#preferably one suited to moving your plot along

[yandere-daydreams]

hey there, i have a couple writing questions i would love your advice on if you don’t mind answering!

do you have any advice for what to describe in a scene? i find often i’m writing the scene as a plot point but when i try to add richness to it i can’t figure out what i should be describing that isn’t action and doesn’t sound unnecessary to the scene itself

also, do you have tips for writing reader-inserts specifically? like reader characterization, perspective, etc.?

hmmm a question worth chewing on,,,, personally i have Can't Stop Describing Rooms disease and it is in fact terminal, but if you'd like to be a little more focused, you should generally stick to what would be important to the point of view character at that moment and how their personality would tint that description. for example, i'm currently working on a project with a main character who was formerly homeless, and she makes sure to note the amount of people, the number of exits, and the most ostentatious/expensive item whenever she enters a new setting in pretty sterile terms, since it's something she does automatically for a purely utilitarian purpose. also consider what would be expected/common place to a certain character. you probably don't look at your best friend and go 'that's joe. he's a red-head :)' every time you see him, but if you were meeting someone entirely new, you would probably note their hair-color/something about their appearance.

and just because i see people make this mistake a lot, do not!!! forget!!! to have your characters!!! interact with the scenery!!! even your most plot-heavy scenes don't happen in a white void, and your characters should be reacting physically/moving around throughout. just having someone pause to sit down or fidget can add a little depth to a scene that might otherwise seem pretty flat. writing is a 3-dimensional medium and we simply cannot let ourselves believe otherwise.

[wild-jackalope]

summary :: virgin sex with your sinister boyfriend, Mark!

warning :: rough, virgin sex, p in v woo, fem reader, relationship is def fucked up, 'I can fix him', sex hurting, missionary, not my usual smut so lmk if its any good, smut w/ no plot, fucking u will make me stronger!! - sinister Mark, dub-con (?)

note :: inspired by stuff written by @slutla love that b, go read her stuff

He hadn't knocked—he never really did. You just looked up and saw him. Floating in the centre of your room like it was his.

"Mark?" His name slipped out soft and gasped, a flicker of fear in your throat. The feeling settled in your stomach when the black and yellow registered.

That look on his face—you knew it. The specific knot in his brow, the strained frown. It wasn't tender sincerity, it never was.

I'm about to feel you up like you're my personal doll. The look said.

It had become your role, unspoken but absolute: be there.

Take him in. Soothe the ache in his skull with your soft body. Let him bury everything he didn’t know how to say beneath your bruising skin.

He moved without a word, kneeled at the edge of your bed, and pushed your legs apart. His mouth met yours with intent and a surprising reverence.

You tried to soak it up as much as possible, tasting the crumbs of love through his lips. Kisses like that made it all worth it—to you at least.

It was a needed reminder that Mark loved you.

His tongue swiped across the cavern between your lips, a claim.

Affection had crept in over time. Mark had never known kind love, Nolan was a cruel father who only offered praise when shown incredible power and his Mum had passed at such a young age he likely didn't hold any memories of her cuddles. You knew that well, it being a piercing reminder that kept you tethered to him.

Mark didn't care for casual touches, curt kisses or cuddles at night.

The feeling of you opening your lips to let him in and letting loose a moan which you couldn't hold back was what he preferred.

"Fuckin' missed you," he murmured, his guttural words vibrating onto your lips.

Mark shed the tight fabric of his mask, tossing it across your floor.

He stared down at you with dark eyes shaded by frantic hair, jaw tight and face littered with a light flush alongside red cuts.

"Mark..." you frowned, taking his face in your hands.

He took your wrists, holding them with a pressure that made it hard to move your fingers. "I'm fine."

He hated words. He preferred to hear you sob.

He returned to the feverish exploration of your mouth, releasing you only after guiding your hands to his hair. Clear in what he wanted: your touch.

Your fingers dipped through his messy hair, nails running along his scalp in long, gentle rakes. They trailed down his neck and across his shoulders. A tremble passed.

"God," he grunted, closing the minuscule space between you to have you compressed to the place where he longed for you the most.

Hungry fingers devoured you, sliding under your shirt and chasing the desire to feel your flushed flesh.

Then one had dipped lower, between your legs.

His palm cupped your heat, holding you there and feeding off your startled reaction. This was new territory. You were familiar with the feeling of his hand palming the fat of your breasts, or the squeeze of his hand against your thighs until he left bruises in his wake.

But his middle finger pressing into the indent of your clothed sex was entirely new, and it made you shrink beneath him.

"This your first time?" He asked, no hints of affection lacing his question only something territorial and dog-like.

"Yeah," you nodded once and swallowed thickly.

Your eyes peered down without thinking, catching on the obvious bump over the base of his suit, demanding to be freed of the trapping fabric.

A grin grew across his face, both satisfied and threatening. "Cool."

He let the pressure of his palm sink in further into your heat, his other hand pressed into your ribs and keeping you still against the plush bed.

"You gonna let me?" He asked, too casually.

"Do—do you want to?" the way you considered him was so sickeningly sweet. He puffed an amused exhale.

"I wanna hear you say it."

He didn't care for consent, he wanted devotion.

You nodded, slow and dizzy. "Yes, I want to have sex with you."

His lips fell to yours with a crashing passion again, his tongue already fighting to explore yours.

"Marhk—" his name muffled in your mouth, enunciation taken by his hasty exploration of your spit-soaked cavern. You weren't sure if he was too taken up in the lust of it all, or if he did hear and just didn't care.

You attempted to recline your head back, but Mark only followed you until you were wedged between him and the bed. Then, you took his burly shoulders in your hands and pushed against him.

He stilled, annoyed.

"What."

"I love you." You said, offering a weak but certain smile.

He kissed you harder, like a punishment for your empty words. "I know," he muttered, "that's why you'll take it."

His fingers slid under your pants and underwear, finally dragging along your bare slit. The first direct touch made you jerk, a helpless cry punched out of your throat.

"That's right," he exhaled, a breathy chuckle in his chest, "I wanna feel how much you love me."

He teased you for a moment longer—circling, dripping, spreading—until he decided it wasn't torturous enough. His fingers hooked around your bottoms, yanking them down your thighs in one strong pull.

You barely had time to breathe before he was stripping himself too, dragging his tight suit down to his waist, the shade of his cape no longer shielding your body. You closed your legs, unwilling to bear the naked humiliation.

But it didn't matter, because Mark pried your legs open with casual strength, like your legs were made up of nothing but thin bone.

Between the open space of your legs, you caught a glimpse of him—already hard, already glossy with pre.

He coated his tip in your slick and your body jolted in reaction. Which only had Mark forcing you further into the bed in an attempt to keep you still.

Then—without a breath of warning—he pushed inside.

He'd only glided against your insides halfway before you constricted at the sudden, alien pressure.

"Mark!"

But he continued, slowly, surely, concealing his thickness inside you. “Shit, that’s too much for you?” He asked, pressing his thumb to your clit.

It was. He could feel it in the violent tremble of your insides, and the way blood soared through your veins with how quickly your heart pumped. Your body was fighting him, but you weren't going to stop him.

You forced down the ball building up your throat with a swallow. "No, I'm okay," you assured.

His thumb began moving against your clit, drawing slow, deliberate circles. The only sign of softness.

"Don't lie to me," he muttered, "does it hurt?"

"Y-Yes."

The admission, the way you look up at him with something fragile in your eyes jolted his dick, and it throbbed against your constrictive insides.

It caressed something broken in him, something that made him press deeper into you. He leaned over you like a shadow and kissed you again, muffling your gasp as he started to move.

The first thrust felt like agony, his length forcing itself inside you and slowly sliding out before stuffing you again. Each rut of his hips jolted your body, but his hand kept you firm against the mattress.

You cried out, every blow to your insides shooting a stinging pain across your abdomen that followed with a quick aftertaste of pleasure.

His lips crushed yours, devouring every gasp and whimper. He kissed with teeth, with tongue, with the kind of force that sent your head spinning. His tongue grazed against your lower lip, before he sucked on the tender skin, leaving a bite sharp enough to leak hot blood, which he smoothed over with a slow, filthy lick.

You couldn't even try to keep up with him.

No one else could take him, not Cecil, not the guardians, not even his father, but you could—like this. Flushed and abused below him.

You could take the bruises, the nasty words, because you loved him. You loved him. It satisfied something deep and cruel inside him.

"Fuuuck." His head dipped to your shoulder, his lips still sweet with your metallic blood. "Let me go faster," he groaned, the words quavering against your shoulder.

"Okay," you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut in preparation.

"Yeah? Can I?" He asked—but it wasn't really a question, just a sweetly dressed demand to hear you say you wanted him to wreck you.

Each thrust that drilled into you after was a broken reminder that you were his, a reassurance that your body would remember him long after he'd pulled out and disappeared into the sky.

The previous pace had teetered near too much and now, with the quick smacks of skin and the way Mark's tip surged against your nerves had reached an overstimulating point, the pain and pleasure forced you too quickly over the waves of your climax.

Mark felt it—the full body shake and the throbbing tightness of your insides. The way you clenched around him in rhythmic waves.

Your nails clawed his shoulders, leaving desperate, white lines. Your eyes welled with shining tears and they escaped you in burning streams.

Mark skipped a thrust, only for a heartbeat to let you overwhelm his senses. Though he'd never say it aloud, Mark thought you looked beautiful.

When he threw his hips into you again, your next orgasm followed quick and hot behind your first.

This time, the sucking of your inside threw him over the edge, too.

You felt a new warmth pool inside you, sucked in by the twitching of Mark's dick. He groaned through clenched teeth, milked of his climax far too soon.

He pushed into you as deep as he could go, one final time, forcing his cum to dribble out of your stuffed sex. It had been tinted a light pink, mixed with specks of your blood.

You could hardly feel the tension that first strained your insides, just a numbing buzz left in the wake of Mark's quick thrusts.

He didn't speak, but his hand, rough and warm lifted you from its bruising entrapment of your body. You gasped, a space in your lungs that you hadn't known was stolen by the pressure filled again.

"Breathe," he muttered.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing.

He only stared at you, eyes dark and feral. As if daring you to say you loved him.

You took his cheek with a shaky breath and pressed a weak kiss to his lips, raw and filled with sincerity. It was confession enough.

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 4

[Masterlist] | [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] | [AO3]

18+ Only | 6.8k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Insecurity. Jealousy. Implied shower sex. Phone sex. Mild voice kink. Homelander is being a sex pest again. Or just a pest.

Summary: Homelander insists on taking your relationship to the next level.

Author’s Note: I don't know why I decided that Part 4 is when I should include somewhat of a plot but it happened so the voice kink fic continues😂 Major shoutout to @anotherhomelanderblog for all the editing help and keeping me sane throughout the process 💗

“And you live like this?” Homelander asks incredulously, drying himself off. He hands you the damp towel and you promptly hang it up to dry, wrapped in a fluffy towel yourself.

