…

“You look like Satoru Gojo.”

“Yeah, I hate to admit it but I’m his little sister. Are we really that similar? I don’t want to look like him”, you remark, face twisted.

That means you’re his enemy, that means he has to kill you. Instinctively, he shoots slicing exorcism your way, attempting to pierce right through your heart at horrendous speed.

“Watch out, that is dangerous!”, you warn him, flying through the air with ease to avoid his attack.

Damn, you’re fast. Your speed is exceptional for a human being, almost as fast as Satoru Gojo himself.

“Let me come closer”, you hush.

Before he’s able to react any further, you stand right in front of him, fists flying his direction.

“You’re so quiet, what’s on your mind?”, you insist, careful to not get sliced open by his blood manipulation.

“I wish you were too”, he hisses before catching your fist mid-air and slamming your body into the ground.

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad”, you purr, hands grabbing his strong shoulders tightly.

Satoru would kill you right here on the spot if he’d hear you, always disliking your taste in men like nothing else.

“I think he’s kinda hot”, you admitted while eyeing the dark-haired boy from Kyoto named Kamo.  

Satoru almost choked on his coke, eyes and face screaming in disgust.

Are you serious, (y/n)? What the fuck is wrong with your taste in men, why always the bad ones? Maybe you should get them checked.”

He roughly smacked the back of your head, making you almost lose it completely.

“Are you out of your mind, idiot? I heard your eyes can freeze if someone hits you in the head while you’re squinting!”

“Your eyes aren’t functioning properly anyway. How about someone like Yuta or somethin’, a nice guy with good intentions. Or even better, just do this world a favor and stay single.”

“Can you just shut the fuck up? You have nothing to say to me!”

“I AM YOUR BIG BROTHER-“

“CAN YOU TWO SHUT UP ALREADY!?”

Hehe. You smile to yourself while shaking your head, focus back on the man in front of you. Oh, you can tell by the way he moves that he’s absolutely buff underneath that cloak. And his eyes…They look even more stunning up close. What a gorgeous man. Yes, he’s definitely more than your type. Who is he?

“Tell me your name.”

With a swift motion, you’re back on your feet, curse-loaded fists aiming for him.

“Choso Kamo”, he presses out.

What’s wrong with you? Are you really trying to seduce him while battling? He’s your enemy, he’s on his way to kill your comrade, he…you…

Why are you so good-looking? And why does your confident smile make his usual calm heart flutter? You don’t seem scared at all, let alone determined to kill him.

“Oh, that explains the blood manipulation.”

“I’m here to kill Yuji Itadori.”

“Yuji, huh? What did that poor boy do to deserve your hate?”, you question, letting yourself fall into a split to avoid his blood.

“He killed my brothers”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

You stop in your tracks for a second, gaze fixed upon his. Oh. This certainly wasn’t the answer you were expecting. In your mind, all of these curses and the people working with them are cold-hearted monsters, walking on this earth to kill every human that gets in their way. But Choso…

You can feel his pain.

“I’m sorry to hear that”, you breathe out.

And you mean it. You’d be devastated too if someone killed Satoru, seeking for revenge with every fiber of your being.

Your glistening eyes and words make it hard for Choso to raise his hand against you. The eyes that look like those of Satoru Gojo, those eyes that are partly responsible for the death of his beloved brothers. No, he can’t let you get away, you are a part of the problem, you have to die, you…

You are grabbing his hand.

“If someone killed my brother, I would do exactly the same thing. But let me tell you this wasn’t easy for Yuji, he had no other choice-“

“I don’t want to hear it”, Choso yells, slapping your hand away, trying to slash you open again.

“Good for you I like my man feisty and strong. You’re a great catch”, you shout, entangling him in close combat again.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you understand that we are on different sides?”, he questions.

“Why though? We’d be a perfect match. I bet those fingers look good around my neck.”

The way Choso’s face instantly twists in disbelief and that little blush that creeps up his face are the best things you’ve seen for a long time while suddenly water rains down on him, fire alarms going off around both of you.

“Opsie, might have hit something important”, you comment, white uniform now soaked in water.

Did you really just say that? Are you too dumb to realize that he is your enemy, that romance has no place in his world, that he is fucking reincarnated? No, you are way too smart to not be aware of the fact who he is. You simply decide to ignore it.

But not only that, are you really flirting with him? Choso never really thought much about his appearance, it was never his goal to be ‘attractive’. But at the moment, when seeing your wet skin, your eyes lingering over him…

Something about your words and looks make him wonder.

“Do you…really mean that?”, he mumbles while blocking your attack.

“Huh, that you’re hotter than hell? Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m lying.”