“Most people live like this! Also most people are smart enough to not waste all their hot water on making out,” you say with a laugh and a playful eye roll.

“Ohoho, that was a lot more than making out.” Homelander’s brazenly parading around naked and you can’t help but follow the line of his slender body. It always feels special to see him without the suit. Although he still clearly prefers to keep it on, he’s not feeling particularly worried about swapping his superhero suit for the birthday one around you. 

“Well still—it’s no wonder we ran out.” 

Your lazy morning rolling around in bed quickly turned into messing around under the spray of the hot shower water. And while Homelander’s right and it was more than making out, you didn’t get to experience more than a few thrusts before the water turned cold, rudely interrupting you both.

Homelander has never been one for giving up. He held you in place, keeping you nice and warm as he thrusted into you. All the way to the finish line. Needless to say, the morning couldn’t have started better.

It could have been warmer though.

He finally finds his underwear somewhere in between the pile of his thick suit. You mentally wince at him reusing the same underwear he had on before he slept over last night. He may neither exert himself nor sweat, but it still catches you off guard. Many times you’ve offered him the space to store his spare clothes, but he denies the offer every time, saying it’s just as easy for him to fly back. 

This behaviour is equally as perplexing as him never changing into something you’d deem more comfortable. It’s always been the full suit or fully naked. You don’t think there has ever been a third option. The cartoonish nature of his persona comes through vividly in moments like these. While you haven’t rummaged through his portion of the wardrobe back in his place, you wouldn’t be surprised to see multiple versions of the same superhero suit. 

And yet, along with the rehearsed lines he can’t always help but avoid, this makes him seem larger than life. Unfamiliar. Untouchable. Unattainable.

Thoughts like these frequent your mind each time you see yet another headline speculating about his love life come across your newsfeed. Whenever someone mentions the dreaded topic out loud, your gut clenches, your heart drops and you get shaken by the idea that you’ve somehow stolen America's golden boy.

Homelander, on the other hand, has been nothing but eager to celebrate your relationship. You haven’t shared your concerns with him yet. You don’t think he would quite understand your worry about stealing him from his devoted fans. He’s been constantly coaxing you into uprooting your life and moving in with him, officially being with him. His little nudges like today are just the tip of the iceberg.

The idea of being offered to the media vultures as their new chew toy fills you with dread just thinking about it.

You turn away from watching Homelander redress. You unwrap the towel you’ve tucked in around your chest, bunching it up in your hands and bending over to wipe leftover water droplets off your legs. 

You don’t get very far before you hear a whistle. “Don't you look good enough to eat? Well, again.”

You automatically straighten up, covering what you can with your towel. Pointless, really. Homelander can easily see through whatever he wishes. Still one of his stranger powers, if you do say so yourself. You can never quite tell whether he’s staring at your tits or your heart—both options feeling equally voyeuristic.

You shake your head at his silly flirting. While he can be obnoxious and overly cheesy, there’s something to be said about being so blatantly flirted with. Knowing you’re desired so… carnally—as cliche as that feels to say in your head—feels reaffirming. Confidence boosting, even. 

This alone allows you to think that maybe having a public relationship wouldn’t change anything between the two of you.

You hear the familiar creak of leather as he puts his gloves on, stretching his fingers and squeezing his fists to get them comfortable.

“In fact, if you moved in with me—like I keep telling you to—we wouldn’t be having this problem at all.” 

Or not. The slightly pushy tone brings the recurring anxiety back up.

During the storm of your internal thoughts, you dig out a fresh pair of underwear. You’ve gotten into the habit of actively wearing the pretty pieces Homelander can’t seem to stop himself from sending to your home address—amongst the other obscenely expensive gifts. Ever since you’ve once dressed up for him, he made it his mission to dress you in lingerie of all the colours of the rainbow and more. Feigning scientific interest in seeing what colour matches your skin tone the best—though he still favours the Homelander panties that started it all. 

However, knowing how perverse he can be with his penetrative vision, helps with not feeling underdressed at any given time.

Homelander takes no note of your internal struggle, instead focusing on his fantasy of what life is meant to look like for the two of you while you start getting dressed.

“Then I could fuck you in the shower for as many hours as my lady wishes, hm?” He gives you a cheeky smile as he passes by, walking out of the bedroom and into the living room.

You laugh heartily at his comment while you pick out your clothes. Normally, you’d keep it cosy and comfortable enough. At least, before Homelander. Now you pick something a little more put together, knowing you’ll be stopping by the Vought tower as part of his plan for the day. 

“Hours seems a bit much. I don’t know if looking like a wet prune is a good look on me.” While you put your clothes on, you look up to see what he’s up to through the open bedroom door. While any other person would entertain themselves by turning the TV on or scrolling on their phone, Homelander just walks around. As if he hasn’t seen this space a thousand times over.

At your response, he turns to you. A bewildered look crosses his face before he lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Funny.” He readjusts a photo on the wall, making sure it’s perfectly straight. It’s a selfie you took of the two of you on the couch. Not the best quality, but Homelander insisted you make it the centerpiece of the photo wall. “Don’t know about the prune part but wet is easily the best look on you.” He waggles his eyebrows at you. 

“It’s a little silly of you to think otherwise, don’t you think? I know you’re smarter than that.” While some might get easily offended at his words, you’re used to his crass words.

You watch as he points his gloved finger at you while he steps further backwards. 

Finally dressed, you come out of the bedroom, not bothering to shut the door. Homelander walks to the kitchen with you following.

“I just thought you liked it here.” You lean against the small breakfast bar as you watch him open the fridge and take out the jug of whole milk you keep stocked at all times for his sake only. 

He doesn’t bother pouring it out into a glass and neither does he close the fridge while he takes a big gulp, closing his eyes in the moment. Putting the jug down, he licks his lips clean as he opens his eyes. It’s bizarre how strangely erotic he manages to make the whole ritual seem.

“I do,” he says once his eyes are less glazed over and focused back on you. Properly snapping to attention, he acts offended. “Of course I do.” As if you suggested something so horrifying it insulted his very being. “But it would make things a lot easier.”

He takes another indulgent big gulp before closing the jug and putting it back in the fridge, shutting the door with a nudge of his elbow as he walks past.

He makes his way around while you’re still leaning against the breakfast bar. His lips trace the shell of your ear as he settles himself riiight behind you. “Imagine all the fun we’d have, huh?” He tilts his head to place a little kiss on your cheek, very close to your ear.

The timbre of his voice vibrating through your ear just warms you to your core. He still knows how to disarm you so thoroughly. If anything, he happily abuses this little quirk of yours.

“We wouldn’t have to settle for a fucking quickie in the morning.” His arms settle on your hips as he, excruciatingly slowly, drags his hips against your ass. “You know, I very much enjoy a good old breakfast in bed. What do you say? As soon as you move in, I’ll be waking you up with my tongue between your thighs. Now try saying no to that.”

“Nice try. You’ve done that here before.” You try to remain calm and collected but your voice betrays you, coming out in a stutter. While his voice—the sexy, slow tone he abuses anytime he wants to get his way—along with the visuals, is already wetting your fresh panties through and through.

“Hm, but there I wouldn’t have to think about flying back just to make it to a stupid meeting. I’d get plenty more time with you. Think about it. Every break in my schedule I could come back for a kiss and a cuddle. Maybe a little romp with my best girl.”

“Oh so suddenly we’re happy with quickies?” You chuckle breathlessly.

“Well y’know, I’m a busy guy. Gotta work with what I’ve got.”

“Speaking of—shouldn’t you be heading out? You’ve got a busy schedule ahead of you.”

“Alright, okay. I got the message. Think about it though, babe, will you?” Homelander finally allows you to gather yourself as he steps back, not so discreetly adjusting his dick after all that teasing. You constantly wonder where he gets this sky-high sex drive from.

“Sure. I’ll think about it.” You take the moment to walk around the breakfast bar, reaching for a coffee pod to pop into your machine for a quick pick-me-up. With a twist of your wrist you notice the time. “Oh, you should head out now if you don’t want to be late.” 

He slots behind you again, unable to stay away for even a moment. “Let me take you with me?” His arms wrap around your stomach, squeezing softly as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of you in between little kisses.

The coffee machine finishes whirring, and with the smell of fresh coffee it breaks you out of the daze.

“Mhmm, then you’ll definitely be late. And I want my coffee. And some breakfast. You go have your meeting, I’ll be there in time for your interview.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise. Kiss goodbye?” You ask for it before he does. Immediately, he turns you around in his arms, trapping you in his hold so he can deliver what he deems an acceptable goodbye kiss. It’s long and deep and were you in public you’d be blushing to the tips of your ears. So much for the little goodbye peck you imagined.

Once Homelander leaves, you take the time to have a quick breakfast before preparing your overnight bag. While Homelander can’t take you to the set of the talk show he’s getting interviewed about his new movie at, he insists you come to his place to watch it live. Afterwards, he’ll be eager to fly back home to spend more time with you, listening to everything you’ve got to say about his appearance.

Entering the Vought tower always leaves you with a level of anxiety in your gut. This isn’t your territory, you don’t feel safe here. Each camera feels like the watchful eye of every stakeholder, observing you walk around freely as if you’ve not been greedily devaluing their best asset. 

You feel like the mistress everyone but the wife knows about. The overseeing eye of Vought management is already unhappy with you as is—Homelander said so himself, unaware or uncaring of the effect that information would have on you. It’s why you’ve started dressing better, trying to appear smart and classy. Worthy. Defending your position by his side.

You like to pretend like you belong. But everyone knows you’d be lost without him in tow.

This isn’t your world.

And it never will be.

Arriving at the penthouse allows you to release the breath you didn’t know you were holding. While Homelander’s space is odd at best and downright unliveable at worst, it’s part of you now. With its impersonal portraits of historical figures or perfect marble statues that make you feel self-conscious each time you undress, the decor leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Who is Vought to not ever allow him peace and quiet from this persona they’ve built for him? It really feels like he only gets to be himself when he’s around you. At home with you.

So why he constantly insists on the idea of you moving into this hellscape permanently confuses you to no end. Sure, your home isn’t luxurious by any means. It’s small and cluttered—less so now you’ve gotten rid of some of the Homelander memorabilia—but it’s comforting, warm, and inviting.

You’ve already gone through the effort of adding some warmth and home to this… space. Blankets and throws, pillows and trinkets that made you think of him. Anything that takes away from the sterile museum-like feel of the place.

Today you have brought a little picture frame. It’s the same photo you saw Homelander adjusting just an hour or so earlier. The print isn’t of great quality and neither is the photo, but he seems particularly fond of it, so you’ve gone ahead to frame this one for him too.

Dropping off your bag on the living room couch, you walk over to the bedroom, swapping out an existing impersonal historical portrait of Abraham Lincoln for the silly selfie of the two of you. You fret around with the positioning until it feels right, running your hand over the frame with an absent smile. The photo lets you forget about the madness of your life; it lets you instead think of the love you share with each other. However fragile it may feel at times.

Your phone rings in your pocket. You fumble around, like you’ve been caught doing something vulnerable and intimate. 

You swipe without looking at the screen properly, pressing the screen to your ear.

“There she is.” 

Something about the way he purrs into the phone melts your anxieties of the day into nothing. While grounding is what you need, his voice goes beyond that. You’re not grounded. Not with him. It feels like you’re flying instead. Lightheaded and full of excited nerves, you can’t escape the heartfelt bright smile lighting up your face.

“Hey baby. Ready for your interview?” 

“Am I ever not? You’ll be watching, right?” He knows you will. The question is rhetorical at best.

“Are you kidding? Of course I am.” You chuckle breathlessly into the phone. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You make your way to the couch, sprawling across the leather, your phone still against your ear. Something about this makes you so giddy. Here you are in Homelander’s apartment, sitting on his couch with his voice in your ear. It feels like a fairytale.

It doesn’t feel real.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Ever since Homelander’s discovered your little quirk—which admittedly was clear to him from day one—he’s been more than happy to ramble on and on and on. No matter what it’s about. He likes to have you listen.

“Is she already there?” You change the topic, not wanting to dwell on your inner discomfort for too long.

“Who? My co-star?” he asks with an innocent enough tone.

“Yeah. Her.” You bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying more.

“Careful there, you’re sounding a liiittle jealous.”

This talk show interview centres around Homelander’s new movie, Homelander: Hero’s Heart. The first one in his range that gave him a tangible love interest. His previous movies focused on action, patriotism and Homelander ultimately being the hero that saves the day. Vought are still on a mission to boost numbers in certain demographics—your demographic—so saving the damsel in distress was the logical next step for them.

It wasn’t too obnoxious. Just one on-screen kiss by the end of the movie. But you can’t shake the enormous pit of insecurity at the bottom of your gut anytime you think about them going through all those scenes together. Just how many takes was it really?

Okay, maybe you are a little jealous.

“I’m not. I’m just curious.”

No. You’re being unreasonable. Throughout all of the shooting Homelander came home to you, seeking solace. Seeking familiar and comforting touch. Complaining to you endlessly about the other actors’ poor skills.

Homelander clocked your jealousy early on. With a cheeky grin he prodded and poked, making you lash out and admit to your unsavoury feelings. The verbal conversation usually ended there. Instead, you got your frustration out physically. Night after night, he fucked you into the mattress, proving just where you stand. Until you couldn’t even stand anymore. 

Those nights, he’d sit you in his lap, pushing his thick cock inside you as he held you close. Face to face, chest to chest, he’d grunt and mewl in between kisses. Homelander would revel in your possessiveness of him, getting you to repeat ‘you’re mine’ over and over again. You’d rarely do any of the moving. Homelander liked taking it in his own hands in these moments. He’d wrap his hands around your hips, squeezing where he could reach, bouncing you with deliberate movements down onto his lap.

Logically, you know Homelander wouldn’t cheat on you with a random actress. But it’s hard not to compare yourself to her. She’s another gorgeous face amongst the constant stream of supes, actresses, models or celebrities he has instant access to. And you’re… well, you. The fact that he chose you out of the mix should leave you with some sense of relief, but it doesn’t. 

“Mhm, sure you are. As luck would have it, she couldn’t make it. Real shame, huh?” Homelander can be surprisingly sweet sometimes. To his credit, it was never his actions that made you jealous. Your own insecurity latched onto rotten ideas, spreading like mold across your healthy mind. 

Homelander plays into your possessiveness of him, more than eager to hear how much you love and want him. Only him. 

It makes you wonder if he had something to do with his co-star’s absence. 

“You know women are gonna go crazy over you after this. I’m sure they’re all waiting for you to spill some crazy stories about being a romantic on and off set.”

“Are they now? You know, I really don’t fucking care what they want to hear. I don’t care about them. I care about you.” 

There's a desperation to his response that catches you off guard. It's impossible to deny him the adoration he wordlessly requests.

“Oh. That’s—Ahah—I care about you too. You know I always love to watch you.”

“Good. Good. I want you to watch. I want you to listen... You’ll do that right? You’ll listen—”

“—to every word. To every single word.” The breathless quality to your tone shocks you.

It makes Homelander moan.

When did you both get so worked up over this?

“Good—fuck. Always such a good girl, aren't you? My biggest fan.”

“Not just a fan.” You huff out. You’re not offended per se, but after seeing what other so-called-fans say about him online or how little love they share with him, it would be an insult to label you as one of them.

“Pfft—of course you're not.” He scoffs in disbelief. Even he doesn’t believe his own words. “You are everything. You're everything to me.” 

Your eyes widen. Your heart pounds against your ribcage. The unashamed proclamation said so clearly by the strongest man in the world makes you pulse and clench.

You're not worthy of being his all.

It leaves you speechless. Over the past few weeks your mind has started waging war with your heart. Oddly, today feels like the final battle of which will win.

Your body is nearly shaking. The palm holding your phone feels clammy. You try to get comfortable, but you’d only achieve that by clawing out of your own skin. Something feels different—wrong—about today.

“Helloooo, don't go quiet on me now.” There's a new, dangerous tilt to his already deliciously rumbling voice that makes you soak your underwear. 

“Sorry… I just—you’re so—I just… I love you so much.” You trip over your words. Something you’ve said so many times feels oddly loaded.

“D’aww, how cute. That’s better.” With an audible swallow, you slide your hand down your body. Pressing into your flesh through your clothes as you go, trying to pretend it isn't your hand exploring your own body.

You imagine it’s his. Following the route it has done so many times before.

You ache with the need to be touched and filled and worshipped. Your cunt throbs painfully under your layers, soaked and weeping. Even the slight press of your fingers feels electric. Too little and too much at the same time.

You swallow the saliva that’s gathered on your tongue. You scrunch your eyebrows when you roll your hips into your hand, a gasp coming out involuntarily.

“I can hear you. Do it.”

“Y-you can?!”

This brings you back to the first phone call that kick started this whole relationship. Back then, you had some courtesy to not touch yourself to the sound of his voice. You’ve lost all that courtesy by now, but the reveal that he could hear you all along makes you embarrassed for your past self.

You undo the fastening on your bottoms with a shaky hand. Your hand immediately slides under your layers, into your panties, with your fingers already forming a familiar shape. Your eyes roll back when your fingers glide along your inner lips, gathering slick and bumping your clit where your fingers meet. You repeat this motion a few times, thoroughly wetting your pussy, letting your head hit the armrest like a deadweight, your phone still loosely tucked against your ear.

“Jesus Christ, listen to yourself. Might have to move into the bathtub before you flood my couch, you know.” 

“Not like you actually care.” You huff out half a laugh, barely coherent with your slurred speech. 

“No you’re right, I don’t. Now spread your legs for me, gorgeous, I want you to put your fingers in.” 

You nod as if he could see you—though for all you know, maybe he can.

You push your bottoms down far enough that they won’t be in the way. Adjusting yourself on the couch, you curl your fingertips inside yourself with a little wiggle, letting out a sigh. Like this, you’re definitely gonna make the couch wet.

“Feel good?” While he purrs low, you hear the sharp grin in his tone.

You hum softly as you focus on moving your fingers in and out. “Not as good as when you do it. Actually, hah, it doesn’t compare at all.” You’re not even trying to butter up his ego before his live appearance. He’s just that good to you.

“That’s the sp—fuck—spirit.” 

Having been with your lover many times, the familiarity of that stifled whimper leaves you gasping. You don’t need super hearing to know that Homelander’s wrapped his own hand around his cock. You’ve come to memorise and categorise all the pretty little sounds he makes.

You don’t even remember hearing him unclasp his belt, too lost in your own pleasure. 

“Are you…?” 

Through the phone comes a clipped exhale. “—Yes.” The rough, rhythmic stroking now becomes audible to even your human ears. Your cheeks feel hot. The sensation climbs up all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Oh. That’s really sexy.” You whimper, melting into the sofa as you spread your legs as far as the garment you pushed down allows. “Aren’t—aren’t you worried about someone walking in?” You alternate between rubbing your clit and fingering yourself as a way to make your body tingle all over.

The response you get is a barely restrained moan straight in your ear. His voice trails off into a sweet rumbly groan that has your fingers rubbing faster.

“Don’t care. You make me feel fucking crazy.” 

How is it that you have such an effect on him? From morning till night, he never seems to have enough. Before Homelander you were racking up two—three at most, really—self-love sessions a week. These days you’re lucky if you only end up with two a day. The resolve in his proclamation brings back some of the confidence today has been slowly chipping away at.

Plus, his absurd words make you snicker.

“I make you feel crazy?” Your voice is all breathy. With each moan in your ear, your own touch feels electric. Your fingers stick to rubbing your clit: circles that started slow, teasing and loose are now tight and fast, nearing on too strong a stimulation. 

“Uh-huh.” He’s barely responding at this point, but you don’t mind. 

“Mhm, really? You’re so good to me, you know that?” Knowing Homelander is there in his guest dressing room of the host’s set, fisting his sensitive cock raw because of you, makes your head spin. The gratification that fills you with is intoxicating. Drunk on the power you have in your hands, you change up the pace, rubbing your clit more languidly, taking your time to instead sweet talk your boyfriend into blowing his load into his underwear right before his interview.

“They don't deserve you.”

“You do so much for the world.”

“They never appreciate how much of an honour it is to have you serve them.”

“You’re so perfect.”

The combination of Homelander’s signature stuttered groan and the rustling of fabrics tells you your words are all it’s taken for him to finish. 

“Wow, what a show, superstar on and off the stage,” you tease him a little. You hear the familiar click of a belt come through the phone.

“Smartass. Speaking of, I gotta be on set in a few. But what kind of boyfriend would I be if I left you hanging like that. Need to hear my best girl cum her brains out on the other side.” 

“Don’t be silly, you’ve got to go live in a few.”

“Then you better hurry up.” He laughs airily. The orgasmic high makes him exude even more of this strange energy. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you going pretty crazy over there. Doubt it’s gonna take you long anyway. Never does when I’m talking to you, hm?”

“Oh my god.” You exhale, your hand back at full speed. You dig your feet into the couch, pushing against it as you stroke your clit faster, your hips meeting your hand firmly, accelerating your climb to ecstasy.

“Mhm, that’s right. That what I am to you, honey? Your god?”

“Y-yes… yes, you are.” Your lips are shut tight when you’re not talking, breathing heavily through your nose as you feel the warmth spread throughout your body. From your core, to your chest, to your limbs. You start to feel the tips of your toes tingle with the electric sensation.

Somehow, he always manages to make your body feel sensitive all over. Even indirectly.

“Gonna listen to me live like it’s gospel, aren’t you? Listen to eeevery word I say. Wouldn’t be surprised if you used to constantly fuck your brains out while watching me. What’s that, got nothing to say?”

You really have nothing to say. While he clearly knows it, it's embarrassing to admit to something you may have occasionally indulged in before he became a tangible part of your life.

It doesn’t stop you from whimpering as you feel the tethers loosen. 