Choso feels like fainting when your dripping face comes so close that it’s only inches away from his own, your mesmerizing orbs locking with his through wet lashes while your hands rest against his chest. Can you feel his heart hammer, can you tell that this the first time a women ever touched him? Oh god, what is he supposed to do? He has a mission, he needs to kill Yuji Itadori, he-

Your fingers start to draw small circles over the fabric of his soaked cloak, making something twitch inside his pants. Fuck, why do you have to look so absolutely stunning when your hair is completely wet, light up by purple light that makes you look almost angelic?

“Oh god”, he breathes out.

This feels so good. No, this is so wrong.

“You…you shouldn’t be flirting with me. I am party responsible for your brother getting sealed and killed. I am your enemy.”

“Urgh, stop talking about my damn brother, he’s fine anyway. He doesn’t let himself get killed by some idiots. And you don’t have to me my enemy. Let’s be…friends”, you suggest.

“Friends”, he repeats.

“Maybe more, who knows…I’m not mad about the things you’ve done. I fully understand why you’re outraged and what your mission is, I respect your motives”, you reply.

God, why does he have to be so breathtaking beautiful and relatable? Under all the men you’ve met, why is it exactly him you fell the hardest for? Why can’t it be someone like Ino or Todo? Why does it have to be him? Oh, Satoru will definitely kill you when he finds out about it.

But you don’t care. No, Choso has something you were looking for in every man you’ve met before. He is strong, outstanding smart, has clear goals, is straight up stunning and a little dangerous. You couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re standing on opposite sides.

You want him.

“You won’t stop me from killing Yuji Itadori.”

“I will have to try. But until then, there is absolutely no reason for us to fight, right? I’m into bad guys anyway.”

Choso looks at you completely lost at words. You, a breathtaking fine-looking and skilled jujutsu sorcerer, are really interested in getting to know him? This has to be a dream he didn’t know about until now, a deep desire that comes to life.

But he can’t resist. Despite all the things that speak against it, he can’t.

“Fine”, he grumbles.

“Great! Would you mind taking off that cloak so I can see your abs?”, you ask, eyes sparkling in excitement.

But why is this not enough? Why is a simple ‘fine’ not enough to fulfill that desire? Something inside him begs him to pull you closer, to hold your body firmly against his, kiss you and-

He swallows heavy. What has gotten into him?

“I won’t do that”, he automatically replies, gaze fixed on your pretty little mouth.

Oh, the things he wants to do right now, things he never thought about before. Is it because of the human body he reincarnated him? No, he never felt the desire to be close to a woman before. It’s because of you and the way you tilt your head, how you seem to know which words you have to use in order to drive him insane.

“Oh, was it too early for that? Fine, I’ll wait then… ”

Fuck it.

It happens faster than you’re able to react. With a swift motion, Choso pins you against a nearby wall, looking down at you with dark eyes.

“What do you have that other women haven’t had before?”, he hisses.

“Beauty, brain, power…”

You aren’t able to finish your ramblings. With rough hands, he grabs your waist and neck before pressing his lips against yours. You melt into his touch in an instant, too stunned by this sudden reaction. Instinctively, your very own hands begin to roam around his body, muscles now perfectly emphasized by the stream of water that pours down on both of you through the dim purple neon lights. Fuck, you’re melting like butter in his hands, your shared sloppy kiss being the only thing apart from the dripping water that fills the empty hallway.

“Fuck”, you moan into his lips, fingertips tracing through his wet hair.

This is straight out of your dreams. Making out with a man you didn’t even know an hour ago, a man that seems to have everything you want, a man who’s your enemy. But since when are enemies this good at kissing, since when is it allowed that they are so damn fine?

Why the hell are you so turned on?

He let’s go of you as suddenly as he grabbed you before, panting hard while looking down at you with glimmering eyes.

“I will search for Yuji Itadori now”, he proclaims, licking over his lips and closing his eyes for a second.

Slowly but surely, Choso returns back into reality, mind sorting itself. That felt good, way too good for his liking. If he didn’t let go, he’d probably stay here with you until the night ends. But he still has a mission to fulfill.

“You sure about that? Y’know, we could stay here a little longer, that fire alarm with all that water pouring down and the neon lights are kinda romantic…”, you begin.

“I’ll meet you again. Until then, don’t get in the way.”

One last touch. He allows his fingertips to brush over your cheek and mouth one last time before turning around and disappearing.

He’s gone, leaving you sinking down the wall as your knees give in. Mindlessly, your fingertips trace over your lips.

This really happened. Did you really just seduce the enemy? Your heart still hammers roughly against your chest, hands trembling in sensation while the water from above keeps pouring down on you. No man ever touched you like that, no man ever gave you that kind of feeling. Fuck, what did you get yourself into?

You chuckle into yourself, eyes fixed on the pouring water.

“If Satoru finds out about that…”

Click here for Part ll

[thewertsearch]

I guess everyone is reacting to their parents' deaths in this arc. Dave's relationship with Bro has always been a little... complicated, so this should be a very interesting conversation.