“Come on baby, time’s ticking. You better come for me now—” 

You hear barely audible knocking at his door. The line picks up a foreign muted tone, but you’re not really processing it. Your orgasm takes over and you stutter out a choked gasp, heels pushing into the couch before they fully relax into the leather, the tingling waves of your orgasm spreading to all your limbs.

“Mhm, I’ll be a minute.” His voice sounds further away, like he’s covered the phone and moved it away from his ear while he talks back.

In retrospect, the shame of orgasming on the phone to him while he’s talking to someone else should’ve stopped you from getting there, but it’s him you’re talking about. It’s hard to restrain yourself.

“See, I knew you could do it. Now go put yourself together, missy. I want you to pay attention.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I will… Just—hah—gotta catch my breath a little bit. I will, I’m excited to see you.”

“Good girl. I love you, alright? I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you too.” You smile fondly.

Homelander ends the phone call and you take a moment to gather yourself. You breathe in deeply. The first big exhale lets you release some of the muscle tension you’ve gained as you hurriedly brought yourself to orgasm.

As you pull your now uncomfortably soaked underwear and bottoms back on, the next inhale brings the tension back in a different way. 

All your nagging thoughts return like a flood, crashing through you. Your gut churns, the anxious feeling of it all souring your post-orgasmic high. Is there even more you bring to this “relationship” besides sex?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you get up off the couch to clean up and make yourself presentable in the bathroom. While nobody is here to see you, you feel dirty sitting in your wet and cooled underwear. You swap it for a fresh pair from your overnight bag, tossing the old ones in the laundry hamper.

Sitting comfortably on the couch in your den of pillows and blankets is a familiar enough routine. Due to your secretive relationship status, Homelander can’t take you with him. You watch from the safety of yours or his home, watching your favourite hero live on TV.

You click the remote to the channel Homelander’s talk show appearance will be broadcasted on and wait until the time they’re live with some pointless scrolling on your phone. You can’t help but gravitate towards the Homelander-centric gossip pages, Instagram fan accounts or Reddit forums. Each time relieved that there’s still no information on you. Nobody is none the wiser.

The TV speakers burst with the audience’s roar of applause, tearing your eyes up and away from your phone. You smile at the support he gets. Though it turns ugly and cracks very quickly. Some possessive part of you wishes you were there backstage cheering him on as he walks on set in front of all these people.

Homelander oozes confidence with every sure step. This is his element. Big bright smiles and a quick broad wave to the audience you don’t see. He looks handsome. Hair parted slightly, loose and charming, just like his smile. He’s calm and collected. Definitely not like someone who was just getting his rocks off a few minutes ago.

He brings the smile back all the way to your eyes. All sour thoughts dissipate when you see him like this. It’s not fair to feel awful when it’s time for him to have his moment. You know better than that.

While there’s hardly a need for it, he’s introduced to the audience. 

“Homelander, welcome, thank you for joining us.” 

“Always good to be here, thank you for having me.”

Homelander’s seated and the interview begins. So unlike any of the other usual guests he takes up the majority of the space with his larger-than-life quality. So much more suited for something better than this.

“I’m sure all the ladies are very excited for the movie’s opening weekend.” 

“Great start.” You roll your eyes as the audience cheers  and whistles again. Nothing like objectifying him the moment he walks into the room.

“It’s what I’m—well, what we’re all hoping for, it’s a wild ride. I can promise you that much.” While your lover is a little snarkier behind the scenes, he’s a class act in front of the cameras. You’re always proud to see him do so well.

“Well that’s a glowing review if I’ve ever heard one! We all enjoy a love story. Let’s not be modest here, you’ve been voted The superhero heartthrob. It’s no wonder this movie is already pulling record sales at the box office.” The interviewer speaks into the side of her palm, acting secretive as if each word wasn’t clearly picked up by the lav mic.

“Oh stop it, that silly thing.” He brushes the compliment off, shrugging his shoulders boyishly. 

“No seriously, I think this is exactly what the audience wanted. We all love a superhero flick, don’t we, folks? But the little touch of spice and romance? Instant crowd pleaser. Tickets are selling like hotcakes!” 

“Insipid cow.” You can’t help yourself but comment on the over the top vapid glazing happening right before your eyes. Muttering obscenities to yourself you miss Homelander’s response and only vaguely take in the following mindless chatter in its entirety.

They treat him like a circus animal. 

“Who’s your favourite cast member to do scenes with?”

“What is it like to juggle acting with protecting the city?”

“What’s your guilty pleasure when you’re off duty?”

One mundane—pointless—question after another makes you wonder how he puts up with the pomp and phoniness of it all. You know you couldn’t. You even imagine yourself sitting next to him. You see the difference. You see how differently the world would see you.

As soon as you started thinking of the labels the world would describe you with, you couldn’t help yourself but compare the two. Him; popular, handsome, loveable, patriotic. A true ray of sunshine. You on the other hand? You already envision the headlines. Nobody. Golddigger. Leech. Attention seeker. Maybe even a thief?

You’ve stolen America’s perfect poster boy and the penalty for said crime is the heaviest guilty conscience. 

There he is talking about his latest save of the week. His movie premiere and his day to day crime fighting activities. You can’t help but compare yourself to the woman interviewing him. She looks well presented, put together, classy. You never feel that way. Do thieves and criminals even get to feel classy?

It’s clear to you now that you don’t belong. It’s clear to everyone. Is it not? He must see it too. It’s only a matter of time until he realises that he’s trying to force you into a mold you were simply not born to fit into.

You often wonder how long until Homelander decides to move on.

The next line of questioning that catches you out of your doom spiral.

“Let’s circle back to the start. It’s a shame your co-star couldn’t make it today. What was it like to work with her as your love interest?”

Your ears perk up. Until now Homelander has never squashed the rumours of their supposed fling. You’re not entirely sure if it was due to Vought’s ruling or his own sick enjoyment derived from your jealousy.

“Oh well, she’s lovely. Things were kept very professional. She’s a very talented young woman, it was a pleasure to work alongside her. She got on well with everyone on the team, a real star. The main cast is usually made up of our superhero line-up, so she exceeded my expectations. Especially since I was a little wary myself of the change.” 

You can’t sit still, fidgeting in your spot, you run your tongue in between your teeth when you’re not nervously biting the inside of your cheek.

“Sooo all the rumours we’ve heard about a little behind the scenes romance are not true?” 

“No. Definitely not. Sorry. We all got on very well, but not that well if you catch my drift.” The mic catches the sound of the audience’s synchronized ‘ooh’ and you clench your fists.

He’s yours. You hate how they all think of him.

“Well you can’t blame the rumours. People are eager to see their favourite hero in love. It’s the first time Vought has released a love interest-themed movie. Why the change?”

“Well you tend to see us saving your homes and neighbourhoods. I think Vought wanted to show everyone that at the end of the day we go home and hang up the capes. We’re people too.”

You remember the evening he was whining to you about his premiere talking points. This one sounds awfully familiar.

“Do you? Hang up the cape?” The interviewer has a twinkle in her eyes like she hasn’t before. She clearly thinks that she’s getting the scoop of the year.

“Sometimes, when the time’s right. The city’s protection comes as the utmost priority but I have some downtime.”

He does. 

With you. 

Something that’s always felt exhilarating about this was the secrecy to it all. Knowing Homelander comes home to you. You’re the one you know he’s making hints to. You’re the one who’s going to praise him for a job well done once he’s back.

That has always felt good. Right?

So when did this excitement turn to dread?

“Could you share what you do in your spare time?”

“Well then you’d know where to look for me. Some things are better kept quiet.”

“Ooh a secret! Don’t we love a mysterious man, ladies?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, shut up already.” You groan hitting the couch cushion with the back of your head in frustration. This crowd flirting is getting old real fast.

“You make it sound a whole lot more exciting than it is. I just like to find my peace.” 

“That begs the next question. It’s been a few years since your last relationship. So after this movie everyone’s asking, are you looking to find your peace with a certain lucky someone? And what can the ladies do to get your attention?”

You straighten up from your lazy lounging. Feet on the ground with your elbows on your knees you intertwine your fingers and lean forward. You don’t remember him preparing for this conversation.

“First of all I’d like to say thank you to all the lovely ladies who have reached out to me or those who have written me a very sweet letter—I have read them all, don’t worry.” Homelander sends the camera a cheeky wink. Even in your tension you can’t help but chuckle at the blatant lie.

“But unfortunately for them, I am already in love. There’s a scoop for you.” He tilts his head towards the interviewer with a knowing smirk. There’s a mix of ‘ooh’ and gasps in the audience followed by applause.

Your eyes widen, jaw dropping and you barely get a gasp out. What the fuck is going on?

“Oh? Well isn’t that exciting! Who’s the lucky lady?” Scoop indeed. The interviewer is grinning ear to ear, knowing her live viewership is skyrocketing. Like it’s all a game. Like this isn’t your fucking life.

“I can’t say yet. But I know deep in my heart that she’s the one.”

“The one! Well well ladies, it’s time to pack your bags. Sounds like we’ll be seeing a massive rise in the sales of the vanilla Homelander-approved ice cream to soothe all the heartbreak you’ve just caused.” 

You can’t focus on anything they’re saying. Your heart is racing. The panic is quickly trying to take over. But you take a deep breath. Maybe he’s messing around. Maybe it’s some Vought initiative. Maybe it’s another fake PR relationship he hasn’t told you about? However much that would hurt. 

“So tell us everything you can. How long have you known each other? How did you meet?”

“We met a little under a year ago. One crazy encounter sprinkled with pure luck brought us together. But some details I will keep for myself. We’ve been keeping out of the public eye. My sweet love bunny is a little camera shy. And I get it, I’m a famous guy. Our love wouldn’t have had the privacy and time to bloom if we were public from the get go.”

No. Nonono. This can’t be happening.

“I think I just heard the entire country go ‘aww’. How romantic! Will you be coming public now?”

“Yes. It’s about time I shared her with the world. I’ve been selfishly keeping her to myself. But I really can’t wait for you all to meet her.” 

Homelander winks at the camera and you know damn well it’s not meant for the audience.

“Fuck.”

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged when I post a new Homelander fic)

@ker0senebunny @itsvaleriesucka @thychuvaluswife

@nervoussystemss @littlegaaby @natliecole @sing1art

@infinetlyforgotten @rafecamsgirlll @hom3landr @mrsdesade

@nommingonfood @jokesonyoupup @chaimshelii @gingeraleluke

[trainer-from-unova]

water and tobacco

🕸️ english ao3 🕸️ spanish ao3 🕸️

SHIP: marc spector x spiderwoman!reader

SUMMARY: you're in a situationship with Marc, who deeply loves you — but he knows that you're only with him because he looks exactly like Miguel, your ex from another dimension

AU: post-incursion (post-Doomsday and Secret Wars I guess)

C/W: light angst, kissing, begging, biting, porn with plot and feelings, smut, piv sex, mutual masturbation, finger fucking, finger sucking, oral sex (m), no protection, orgasm delay, creampie, dirty talk

A/N: english isn't my first language, sorry if something's weird expressed

WORD COUNT: 2015

To some he was Marc, to others Steven, to a few Jake, and to her he was Miguel O'Hara.

The latter made her feel like the most special woman in the multiverse, and in return she was making the former the most miserable. Marc felt, or rather knew that she was settling for him simply because he was identical to Miguel, and sometimes he suspected that it wouldn't take long for her to leave him to go back to universe 928 with him or anywhere else if she could.

Luckily for him after that incursion she was trapped in that universe with no possibility of returning to hers, his or any other. She also tried not to mention Miguel if it wasn't completely necessary, and he even less so as he felt that if he didn't mention him her past with him was less real, but he felt his presence probably the same way she felt Konshu's presence. Miguel's ghost was always there present for him, and he was sure it was for her too.

He still loved her madly, she made him miserable in a special way. Although he generally preferred to be a lone wolf, that wasn't the case with her. He needed her like water in the desert, and in her case it was similar — like tobacco, you don't need it but you can't give it up either.

In Marc's case taking off his suit was easy, but in her case the help was appreciated. Every time they went back to their shared flat at night after watching the streets he helped her undress. If the night had been quiet when he saw her in her underwear he dared to hug her from behind, kissing one of her shoulders and neck, trying to warm up the atmosphere.

If she didn't turn around he would turn her around so he could kiss her lips comfortably and slowly, taking his time and bringing his hands to her waist, very close to her buttocks. Then they would continue the kiss as she tried to remove his civilian clothes and/or as she tried to guide him to the bed without wanting to separate from him.

Marc was always painfully slow at first, but he did it on purpose to enjoy the moment and above all to provoke her, listening to her pleading. In that sense he was very different from Miguel, who was always in a hurry and was an animal in heat.

Already on the bed, sitting on the edge of it and completely naked, he started kissing her from slower to faster, until he put his tongue inside her. All that could be heard in the room was the wetness of the kiss, along with her little moans. But her tongue wasn't the only wet thing he felt as he could feel his already erect member against her already wet entrance, and he would be lying if he said he didn't want to enter her once and for all, but the foreplay was worth it. As he kissed her neck he caressed her body up and down and down and up, squeezing every lump of fat he could find along the way, namely her breasts and buttocks. She moved subtly, seeking to rub herself against his member as she clung to his shoulders.

"Please..." she pleaded in a whisper, her breath already hitching as he marked her neck with a hickey.

"Please what?" he asked pulling away from her neck to look at her with a raised eyebrow, though he knew very well what she meant — he just wanted to hear her more.

"Fuck me already," she asked trying to make eyes at him as she knew the power she had on him, "please," she said leaning back a little to grab his cock and massage it, trying to tease him more, "you know you want it."

"I haven't even begun to touch you properly, do you need my cock that badly?" he asked teasingly as he brought his thumb to her clit to stroke it leisurely while she nodded desperately with narrowed eyes. "Then say it, come on."

"I need your cock, deep inside me," she said as she began to massage him harder and faster.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she moaned as she nodded again, "please."

"Suck my cock first," he said slapping one of her buttocks, signalling that he wanted her to get up.

Said and done she got up and knelt on the floor in front of him with his help, holding her hands as they looked into each other's eyes. She may not have been looking at him, but he loved to feel her hungry, needy gaze. She licked her lips as she stood in front of him, and stroked his erection from base to tip, massaging him with her fingers. At first she used only her hand, feeling every vein in her palm. Then she bent her head and licked the tip and then sucked it, squeezing and sucking. The hoarse sigh in response was an excellent reward, so she did it one more time before taking it all the way into her mouth.

The man's hand came to rest on her hair, sliding his fingers through her tresses but for the moment not forcing her further down. Accompanied by her hands she began to suck as far as her mouth could take, sucking on every part of the erection as if she was starving and her life depended on it. Marc's ragged breathing and little moans as she stimulated him motivated her not to stop. Already used to it and sensing that he needed more he finally grabbed her hair harder to try to get her to bend her head lower, trying to get all of his cock all the way inside her wonderfully talented mouth. He had to stop her because if she kept it up he might cum in her throat, and while that didn't sound bad in his mind, he knew she didn't like it.

He grabbed her hands again, this time to help her up. She lay down on the bed and spread her legs for him, waiting for him to get on top of her to fuck her all at once — and he partly did, but not in the way she expected. He knelt between her legs, brushing her folds with his fingertips.

"Always so wet," he whispered as he slowly slipped his fingers in, while she clutched the pillow at the back of her neck. With his fingers fully inside her he began to move them rapidly back and forth, adding the sound of her wetness to the embarrassing sounds coming from her mouth. She unconsciously brought one of her hands to her mouth to silence herself, but that didn't really do much good, and seeing that Marc went faster on purpose.

Even if she didn't moan that she was about to cum he knew when her orgasm was near, he could feel it — and he stopped when she was too close, to make her even more desperate. Watching her writhe in pleasure as she sobbingly begged him to make her come, coupled with the moans she let out when she felt him stop at the worst possible moment, were almost as satisfying a scene as his own orgasm.

When he stopped masturbating her he made her lick his fingers clean, sliding his fingers along her tongue being careful not to make her gag, feeling her tongue again but in another area of his body.

Then he grabbed her hips and turned her onto her back, and when she saw him reach for one of the pillows she instinctively lifted her hips, leaving room for it between the mattress and her bare belly and to brush his cock against her buttocks, desperate for more rubbing.

Marc would really like to torture her more, perhaps devour her, but another side of him wanted to please his princess and make her his once and for all, so he grabbed the tip of his cock and brushed her wet lips to make his way unceremoniously. She shivered as she moaned, the pleasure palpable in the sounds escaping her mouth as she clutched at the sheets. Instead Marc's hands gripped her waist to ram into her, back and forth, watching victoriously as his cock disappeared inside her. Then he settled down on top of her, grabbing her hands.

"Is this deep enough for you?" he asked as he rammed into her.

"Yesyesyes! Make me cum, please please please!"

She had already reached that moment of madness where she couldn't stop her crying and pleading as she felt her orgasm forming in her lower abdomen, wishing it would go all the way down to her crotch. And they only just realised that they weren't using protection, which could be a problem, but neither could find a moment to stop and put on a condom. Besides, even if he didn't want children, Marc loved the idea of cumming inside her and filling her with his seed. He felt it was a different way to mark her, more special.

She whimpered and writhed completely as the orgasm she had been building up to for a while before came, arching her back and straining her toes, but Marc held her tightly to keep her still and not slip out, feeling her throbbing insides clinging to his cock. He was also close, very close — she also could feel it, and even she, who had a foggy mind at that moment, could feel it as she listened to his labored breathing and moans against the back of her neck.

At the last moment, shortly after her, his most animal instinct overcame him and without thinking he bit her shoulder, which was a reality check to her not only because of the sensation of her skin being marked by his teeth but because Miguel used to do that too. And then, if that wasn't enough, she suddenly felt him fill her with a thick, hot liquid as he growled.

"Oh God," he sighed in relief, letting himself fall completely defeated onto her, using her as a mattress as he caught his breath, still inside her. "You feel so good, I don't want to pull out..."

"Well, considering you've cum inside me, I think you should," she said sarcastically, now more sane, "because I don't feel like having children and I'm sure you don't either," he laughed, snorting through his nose as he slowly raised himself up.

"Tomorrow I'll buy you a pill at the pharmacy," he said, then kissed the mark his teeth had left on her shoulder.

He pulled out of her at last, pulling his now soft member out and also letting his seed out, noticing how it slid into her still wet folds. He dropped himself beside her as she lay on her side, cuddling and wrapping his arm around her.

"Maybe... you should start taking birth control," he offered, trying not to sound too interested in his own proposal, but she was no fool.

Everything would be easier (for him) if she took them — they could stop using condoms and cum as many times as he wanted inside her without the worry of getting pregnant, and most of all it would mean that their relationship was going for the long haul, since she couldn't afford to take so many morning after pills.

"...Maybe I should, yeah," she said thoughtfully.

It wasn't that she didn't love Marc (or Steven or Jake), she really loved and cared about him. She probably would have fallen completely in love with him in other circumstances — but unfortunately for him, Miguel came into her life first, marking her forever as if a vampire had branded her with his fangs.

She sighed deeply as she stared at the ceiling, and as he leaned back to drink some water from the plastic bottle on one of the small tables next to the bed, she reached out to the other to get the cigarette box and a lighter.

[bibibbon]

Tin foil hat moment here. I do think hori sabotage his mc, Izu, but also sabotaged LoV as well. All to make the abusers look better and what is infuriating is how...he didn't even accomplish that.

Saw a post talking how LoV are a bunch of losers bc they couldn't win, even when they had all the advantages Possum aka Shig come across as pathetic (even dabi and I agree bc like what was his goal? Ok, kill himself and Endy but what was he doing to reach said goal? Was necessary be with LoV for that?)

And like we all talk about Izu defending Endy was bs, I totally agree. And it makes Izu look bad.

But you know who else looks awful? Dabi.

Yes, he is a villain and no, not every villain needs to be "this sweet guy that if you give a hug he will be a good guy" but dabi wanting to murder his entire family for no reason ...dabi now being the bad seed all along makes Endy looks bad.

And hell, even am is ruined (rich coming from someone who does call him an idiot) bc he seems to be more fond of bk and shoto, guys who have quirk, over his heir (no, not saying am is quirkcist. I'm saying he is a horrible mentor for Izu and in the end, preferred those have easy quirks to deal with ....like the am iron suit was bad, but it does feel like he sees them as better heroes and may not be intentional but ouch)

I hope I'm making sense here.

Izu and LoV were sabotaged for the sake of their abusers. Bk in the end is the hero with an agency and Izu is a teacher who people, in the fake friend class, ignored for 8 years until he is useful again.

MHA is so grim without people realizing.

I'm kind impressed. Many webcomics who want to be edgy, who show people being viciously murder on first chapter can't reach this level of dispair MHA has...and MHA is "a happy story"

Wow

Hi @mikeellee 👋

The series has a lot of mixed messaging, and this could be summed up to a lot of reasons and various factors . Yes, I feel like you can argue that one of them is the favouritism of certain characters.

The narrative treats izuku horribly but also frames it in a way where things are supposed to not look bad for izuku and that they're actually somehow good for him?!?! @lacunammmm points this out the best in their posts and how the narrative doesn't seem to properly develop izuku or give him proper consequences.

Due to this, I won't be focusing on the narrative treatment that izuku gets because I feel like many before me have done that, and I have covered it in some other posts.

Rant

But why?!?! Why make izuku lose his arms if he is going to regain them in less than a chapter? Foreshadowing? Trying to give the chara ter actual concequences except they're not long-lasting, and izuku never learns to be incredibly self-deprecating? What was the point? Also, why didn't Izuku receive some acknowledgement or canonical consequences for the way he was using his quirk and the lasting impact it must have had on his body? Like the boy was using blackwhip and actively merging it with his body molecules and muscles just to keep moving. He was quite literally controlling his body like a puppet, and there's somehow no long-lasting consequences?