TG: oh my fucking god […] TG: we just got done talking and agreed it would be awesome if you didnt bother me for a while […] GC: OH GC: TH4TS R1GHT GC: 1 FORGOT! TG: it was five seconds ago

Girl, get your damn timelines in order!

GC: D1D YOU LOV3 H1M D4V3? TG: no

I believe you.

There's something about the Strider brothers which I noticed a while ago, but haven't had the opportunity to talk about. This is the perfect moment to discuss it, though, because it explains a lot about why Dave is the way he is.

So - let's talk about the Strife fights.

When John first attacked his father with a hammer, I decided to roll with the assumption that this fight was symbolic, rather than literal. John loves his dad, and it can be safely assumed that he doesn't want to kill the guy.

Instead, this scene serves as a stand in for the familial strife between father and son. John finds his father's parenting style to be mildly frustrating, and their interactions sometimes feel like a fight to him.

Likewise, Rose (probably) isn’t actually going for Mom with those needles. Instead, their fight represents Mom’s 'ironic' negligence, and the gifts that Rose refuses to believe are from the heart. The Lalonde relationship is clearly more fraught than the Egbert one, but I don't think Rose actually wants to skewer Ms Lalonde.

Jade doesn't really fight her Grandpa, but their Strife clearly demonstrated how deeply in-denial she is - not about his death, but about the fact that her life isn't normal. She's desperately trying to have the same childhood that John and Rose are describing, but she can't, because she doesn't have a parent to bicker with.

Now, I'm sure you've guessed where I'm going with this. What, exactly, did Dave's Strife scenes represent?

Well...

...first of all, it's worth noting that Dave is the only Player to explicitly describe the events of his Strife to a third party. We've never heard John reminiscing about bludgeoning Dad, but Dave's constantly complaining about getting beaten up by puppets.

And - rather more worryingly - Dave is the only Player to retain his Strife injuries, even after this ostensibly 'metaphorical' fight is over.

In fact, one of those Strife injuries still marks him to this day.

The point I am obviously dancing around is that I don't think Dave's Strife was a metaphor at all. Unlike his friends, there's no pretense to these fights. They're literal. Dave's brother routinely attacked him.

Odds are, this was Bro's way of 'preparing' Dave for the game he surely knew was coming - but you don't need me to tell you that he took it way too far. The guy might have been Dave's assigned Guardian, but he really shouldn't have been raising anyone.

[aingeal98]

So like, Tim is canonically a sore spot for Steph and vice versa. Bruce used it cruelly in War Games, making Steph Robin to bait Tim and then belittling her during training by saying how Tim did x or y so much better. And that sucked a lot and we all pretty much agree Bruce should be beaten with hammers for that. However, I also like to think the rest of the family is fully aware of these glaring weak points they have for each other, and use it in more lighthearted ways because they're manipulative assholes but not evil.

Babs: There's a gala tonight, I need you undercover at it.

Steph: Mmm no can do I'm busy.

Babs: Bruce is making Tim go undercover too and if he gets the evidence first he won't share it with us

Steph:... Fine I'll go.

Dick, knocking at Tim's window: Red Robin emergency.

Tim: Ughhhh it's 3am on my night off, I haven't had a good sleep in two weeks, what could possibly-

Dick: Fine, fine, don't worry about it. I'll swing by the Hill and check if Steph is awake.

Tim, shoving the window open so hard it rattles: No need, I'm here, just tell me what's wrong.

Steph, hanging out with Cass: Ugh Tim won't stop texting me about this case from last week as if it wasn't his own fault he fell through the skylight and he just-

Cass, feeling a headache growing because Tim and Steph have been fighting for a week straight and Steph has been ranting about it constantly: Wow. You have a lot of feelings towards him. You like him again?

Steph: What? Ew! No! Why would you-

Cass, sipping her milkshake: You just talk about him a lot.

Steph: Fuck you. New conversation topic right now, we're not going to mention him for the rest of the evening.

Cass: :)

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

I keep thinking about The Next Prince and power. Because it's setting up some really interesting dynamics, and I hope we get to see them properly explored.

Khanin is our protagonist, our entry point into this new world. The one we are supposed to relate to, as his universe shifts around him. He claims he doesn't want his royal position, that he's only there to find his father, and yet... it's a little unnerving how quickly he becomes comfortable at wielding the power that he's been given.

He feels rather like a toddler who's picked up a hammer, who doesn't truly understand the implications or the harm that could happen. His scenes causing trouble for Chakri are largely played for humor, yet one wrong move and Chakri could be jobless and disgraced, with no real consequences for Khanin.