Hori, this is what happens when you use your main character as a mouthpiece and essentially forget all the previous characterisation you gave him as an individual massacring your protagonist!

Now getting onto what I mostly want to talk about, and that's the League of Villains!

Horikoshi fails the league of villains multiple times and I think the most evident time is during the peak of the MVA arc when they gave access to all the resources imaginable to truly achieve their goal of destorying the status quo.

They had a good chunk of resources. Actually, they had a lot of resources that they could have used in so many ways to beat the heroes yet didn't do any of that and still failed because the plot demanded them to do so. Don't even get me started on how bad this missed opportunity is that it makes Shigaraki look like a static character who never learns how to be a good leader and develop a goal outside of just destorying things but learning that he like Stain also despises the status quo and would do anything to change it for the better even if his methods are unethical and extreme.

All of the villains in the League of Villains' goals were tied to the status quo and how they felt trapped by it or wanted to destroy it.

This idea stands for dabi as well, who joins the league for the sole purpose of wanting to destroy the status quo and make Stain's words of a world full of true heroes a reality. The messaging also stands for toga and spinner who all admire Stain as well.

In the end, the destruction of the status quo is what brought this team together even if they might be separated in what that destruction looks like and what they want from it.

Dabi is an interesting character to me that gets done dirty by horikoshi. Hot take, but I find Dabi's hatred towards his entire family interesting because it shows so much of touya in the same breath. Dabi sought the validation of his father until it killed him. He went back thinking that there was a place for him just to see with new eyes the dysfunctionality of his household, and with that, he grew to hate everything about it, even the victims of Enji's abuse. His main goal is to prove enji wrong and kill him even if it costs his life. dabi has a complicated relationship with the rest of the family, or he should have if they were well written. Before the incident, Touya had an unfavourable relationship with fuyumi most likely tainted by his mysgonsitic views towards women, which were most likely instilled in him by enji. Natsou was the only one he truly respected and liked enough to truly confide in while he slowly grew to hate shoto due to what shoto represented. A huge part of dabi's arc should have been him growing to be the opposite of enji, to hate all that enji represents and all that enji is and through that his view of his family members changes. This isn't to say that he should love all of them as I still think that there deserves to be relationships coated with hate and guilt such as dabi and fuyumi or dabi and shoto.

Dabi is a man who would have grown to hate enji and would have been an interesting contrast to fuyumi the women who wants a normal family, who wants to and has desperately tried to fit in the status quo contrasted with the man who lost everything trying to do so and now wants enji's head on a plate.

Dabi and Natsou would be a relationship filled with grief. Natsou knows touya the most and the aspects of touya are forever intertwined in his relationship with natosu. I imagine that in a desperate attempt to erase the past Dabi may try and cut natsou off most likely during his encounter with ending until he relaises that he can't and that there will always be touya in Dabi.

Dabi and shoto is as classic as it gets. The failure and the success. Two sides of the same coin that are ever so separated until they choose to bridge the gap or don't it's up to them.

Dabi and rei may be the most complex of them all to me. Especially due to the emotions it has, the guilt that caused them to go insane, the pain, the grief, the hatred, the love that they have for one another. It's all so much, and a lot of it is bitter but with a hint of hope, hope for reconciliation for the better that can only be achieved after enji's demise in the eyes of dabi.

[ver0nstar]

Alastor oneshot wip?!?!

The whispers of the wind pushed against the windows—sleet pouring down without mercy or thought of the drowning plants that scream in silence.

A rainy day in hell, a once in a lifetime experience–well, sort of.

For once, the blood soaked into the concrete paths wash away, draining all evidence of the massacres taking place. Doors were closed, so were shops. The streets were silent, almost an unnatural predicament for the pride ring.

The only prominent sound buzzing along with the dripping of rain was the faint echo of static, if one were able to follow it, it would lead straight into the halls of the Hazbin Hotel.

Footsteps sounded across the hallway, the sinners lulled to sleep by the weather.

A golden smile stitched onto a man's face as he crossed the hallway towards the lobby. The dark crimson of his sclera complimented the lighter red of his iris. Sharp pupils darted around the lobby to assess the room—empty. Just how he preferred.

He patted down the wrinkles on his suit before seating himself on one of the independent armchairs. His eyes glazed over the room once again, but this time he paused.

A sinner stood right in his peripheral—it was laughable to think you'd be able to escape his field of vision. Nevertheless, his smile widened, his sharp teeth put on display as a form of intimidation veiled under the act of being polite.

You were no fool, not a naive prey to the threat. Yet, you couldn't bring your legs to move—they only trembled as you gazed in awe. You'd believe you were strong, but that's just a matter of dreams.

With an inhale, you met his gaze once more before heading over to him. A silent prayer rang across your mind, hoping you wouldn't play yourself a fool in front of the Radio Demon.

“Why, what joyous company has come to greet me! This must be my lucky day.”

He spoke with his usual showmanship act—it was all an act, wasn't it? Nobody is truly this happy on a sickening day. You stood silent, unable to conjure up a reply in the amount of time he silently gave you.

“Well, what a fantastic reply, my dear! Quite an intelligent one. You don't seem to be a talker, hmm?”

Sarcasm laced his tongue, yet cheerful chuckles escaped his lips and vibrated through the room.

Guys PLEASE I DOUBT ILL HAVE MOTIVATION TO FINISH SO IM GONA NEED TIME.. also cus i have a ton of school shit to do! 💔 AND i dont rlly have a plot for this either so lets just pray!

[traffic-was-a-b1tch]

anthem of the heart

(jake kiszka x reader) 18+

summary: you and your best friend move into a new apartment after college, wanting a fresh start in nashville. however, you come to find that your neighbors are musicians. very loud musicians who like to keep you up at night. especially one, who likes to bother you on purpose. you would hate him… if he wasn’t so hot.

warnings for overall series: eventual SMUT!!!, angst, mentions of past abuse (not jake), abuse (not jake), mentions of past sexual assault (not jake), sexual assault (not jake), enemies to lovers, cursing, let me know if I missed any. (i’m still making this series up as I go along so it might change)

warnings for this chapter: abuse, mentions of past abuse, sexual assault, misogyny, ex drama, violence, insults, cursing, let me know if I missed any.

author’s note: this is where the plot thickens, ok? trust the process lol. PLEASE MAKE SURE TO READ THE WARNINGS. this is a heavy chapter. we’ll get to more of the lovey-dovey in coming chapters, but this? this is not love. reader beware.

• • •

Chapter Three:

you did your best to forget about jake.

sure the loud music was annoying but the image of him, shirtless, brushing your cheek replaying in your head constantly was much more infuriating. you just had to forget about that asshole. that toned, cocky asshole.

kaylee finished painting that night and in the morning, while you were getting dressed, you apologized for not helping her finish.

“don’t worry about it. I could tell you were too in your head to work”, she smiled then squinted at you, “what happened that made you so spaced?”

you told her. everything.

from the first time you talked to him, to him touching your cheek.

she was speechless.

“yeah. I definitely see where you’re coming from”, she breathed.

“yeah, I don’t know what to think”, you finished buttoning your blouse,”but for now I gotta go. I have an interview in an hour.”

you hugged her, grabbed your keys, and made your way down the stairs to your car.

you knew what you needed to focus on today was getting a job. you didn’t spend four years working two jobs and being a full-time student to daydream about your neighbor.

you were interviewing at your second pick of jobs in the city. your first pick hadn’t responded to your online application yet, so you decided to go for this one for now.

you wore a patterned pink blouse with black slacks and small pink kitten heels. you were already a little uncomfortable in the heels, but you chalked it up to nerves.

the building was huge, many offices on many floors peered down at you. you felt small, but you were trying to stay confident.

walking into the waiting room, you felt eyes on you. many other people lined the walls in chairs, seemingly applying for the same job. as you checked in, you took in the overbearingly white, hospital-like walls and gray details.

certainly less color than you would prefer, but you needed a job nonetheless.

the wait felt like forever, but it was probably only ten minutes.

a woman walked in, in a black dress, and looked down at her clipboard. she called your name and you quickly stood up. following her, you were led down a small white hallway with gray carpet.

they must really detest color here, you thought.

she let you into an office and you quietly thanked her. inside was a man in a suit and tie sitting behind a desk. his face, adorned with a small scowl, was halfway hidden by a computer screen.

“hello, sir. i’m here about the marketing job”, you greeted, holding out your resume for him to take.

he didn’t look up, focused on his computer, but waved his hand for you to sit.

you did, squirming a bit uncomfortably in the thick plastic on the chair. finally, he finished typing and looked at you.

“oh, right. the, uh, marketing job.”

his middle aged voice was a bit raspy, and his posture suggested he’d been working nonstop for a few decades.

“so”, he started, “what do you see yourself doing in five years?”

the question was a given at any interview, so you were thoroughly prepared.

“I see myself with a growing career, hopefully in a higher position than i’m interviewing for, and living in my own house just outside the city.”

“with your husband?”

you had to hide the flash of pain on your face as you remembered your ex. ex-fiancé, in fact.

you replied, “sure, maybe in time, but I don’t have any plans for that right now.”

he rolled his eyes and wrote something on a paper in front of him.

“i’m sorry, sir”, you smiled, not understanding what you did to illicit that response, “is there something wrong with my answer?”

“it’s always girls like you, so young, that act like they don’t care about relationships. only careers.”

you laughed half-heartedly and tried to stay polite.

“well, I did work very hard on my career so a husband can wait.”

he raised his eyebrow, “that is a woman’s purpose, you know. your life doesn’t truly begin until you are married. then you can have children and fulfill yourself.”

you were shocked.

such an outright misogynistic remark made you question if you heard right.

you didn’t hide the shock and anger on your face as you stood up.

“excuse me, sir, but I am more than just a machine that can get married and produce children. I am a person, a very smart one at that, who can make her own decisions and pay her own bills. I do not need your input on what you think is important for me to do with my own life. thank you for the interview, but I think i’ll pass on working here. i’ll see myself out.”

you turned and left, angered and appalled.

fuck, is it asshole men month or what?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the drive home gave you time to calm down. you listened to a podcast and tried to relax but it was becoming harder and harder with all the things on your mind.

you finally got home, relieved to go upstairs and take off your shoes.

walking into your hallway, you start looking for your keys in your purse.

“hey.”

you stopped.

you’d know that voice anywhere.

your ex-fiancé.

“tanner, what the fuck are you doing here?”

you looked up, taking him in. your breath quickened, terrified. he was intimidating, scary.

“I found where you ran off to. such a hole in the wall, is it not?”

tanner examined the hallway, flicking the chipping paint.

you looked beyond him to see your apartment door, just a few feet away. you had to get there. you needed to lock yourself inside and call the cops.

“it’s good enough for me”, you replied shakily.

you started to move towards your door, steadily.

he followed you down and planted his hand firmly on the door.