And we know his attempts to force Charan to his side are largely driven by trauma and the bond of their early experiences, yet his orders are the very thing that keep pushing Charan further from a true relationship with him. His orders are always about how he feels and what he wants. He wanted to dance with Charan, so he did, without care of what it could mean for Charan's career or reputation. He wanted Charan as his coach, so he played up cutely with the king, without understanding that he is pushing Charan deeper into the viper's nest by doing so.

But as Charan says, he's not a bargaining chip. He genuinely cares for Khanin, but he does not remotely want the kind of relationship with Khanin that he has with the king, one purely of obsequiousness and duty. And that's what Khanin's eagerness to use power will get him, unless he is able to recognize the danger ahead.

On the other hand, for Ramil, power is more like a whip. Something that has been wielded against him and the things he loves his entire life. I imagine that Rachata was the kind of father to burn his child's favorite toy when Ramil didn't behave as expected.

Ramil has never known a life without the whip. And since this is Ramil's experience with power, this is also how he wields it - either a sharp attack at a perceived foe (usually Khanin), or as a tool to wrap up and bind that what he fears losing (Paytai).

But what would Ramil be like without that fear of Rachata's whip? Having a moment to breath. Without living in a constant state of desperation to save what he treasures most.

And then we have Paytai, who is fascinating in his own right. He knows what he means to Ramil, he sees the flinching we all see as he gets beaten. He sees Ramil being upset he returned early on the day he is punished. And most of all we know he dreams of being able to openly dote on Ramil, and tell him he cares to his face, while sleeping as equals in the bedroom.

But Ramil is too bound in this violent cycle with his father to hear such words. He doesn't understand the traditional language of love. And so Paytai puts on the collar, and puts the leash in his master's hand, to show Ramil what he cannot say to him. That it's ok that all he understands is the whip, because Paytai wants to be his whipping boy.

I don't know how this will end, but I do know that Khanin will need to experience a reckoning with his use of power. Also Rachata needs to die. I know some nice caves...

[witchthewriter]

𝐒𝐢𝐡𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: some spoilers for the series xx

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISTP

Hufflepuff

Chaotic Good

Scorpio Sun, Sagittarius Moon, Cancer Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・The most sweetest, most gentle and most loyal husband you could ever imagine.

・Exactly like the ones in the romance novels - you are his world.

・And he would do ANYTHING for you. Sounds cliche but he would literally climb the tallest mountain, ask Uhtred to help him bring down the moon, Sihtric is crazy in love with you. And it doesn't stop after the honeymoon phase.

・Any part of your body that you dislike, Sihtric is the first one to be like "what? I don't get it. You are ... the most glorious person to ever walk on midguard."

・Has cried while alone when he's away from you.

・Not when he's been asked by Uhtred to spy though - he just thinks about you when it's safe to do so (he takes caring for his friends very seriously. He's big on loyalty.)

・Further with the loyalty comment; it's actually hilarious that it was he and Uhtred who set up that ruse in season 3. Sihtric would rather die than actually be that person

・Buys you any and every kind of jewellery; bracelets, rings, earrings, necklaces. If you follow his religion/way of life, then he buys you your own thor's hammer pendant.

・When he places it around your neck, he tugs you forward and leans his head against your forehead.

・Calls you, "sweetheart," "my love," "beautiful/handsome". But also likes to call you cheeky ones too: "troublemaker," "danger."

・Puppy god eyes, puppy dog eyes, PUPPY DOG EYES. He doesn't even know he's doing it. It was practically beaten out of him when he was younger by his father and half-brother.

・But when he realised he was doing it, Sihtric thought, 'I have never felt safe enough to act like this. With anyone.'

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Calm bf (Sihtric) x Hyper gf/bf/non-binary partner (You)

Gives Jewellery (Sihtric) x Tries To Wear Everything Every Day To Make Them Happy (You)

Black Cat (You) x Black Bat (Sihtric)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Enemies to Lovers

You first saw Sihtric when he was living with his wretched father. You never expected to find him tied up under Uhtred's command.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Lady of the Dawn by Peter Gundry

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point.

・When he first gets back from being away from you, he's hungry - like a dog in heat, he's rough, he needs to feel you, all of you.

・Sihtric's favourite thing to do is go down on you. Your juices, your smells; it drives him mad.

・After he's made you cum thrice, he rubs your cum/juices on his clothes just in case he has to leave again. He wants to be able to smell you.

・It has become a ritual now - if he doesn't then it's bad luck in his mind.

・If Sihtric is home for a while then his fucking turns into love making. Gentle, loving, slow, passionate.

・Long strokes, in and out of you while kissing every part of your face from above, nuzzling his face into your neck.

・Has a massive breeding kink (even if your body does not have the means to create a child); he likes to talk dirty while pumping into you.

"That's it, let me cum inside you my love. I want to put a child in you."

・When you agree with a whimper, it sends him over the edge. Hot ropes of cum shooting inside you.