“no. you’re not going anywhere. not until you tell me that you love me again.”

even while being frightened of him, you scoffed.

“say I love you again? tanner, you beat me at our engagement party! you’re fucking sick! you really think I could still love you after months of abuse?”

his faced hardened. he started inching closer to you.

you backed away, hitting the wall.

“please, tanner. calm down. just go home. please just leave me alone. please.”

in a swift move, he grabbed your arm hard. you yelped in pain, knowing he’d leave more bruises on top of the ones still healing.

“what was that? you don’t love me?”, he was borderline yelling. “you can’t fool me, bitch. I know you do. you still want me.”

when you started to sob, tanner forced his face on yours into an unwelcome kiss. he pushed his knee in between your legs, putting pressure on your core, as he grabbed your breast in his hand roughly.

pain entered your body from every angle.

you grunted and sobbed against him, “get off of me!”

then you heard a door open.

after this, it’s all a blur.

you remember bits and pieces of two men fighting.

“get the fuck off of her!”, one yelled. he planted a punch right on tanner’s jaw.

you fell to the ground, sobbing with your legs pressed to your chest.

the men swung at each other, tanner landing a few blows to the other one. but then, after one more punch to the face, tanner fell.

he was unconscious, and you buried your face in your arms to avoid seeing his face anymore.

the other man squatted to your level.

“fuck, are you ok?”

you lifted your head, and saw jake.

• • •

yeah. I told you. no picnic in this chapter. BUT keep reading, it will get better. as always PLEASE feel free to leave me feedback, give suggestions, etc!

[the-starry-seas]

omg you're a techo enjoyer too??? blessed 🥺 do you have any hcs or plot tribbles about them you'd be willing to share?

So Tech is the person that Echo spends the most time with, when he first goes with the Batch. This isn't because of any desire to connect on Tech's part - the only reason nobody calls him unfriendly is cause Crosshair is right there, in much the way that your neighbour's snarly dog isn't much of a problem compared to a rabid T Rex.

Instead, it's because the Bad Batch realise that, y'know, Echo's been Matrixed into a freezer for a while (timeline is not my strength but it was a few years, I think). Somebody's gotta figure out those cyborg parts and how to fix them, preferably before something breaks. And of course for something that serious, you choose the smart one.

At first, Echo is very awkward about this. The last thing he wants is someone digging around in his parts, even if it's for a good reason. But he also knows that it's going to be even worse for everybody if he has some sudden breakdown that disables him. So he grits his teeth and bears it.

(Tech does not notice shit about this. He has new science to explore, new problems to figure out, and human interaction has never been his strong suit. Autism King <3)

There's definitely some initial awkwardness, but Echo figures out pretty quickly that if he gets Tech rambling about something, the sound of his voice is soothing. Echo thinks nothing of it. (lol. lmao even.) He also comes to find it vaguely endearing when Tech gets distracted in the middle of something because he thinks of some cool upgrade that he can do. The Iron Man-style rocket boots are a total success. Tech is fully convinced his sensation of affection and pride is just because he got the boots working, and nothing to do with Echo himself (again: lol. lmao even.)

Tech pokes at the dataport, frowns, and looks down at his datapad. "Can you give me a hand with this?" A metal arm clatters to the floor next to him. Echo, across the room, hasn't moved from his co-pilot's seat and is still watching the latest episode of his holodrama. "Technically," he begins, adjusting his goggles with an indignant sniff, "yes, that is what I asked for. But I expected better of you."

Echo suddenly has some fucking thoughts about the possibility of Tech praising him, let me tell you. Still, he also has some reservations, because there's times where Tech gets too invested in the ✨ science ✨ and Echo starts feeling kind of like an experiment all over again.

Anyway the two of them are getting along pretty well and Tech is remaining fairly oblivious to both their feelings. (This is not a dig at Tech, I'm simply a huge sucker for ships where one of them doesn't realise their feelings until a Dramatic Moment, generally involving a near-death experience.) Except that Echo doesn't much like talking about his past and all the Clone Trauma™, especially pertaining to his lost Fives, and Tech's a nosy bitch who wants to know everything.

So Tech finds a way to get Echo's file. If the reg's not gonna talk, well, when has Tech ever respected a 'no access' sign? He reads through it and takes some notes, and it seems as though things are fine.

Except once Echo actually does start opening up about his past, Tech jumps in to fill in some details. Details that Echo certainly never told him. And Echo wants to know how Tech knows, and Tech's a shit liar, so the truth comes out.

Echo is not pleased with the truth.

(pain incoming)

"Well, I've... read your file," Tech says, hesitantly. He reaches up to adjust his goggles. A nervous tic, one that Echo usually finds endearing. But hearing that Tech was reading his file makes something twist in his stomach - what's left of it. Especially with Tech nervous about it. Echo's never really seen him like that. Not with him. "Okay," he replies, fighting to keep his voice and expression as close to 'calm' as possible. "And?" "I know it's been, well, hard. For you. For the other reg- the other clones." Echo stares at him, too shocked to attempt a look of neutrality any more. Tech must be joking. He must be. Not about reading his file, Echo had assumed that the Batch had all dug into him to find out who he was. But thinking that he knows anything about what it was like? Just because he read a file? He's seen the kinds of files that are kept on clones. They're dry, succinct, and mention nothing about who a clone is, just a service record like the kind you'd see kept about a machine. Because that's just about all they were, to the people in charge. The clones certainly weren't people to anyone but themselves. "So what's it like, Tech? Go on, you read the file." He waits. It's harsh, he knows, maybe even cruel, but he's not much in a laughing mood any more. "Maybe I... missed a few things," Tech hedges, looking very much like he wants to escape. "How much more do you want to know? Because they carved me out of myself, but they left the memories, and I see all of it every single night, so I can tell you more than the devil himself could stomach." He waits, but Tech doesn't say anything, just shifts his weight, eyes wide, fingers curling and uncurling around his datapad. Finally, Echo says, "You don't know shit, Tech. Don't ever pretend you do. Especially not around me." He leaves. For once, Tech's not distracted. For once, Tech watches him go.

So there's a bump in the road, as it were. Well, more like hitting a moose with your janky 90s sedan. You walked away from it physically fine but you have an overwhelming feeling about how oh god you're so fucked. Also who do you call about that???

Echo calls Rex. Rex does not know what to do about this. He lets Echo vent until they've been sitting quietly for a few minutes, and then suggests that maybe that was just Tech's way of trying to connect to Echo. Not exactly normal, "but you always did say, when you called, that he always paid attention to you and wanted to know more about you. Maybe this is an extension of that, and he didn't realise that he was crossing some lines."

(Yes, in my head, Rex is lowkey playing matchmaker. He's heard the way Echo's voice changes when he talks about Tech, and he wants to see where this goes.)

Meanwhile, Tech is bothering the shit out of Hunter because 'you know how people work, what did I do?'

This is the first that Hunter is hearing about any of this. He doesn't have the slightest idea what's going on, but he does have some experience with relationship difficulties caused by inadvertent assholery *inserts my Cross/Hunter agenda here*

So Rex helps Echo calm down, and Hunter helps Tech figure out how to apologise. Tech doesn't do shit with that knowledge because emotional conversations suck and he'd much rather pretend that just never happened, thank you goodbye. He's just a huge anxious mess because he doesn't know why people think he's being weird or mean or rude when he thought they were Just Vibing.

It takes like two months for Tech to make a move to fix this, is what I'm saying.

"Echo?" Tech asks hesitantly. He stands with his hands clasped in front of him, one thumb rubbing over the knuckles of his opposite hand. "Fuck off." Tech winces, but, well - with the way he inadvertently treated Echo, it's not like he can complain. "I- when I mentioned your file-" "Don't." "I was just trying to say that you didn't have to hide anything from me. That you were one of us. And we'd do our best to understand. I didn't- I'm not good at apologies, I'm sorry, I'll go-" "Wait." Tech freezes in the doorway, even more uncertain now. Echo sighs and looks at him. If his gaze is supposed to be communicating something, it's not in a language that Tech speaks. Maybe his uncertainty shows on his face, or maybe Echo was just waiting to collect his thoughts. "Thanks, Tech." Despite the awkward seriousness of their conversation, Tech smiles. "You're welcome, Echo. And if there's- I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to, you know, but if there's anything you wanted to talk about, um, well, I'm only so far away. The Marauder's not a big ship." Echo doesn't say anything else, but he nods, and Tech feels like he actually managed to make some progress as he slips back out to the kitchen.

Anyway Echo has to comm Rex and send him ten bucks because Rex was right about Tech not being an asshole. Rex is only a little smug about this.

Echo slowly starts gravitating back towards Tech after that, and Tech is all !!!! not entirely sure what's happening but apparently the hot one Echo doesn't hate him any more so that's great!

They eventually get back into their groove and Tech makes him those kickass rocket boots to apologise for the whole... whatever that was. Words are hard, inventing is easy. He's still not 100% sure what went down, but Echo seems to have forgiven him, so he doesn't want to bring it up again. (He does, but it's like... a full year later, once he's definitely sure that Echo's not mad at him about it any more.)

Good thing that they do find their way back together, because one of Echo's legs breaks. And of course Tech's the one who immediately gets a little googly-eyed about finally being able to take Echo's leg apart. (He was strictly forbidden from Tinkering while Echo was wearing them, because Echo doesn't completely trust Tech to be able to resist the siren call of becoming a mad scientist. He adores the man, but he also knows Tech's weaknesses.)

Tech does indeed get a little mad scientist-y when he gets his hands all over those legs. He spends a week with a diet of space Red Bull, dry instant ramen, and no sleep, and comes up with Legs 2.0.11.8. He almost blows the ship up once or twice, but nothing seriously affects the life support systems, so it's fine, leave the lab alone.

Legs 2.0.11.8 are lighter, more durable, fit more comfortably, and have not only the fancy rocket boosters, but the ability to switch out normal treads for heavy ones and even climbing crampons! And a thousand other upgrades, but he's talking so fast that Echo genuinely has no idea what's going on. He figures that he can ask to read Tech's file about em later (yes he jokes about that, no Tech doesn't know if he can laugh).

When Echo first tries out his new legs, he loses his balance and goes straight into Tech's arms. Tech catches him and murmurs You're doing great, Echo.

Echo is running on an emotional high of having his legs back, having much better legs than the last ones, being caught by a hot nerd, and being praised by a hot nerd.

There's nothing to do about all that except kiss Tech.

He briefly thinks he's encountered a massive problem when Tech doesn't kiss back, and just stands there with a thoughtful look on his face. There's about a thousand things crossing Echo's mind in that moment, none of them exactly good. Can he get kicked off a squad for kissing someone???

Tech calmly says, "That was unexpected but perfectly acceptable. I commend your technique."

Echo isn't entirely sure what that means for a second, but then Tech pulls him in with both hands and tongues him, and Echo figures he doesn't need to ask.