・Sihtric keeps pumping though. The fantasy of having a large family with you made his cock hard again.

[astroyongie]

https://www.tumblr.com/astroyongie/779665119843074048/hello-yongie-if-possible-could-you-do-a

Hahaha this is fun, can you do this for skz too please? 😙

Stray Kids When Drunk

astrology based

Bangchan

𖤓 Bangchan is the type of person who is very affectionate and flirty whenever he is wasted. He would go for hugs, compliments, and maybe some “accidental” touching on the people he likes and find attractive

𖤓 He honestly can talk to ANYONE. Doesn't matter who you are and what is your status, he would have no issue in starting a conversation. Bangchan makes friends instantly when drunk

𖤓 Without much surprise this also means that Bangchan flirts a lot and usually its with deep eye contact and mysterious energy that he tries to surround himself with. he doesn’t need to try hard.

𖤓 He also has zero impulse control. Bangchan is the type that will bet money, kiss strangers, or hop on a random flight just because someone accused him of not being capable of doing it

Minho

𖤓 Believe it or not but Minho changes when he is wasted. he will always try to convince the group to go somewhere else. “Boring bar. Let’s go to a rooftop party. No? Fine, we’re road tripping to Vegas.” he makes no sense and someone would need to stop him

𖤓 Minho is also the type to either be completely silent (it would really depend on his post pre-party) or starts revealing deep secrets that no one asked about. He is so embarrassed afterwards which is why he avoids alcohol

𖤓 He doesn’t get “silly” drunk despite these behaviors he has. Minho is either sexy and brooding or dark and chaotic, and again it would depend if he was in a good or bad mood previously

𖤓 But I think it's also interesting to point out that he will start off classy and composed but ends up the messiest of all and probably grows up somewhere by the end of the night

Changbin

𖤓 I think it wouldn't surprise anyone if I say that based on his chart, Changbin would be the loudest person at the party. Probably starts a karaoke session and demands everyone watch or to participate.

𖤓 He would randomly starts talking about his childhood or ex at some point when the alcohol kicks in. “You know what? My grandma used to make the best cookies…” starts crying. Yes, he can be an emotional drunk

𖤓 Somehow despite all of this, and all the chaotic stuff he can do, Changbin stays classy even when wasted meaning he won't get dirty, hurt or throw up in someone's bathroom.

𖤓 Truth be said, he doesn’t get drunk often, but when Changbin does it’s an EXPERIENCE. He is fun to be around during such moods

Hyunjin

𖤓 It's always the same story with Hyunjin, he first tries to pace himself with his consumption but accidentally ends up drinking too much.

𖤓 He definitely is the type that forgets what they were talking about mid sentence. “Wait…what was I saying?” and then Hyunjin proceeds to shrug and go back to another topic or conversation

𖤓 Also, Hyunjin would fall in love with everyone after two drinks. “You have the most beautiful soul.” becomes flirty but his flirt would suck a lot so people usually dont even mind him much

𖤓 Also careful, because Hyunjin moves way too fast as he never understands how wasted he is. "Shots? Done. Next round? Already drinking it." he would need a supervisor

Han

𖤓 Han is a little bit like Hyunjin when it comes to falling in love with everyone when drunk. it could be his friend, a bartender, or random stranger he would have heart eyes in such moments

𖤓 Also Han would always be the mediator in drunk arguments between other people even if he doesnt know them. “Guys, let’s just love each other.” he would start. he either is successful or ends up beaten as well

𖤓 Another one of his drunk abilities is that Han always looks effortlessly good, even when hammered. He has a good way of approach and he knows how to behave

𖤓 Flirts like he is in a romance movie. “You and I? We were DESTINED to meet.” and he would smile and touch your hand. However next morning he would run out of the back door

Felix

𖤓 Felix when durnk is always the same story with him being the first to start the drinking games and also be the first to black out. Probably yells, “I’m not even drunk!” while stumbling.

𖤓 Without much surprise, Felix is the type of drunk that will compliment everyone regardless of who they are. “You’re SO beautiful. No, I mean it.” and he would be upset if you don't take his compliment

𖤓 Loves attention and will charm the entire room. That's just on his genes and it gets intensified whenever he is wasted or with some alcohol in his veins

𖤓However, Felix is also the type that will start unnecessary drama just to make the night interesting. Either by throwing a comment, or bring past tea about people, throw some wood in the fire. he needs drama

Seungmin

𖤓 He will 100% start talking about his childhood and might cry about his dog or any other pet from 10 years ago. Seungmin is also part of the cry drunks club

𖤓 Seungmin can be quite dramatic when wasted but in a funny way. Might fake cry for attention for example or make weird comments but often people tend to ignore him which then makes him really cry

𖤓 he can’t handle conflict well, so Seungmin will try to break up drunk fights the best he can a little bit like Han, although in his case it's really because he can't stand it

𖤓 Despite being drunk out of his mind, Seungmin still tries to keep everyone in check. that until he realize he is the one who is drunker than everyone else.

Jeongin

𖤓 Jeongin is in my opinion the annoying drunk, the type that will call himself “the main character” at least once or at least behave as if he is the main character of the party

𖤓 he will be talking about things that make no sense to sober people. “You know, AI is gonna take over in 50 years.” and proceeds with long philosophical questions and answers

𖤓 However Jeongin also loses his patience quickly which can make him be quite aggressive. “Ugh, this bar is boring. Let’s do something crazy.” but usually it ends up in random trouble

𖤓 Has either a smoldering, mysterious vibe or gets deep and brooding. It depends on his company and how he is feeling during that drunk moment

[macknus]

Febuwhump: Day Three

Prompt: Pinned Down

Febuwhump Masterpost

Whumpee ran. Sprinted through Whumper’s camp, feeling the cold, packed damp earth slapping beneath his feet was disgustingly wonderful. A feeling he didn’t think he’d ever miss, no… but here he was, breathless from the run, already exhausted from weeks of being captured and subdued, beaten and grounded and starved. His lungs screamed at him to stop, his muscles clenching as if he was ten sets into a workout, but Whumpee continued running.

A small crazed smile on his lips as he felt the wind on his face, rushing through his damp hair that Whumper kept tied back. The first thing Whumpee did when he got free was take that blasted bobbin from his hair and let his shoulder length raven birds nest free. He felt… oh gods, he felt alive.

He cleared the camp paths, rushing out of the alleyways packed with tents like buildings on either side and when he emerged onto the field that their camp was on he finally— after weeks that felt like years, stretched his white, feathered wings and continued to run.

Damn the ache in his back from spreading them.

Damn the stiffness of his limbs as he stretched them out to their full wingspan. He felt whole again now that they were no longer chained to his back at awkward angles.

He swallowed the cheers, the hollers, the whoops that threatened to spill out of his mouth from the relief, but he wasn’t out for the woods yet. He still had to clear Whumper’s camp before he risked making any more noise than is necessary.

He beat his wings after the stiffness faded to mere pins and needles. He was skinner than before, even if they were a little out of practice, they would hold him in the skies until he was free. They had never failed him before. And with the cool night air on his cheeks, the sable night sky calling to him, the stars winking, beckoning him to the heavens, Whumpee beat his wings, once, twice, then he was up.

He faltered a bit as he tried to steady himself in the air, a single, breath denying moment of a stumble as he fell through the air. But his wings caught and he wasn’t out for flying— he was—

He was FLYING!

He didn’t care as hot tears rolled down his cheeks, whipped away by the wind as he soared high above his prison, Whumper’s vile camp.

He was— he was actually going to be free…

And then he flew straight into a wall. Whumpee blinked, stunned as his body slammed against it— but it was just open air. Open sky.

“No,” he muttered, slamming his hand against it and a ripple whirled against the invisible barrier. The same barriers that Whumper’s sadistic Right Hand could weave. “No! No, NO!”

He pushed and clawed against the barrier and glanced up. He tried to fly above its edge, the impenetrable wall meeting a ceiling and he cursed.

“No! No! No! Come on,” he cried, pushing with all his strength against the barrier. There had to be a weak spot. There had to be.

“Do you know what the real kicker is?” A cold voice asked from below. Whumpee froze physically, while his insides raged against a storm. His heartbeat hammered against his chest, sweat forming on his brow, his chest, his back from the exertion. Whumpee trembled as he tilted his head down to see Whumper directly below him. Whumper met Whumpee’s gaze with a cruel smile as he stepped past the barrier that kept Whumpee trapped within the confines of the camp. “It only works on you, darling. It helps to keep your pesky friends out, and your defiant, ungrateful self in. Exactly how I want you.”

Whumpee snarled. “I’m not coming down. I’m not letting you chain me up again.”

Whumper stepped back into the barrier, all humour gone from his sharp, angular face, but his eyes glinted with a dark promise. “Good thing I don’t need your permission then, isn’t it?”

With a click of his fingers a spear appeared in his hand and Whumpee paled. Whumper tossed the spear in his hand, getting the weight of it in his fingers as he assessed Whumpee above.

“You can either come down here, now, or I’ll bring you down, boy.”

Whumpee glanced around the camp, but there was nobody else out of bed. Only Whumper. He could fly to the opposite end, avoid his attacks and then what? He couldn’t leave! Spelled to remain—

Before Whumpee could finish the thought he felt the whistle of the spear through the air and he rolled, barely dodging the blow in time. The spear ran straight through the barrier like a mocking taunt, but Whumpee couldn’t focus on that as Whumper summoned another spear into his hand.

“This one won’t miss. One last chance, Whumpee,” Whumper sang. His voice like gravel, echoing shards of ice through Whumpee’s ears and sending shivers down his spine. Whumpee knew how good Whumper’s aim was, and he didn’t want his wings to be speared which is exactly what Whumper would do.

Whumpee hung his head, wings beating against the air to keep him up. “Okay,” he said, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Okay,” he said again and let the air catch his wings as he descended.

It was pathetic really. Whumpee had a chance at freedom, at escape, and all it took for his defiance to smoulder was Whumper. Not an army. Not an onslaught of Whumper’s bloodthirsty soldiers, just… just him. With a spear.

Whumpee’s feet had barely touched the ground before Whumper tackled him to the ground. Whumpee’s head hit off the barrier with an oomph as his shoulders took the brunt of the blow to the cold, hard earth below.

Whumper straddled Whumpee’s waist, a cold smile on his thin lips. “You know how much I love your wings, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed, running his fingers over the feathers that made Whumpee squirm. He didn’t want the sensitive spots to be touched, especially by Whumper. That was something that he and his mate would share if he— if he ever got out of here.

But Whumper knew that. Knew how intimate a gesture touching Whumpee’s wings was and did it anyway.

“Which is why I’m so proud you didn’t make me put a hole through them,” he continued, touching an especially sensitive spot that made Whumpee whimper under Whumper. “But you still need to be punished. Right Hand suggested I clip your wings.”

Whumpee’s eyes went wide through his terror, shaking his head as Whumper smiled down his horrible smile at Whumpee. “Don’t worry, darling, I told her I won’t do that. I want you to still be able to fly… but your punishment remains.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s wrist and yanked his hand down until it was parallel to the ground. Whumpee struggled, trying to pull against Whumper’s strength, but his grip was strong, sure. Fed. Whumper wasn’t starved like Whumpee. Whumpee’s resistance was futile and they both knew it.

“Now, since your hands are the actual offenders, getting you out of your chains, I think this will be a fitting punishment.”

Whumper didn’t wait a beat before slamming the spear through Whumpee’s palm and burying it into the ground below. Whumpee screamed and thrashed under Whumper, begging, pleading for him to take it out, take it out, I’m sorry.

Whumper clicked his fingers and another spear appeared. Whumpee kicked and tried to worm his way out from under Whumper but every small movement aggravated his impaled hand and he cried out.

“You got cooped up, little bird, it’s okay,” Whumper cooed. “You wanted to be outside, you should’ve just asked, boy.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s free hand. “No! No! Please, Whumper! Please!”

“See? With those manners, I’d give you anything, darling.”

Then he impaled Whumpee’s other palm into the ground, effectively pinning him to ground, arms stretched out wide to his sides. Whumpee screamed as fire raced through his blood, no longer struggling but every breath, every tremor threatened to move his limbs and he wanted to be sick. The stench of dirt and cold and metal from his blood filled his senses which roared like a beast inside him.

Whumper’s smile dropped from his face as he stared down at Whumpee. He stroked a hand down Whumpee’s wing and Whumpee couldn’t stop the knee jerk reaction that tore against his hand and he screamed again.

“Now boy, you’re outside. Just as you wanted. A nice night below the stars might do you some good.”

Whumpee trembled as Whumper’s heat pulled away from him as the bastard stood. His mind only processing Whumper’s words after he walked towards the streets line with tents.

“Wait! You- you can’t leave me here!” Whumpee yelled after him, panic seizing his throat. “Whumper!”

Whumper didn’t answer, just kept walking further and further away. “Whumper! WHUMPER!”

“WHUMPER!”

There was no response. Whumpee stared up at the stars winking down at him, beckoning him to the sky and he sobbed.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Hello, hello! Congrats to the milestone! For the festivity may I wish for a fic with 1/A; 2/Canon- adjasond; 3/Hurt/Comfort and 4 is up to you. If it fits your jam, would be an outsider pov be possible? 👀

Thank you so much for the ask, I definitely gave myself some feels writing this one! I've never done a Wayne POV before, but I'm quite happy with how it turned out. 🥲

Your first warden

Words: 999

Rated: T

Tags: POV Wayne Munson; Good uncle Wayne Munson; Child neglect; Child abuse; Alcohol abuse; Drowning; Referenced parental death; Eddie had a shitty childhood; Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Hurt Eddie Munson; Recovery; Caretaker Steve Harrington; Hurt/comfort

The first time Eddie almost died, he was two years old. 

Al had insisted on bringing him along for that fishing trip. A proper men's day out, he'd said. Of course Al’s idea of a proper men's day out was hitting the booze the second they arrived. By the time Wayne heard him snore, little Ed had already wandered off. 

He found him floating face down between the reeds a few yards away. The water lillies and the pretty lights rippling on the surface must've drawn him in. Wayne thinks he lost five years of his life in the seconds between pulling him out and the kid's first coughs filling the air.

“‘s okay, kiddo,” Wayne murmured as he rocked the both of them, tears and lake water drenching his flannel. “‘s okay. I gotcha.”

The ruckus drew Al, of course. He took one look at them and yanked Eddie away by the arm, slapping him hard across the face. 

“Quit howling, it's your own damn fault for going in the water. And you,” his eyes found Wayne's and his face twisted into something ugly. “Who d'ya think you are, his fucking guard dog? Keep your nose outta things that don't concern ya.” 

And maybe it was because Wayne never liked being told what to do, least of all by his drunk, deadbeat brother - but he promised himself something on that day. 

For as long as Eddie would need him, he'd watch over him. 

He'd often think back on that promise over the years. Teaching Eddie to ride a bike. Letting him sob into his shoulder at his mom's funeral, daring Al to say something about being a man one glare at a time. Taking him in when he showed up on his doorstep, bruised and beaten, hair shorn so short his scalp was bleeding in places. 

Wayne never regretted his decision, and he never broke that promise. 

Until the day Eddie almost died the second time. 

*

The beemer parked by the new trailer is a sight he should be used to by now. Still, Wayne can't help but grumble as he makes his way up the porch steps. 

Don't get him wrong, he'll be forever grateful to the Harrington boy for carrying Eddie out of literal hell, but he isn't sure if this new friendship between the two will ever be anything but bizarre to him. 

Maybe it's because the Harringtons don't mingle with the likes of them, or maybe it's because the lad is the exact type of kid Eddie hates with a passion, usually. 

Maybe it's because Wayne has noticed the way Eddie looks at the boy. He's always had a way of getting in too deep, Eddie has. Drawn to pretty flowers and rippling lights that'll slip through his fingers when grasps at them, luring him in until it's too late. 

The first thing he hears when he steps inside is a thud, followed by a wince. He's just taken the first step when Harrington barrels out of the kitchen and into Eddie’s room, completely unaware of Wayne standing in the door. 

“Eddie? What are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” comes Eddie’s reply, and Wayne knows that tone. The just-got-caught-doing-forbidden-shit one. “Just trying to put up this fucking thing.” 

Toeing off his boots, Wayne hovers closer to the half-open door. A look inside reveals Eddie, sitting on the bed with a sheepish grin on his face and that giant banner he made for his band beside him. Harrington, back turned to the door, huffs and picks up the hammer lying on the ground. 

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he scolds, climbing onto the bed and gesturing for Eddie to hand him the banner. A few swift movements and knocks of the hammer later, it’s hanging. “You could’ve opened a wound. Again. What do I need to do to make you stay in bed, tie you up?” 

Eddie grins toothily. “Okay, one: I am in bed, technically. And two: oooh, kinky.” 

Wayne groans soundlessly. Harrington rakes a hand down his face, plopping down cross-legged on the mattress. 

“Eddie.” 

Their knees bump together. Now that he has turned and he can see him in half-profile, Wayne recognizes the concern on Harrington’s face. Eddie’s grin shifts into something softer. 

“I know,” he says, watching his hand fiddle with a loose thread on his pajama pants. “It’s just … It’s annoying, not being able to do anything on my own. Being such a goddamn burden all the time. To Wayne, to the kids. To you.” 

“Hey.” Harrington’s hand settles on top of Eddie’s. “You're not a burden. We're all glad you're here. I'm glad. You know that, right? 

Eddie flips his hand, tangling their fingers together, and Harrington doesn't pull away. 

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs. “I know.” 

Harrington smiles, reaching up to cup Eddie’s face with his free hand. 

“You just wait,” he winks. “You'll be back to walking on tables in no time. And in the meantime …” 

Eddie melts into the touch, lashes brushing the other boy's palm as his eyes flutter shut. 

“In the meantime, you got me.” 

“I gotcha,” Harrington confirms, and leans in. 

Wayne is just about to sneak away when the kettle whistles in the kitchen. The boys turn … and then they all just sort of freeze.

“Hiya, boys,” Wayne rumbles when they're still silently gaping at him a few seconds later. 

“Mr. Munson,” Harrington croaks. “I mean … sir. I mean … hi?” 

“Wayne?” Eddie blurts. “H-how long have you been standing there?” 

Wayne considers that question while both boys continue to stare at him with matching scarlet blushes coloring their cheeks. Their hands are still lying entwined on the mattress between them. 

“Long enough, I reckon,” is what he finally says. “I'll take care of the kettle, Steve. You lads stay put.” 

And with that, he closes the door on their confused faces and makes his way into the kitchen. It's been a long day, and he's looking forward to resting his feet. 

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