The Batch is entirely unaware of this until three weeks later, when Echo joins them in the cockpit and sits right down in Tech's lap with his legs crossed. Wrecker wants to know why Echo's not in his usual co-pilot's chair. Echo just says figure it out and nudges Tech's chin up to kiss him.

Okay I've got so many headcanons too hold on

Tech's bunk is full of half-forgotten-about wires, metal sheets, pieces of rebar, loose screws, and the occasional shard of glass. Echo will not get into that bunk, they cuddle in Echo's hammock.

Tech will lay on top of Echo like a living weighted blanket and is perfectly happy to stay there for 12+ hours if he gets really invested in something on his datapad. This is often some design for another improvement to Echo's implants, so double bonus!

Strip chess

They love crosswords but they manage to get really competitive. Usually this means they make out about it, but sometimes they get mad at each other. Scrabble is banned after a few Incidents that resulted in yelling and a little blood, Hunter burned the tiles.

Tech keeps begging Echo into picking up dangerous insects, snails, frogs, and poisonous plants with his metal hand. Echo doesn't have to worry about getting bitten/poisoned and Tech can get a close-up look. Best of both worlds!

LEGO couple. If you haven't seen them for 16 hours? They got deeply invested into space version of some NASA set with 4000 pieces. Echo will bite you if you interrupt them.

Echo doesn't handle cold weather, it reminds him too much of being stuck as a POW. This means that the Batch leaves him on the ship on arctic missions but it also means Tech gets him eight pairs of fluffy socks because he read on the holonet that those are the best for keeping warm. Nobody's allowed to point out that Echo no longer has feet to keep warm. Echo wears them anyway and has favourites.

Sometimes Echo uses his USB hand to lock Tech's datapad when Tech won't go to sleep

He has a body pillow because it helps when his hips hurt. It's custom printed to look like Tech. Tech gets irrationally jealous over seeing Echo cuddle it.

Tech can do that finger skateboard thing and Echo uniroincally thinks it's really clever of him and admires his tricks

Tech makes Echo a new arm that has a human-shaped hand on the end so it has a wider range of function. The USB comes out of the tip of Echo's middle finger, at Echo's request.

Echo shakes hands/takes things from people with his metal hand. Tech is the only exception.

Tech likes crouching and crawling around, instead of walking 'normally'. There's been a few times that his head's popped up from where he's been crawling around on the floor like a snake, and Echo almost kicked him in the face because it scared him.

Echo can do some Black Widow shit with his new metal legs. He tries them all out on Tech cause it gets Tech real hot and bothered

There's been several times that Tech runs away from making out because he had a breakthrough thought on some project. Echo is always a little mad about it.

Tech snores. Loudly. Echo always turns off his hearing aids and lets that be everyone else's problem. He likes the way Tech's chest moves against his when they're sleeping together.

Echo keeps the lights off and his shirt on when they're getting intimate for years. Lot of self-esteem issues related to how his body looks. It's Tech's unfailing admiration for the occasional shirtless look, that eventually helps Echo start to accept himself.

Tech's name in Echo's phone is 'cyare' and Echo's name in Tech's phone is 'Echo 💙'

Echo once casually refers to a 'honey-do list' and Tech needs a reboot because holy shit he's honey!!!

Everyone can always tell when they were making out because Echo has hickeys everywhere. At first he was embarrassed about it but nowadays he shows them off.

Rex once commented 'oh, wow, did Echo get hit in the throat?' and Tech spat his water across the table. That was how Rex found out they were hooking up.

Rex said he was going to give Tech the shovel talk and Tech immediately started talking over him about the types of screws used to connect shovel heads. Rex never got around to his part.

Tech and Echo always walk holding hands. Sometimes the rest of the Batch stops or changes directions, and Tech doesn't notice with his datapad two inches from his face, so Echo gently tugs him in the right direction.

Sometimes the rest of the Batch didn't stop or change direction, and Echo is pulling him into an alley to make out.

Tech still hasn't lived down the time he came back from a detour with Echo and then had to go back to find his codpiece.

They stargaze whenever they're planetside. Tech loves infodumping about the stars and Echo loves to listen. Tech custom-built a two-person lawn chair so they can put their feet up. Echo's fallen asleep cuddled up to him more times than even Tech can count.

Echo has to be physically direct with flirting, cause if he just says something like "wow you're hot", then Tech just says "yes thank you", and keeps doing what he's doing. Gotta distract him from his project by kissing him or sitting in his lap or something before Echo can get to the words part.

[rphunter]

heya names jager:)

i’m in my early 20s, based in norway (gmt+1). i’ve been roleplaying for around 12 years now, and i write exclusively on discord. i’m here to create something immersive, layered, and intentional, if that’s not your approach, we probably won’t mesh.

i write flawed, complicated, and often messy characters. i’m not interested in sunshine-and-flowers types, every person has something broken in them, and that’s where the most honest writing lives. i love characters who are emotionally damaged, repressed, guilt-ridden, grieving, conflicted, anything that hurts in all the right ways. angst is a cornerstone of my writing, and slow burn is non-negotiable. if you aren’t into building tension, planning long arcs, or letting things unravel over time, i’m not the right partner for you.

i’ve always had a deep interest in military themes, and i have a particular soft spot for WW2, and similar themes, i am autistic and its one of my special interests personally. if that’s something you’re into, we’ll probably get along well. i have a lot of ocs across various genres and settings, but i’d really like to use my newest one if he fits the story you have in mind. i enjoy adjusting characters to suit different worlds or dynamics, so i’m flexible there.

writing details:

third-person pov

novella / lit+

scene-dependent length (from a paragraph to 6+ nitro posts)

preferred pairings: mxm, fxm, open to t4t (still new, but open)

i reply often, multiple times a day, typically, but if something comes up, i’ll communicate that. i expect the same in return. if you disappear for more than three weeks without saying anything, i’ll quietly move on. i’m not here to chase people or sit in limbo.

i don’t do casual writing. i care about the characters, the story, and the emotional payoff, and i expect you to bring that same energy. if you're passive in plotting, low-effort in replies, or expecting me to carry the entire thing, it won’t last. i match energy, always.

that said, if we click, i’m all in, worldbuilding, headcanons, pinterest boards, playlists, side scenes. i like creating something that feels like it matters.

nsfw is fine, if it fits the story and comes naturally. i’m also fine with fade-to-black. if it’s sudden, forced, or detached from the narrative, it’s a no from me. i don’t write sex-focused plots.

i don’t have many limits, but the ones i do have are strict. i can provide writing samples and a list of triggers that might show up in my writing. if you’re under 18, don’t message me. and if you expect me to do all the plotting, or you’re dry and disengaged, it’s not going to work.

if you’re serious about writing character-driven stories with emotional weight, slow unravelings, and real stakes, and you’re willing to put in the effort, i’m open to talking. just bring depth, focus, and a genuine love for storytelling that cuts deep.

Feel free to DM me if ur into this, ill provide writing samples, oc lists and a friendly conversation!:)

.

[findroleplay]

heya names jager:)

i’m in my early 20s, based in norway (gmt+1). i’ve been roleplaying for around 12 years now, and i write exclusively on discord. i’m here to create something immersive, layered, and intentional, if that’s not your approach, we probably won’t mesh.

i write flawed, complicated, and often messy characters. i’m not interested in sunshine-and-flowers types, every person has something broken in them, and that’s where the most honest writing lives. i love characters who are emotionally damaged, repressed, guilt-ridden, grieving, conflicted, anything that hurts in all the right ways. angst is a cornerstone of my writing, and slow burn is non-negotiable. if you aren’t into building tension, planning long arcs, or letting things unravel over time, i’m not the right partner for you.

i’ve always had a deep interest in military themes, and i have a particular soft spot for WW2, and similar themes, i am autistic and its one of my special interests personally. if that’s something you’re into, we’ll probably get along well. i have a lot of ocs across various genres and settings, but i’d really like to use my newest one if he fits the story you have in mind. i enjoy adjusting characters to suit different worlds or dynamics, so i’m flexible there.

writing details:

third-person pov

novella / lit+

scene-dependent length (from a paragraph to 6+ nitro posts)

preferred pairings: mxm, fxm, open to t4t (still new, but open)

i reply often, multiple times a day, typically, but if something comes up, i’ll communicate that. i expect the same in return. if you disappear for more than three weeks without saying anything, i’ll quietly move on. i’m not here to chase people or sit in limbo.

i don’t do casual writing. i care about the characters, the story, and the emotional payoff, and i expect you to bring that same energy. if you're passive in plotting, low-effort in replies, or expecting me to carry the entire thing, it won’t last. i match energy, always.

that said, if we click, i’m all in, worldbuilding, headcanons, pinterest boards, playlists, side scenes. i like creating something that feels like it matters.

nsfw is fine, if it fits the story and comes naturally. i’m also fine with fade-to-black. if it’s sudden, forced, or detached from the narrative, it’s a no from me. i don’t write sex-focused plots.

i don’t have many limits, but the ones i do have are strict. i can provide writing samples and a list of triggers that might show up in my writing. if you’re under 18, don’t message me. and if you expect me to do all the plotting, or you’re dry and disengaged, it’s not going to work.

if you’re serious about writing character-driven stories with emotional weight, slow unravelings, and real stakes, and you’re willing to put in the effort, i’m open to talking. just bring depth, focus, and a genuine love for storytelling that cuts deep.

Feel free to DM me if ur into this, ill provide writing samples, oc lists and a friendly conversation!:)

_

[jagermestern]

RP advertisement

heya names jager:)

i’m in my early 20s, based in norway (gmt+1). i’ve been roleplaying for around 12 years now, and i write exclusively on discord. i’m here to create something immersive, layered, and intentional, if that’s not your approach, we probably won’t mesh.

i write flawed, complicated, and often messy characters. i’m not interested in sunshine-and-flowers types, every person has something broken in them, and that’s where the most honest writing lives. i love characters who are emotionally damaged, repressed, guilt-ridden, grieving, conflicted, anything that hurts in all the right ways. angst is a cornerstone of my writing, and slow burn is non-negotiable. if you aren’t into building tension, planning long arcs, or letting things unravel over time, i’m not the right partner for you.

i’ve always had a deep interest in military themes, and i have a particular soft spot for WW2, and similar themes, i am autistic and its one of my special interests personally. if that’s something you’re into, we’ll probably get along well. i have a lot of ocs across various genres and settings, but i’d really like to use my newest one if he fits the story you have in mind. i enjoy adjusting characters to suit different worlds or dynamics, so i’m flexible there.

writing details:

third-person pov

novella / lit+

scene-dependent length (from a paragraph to 6+ nitro posts)

preferred pairings: mxm, fxm, open to t4t (still new, but open)

i reply often, multiple times a day, typically, but if something comes up, i’ll communicate that. i expect the same in return. if you disappear for more than three weeks without saying anything, i’ll quietly move on. i’m not here to chase people or sit in limbo.

i don’t do casual writing. i care about the characters, the story, and the emotional payoff, and i expect you to bring that same energy. if you're passive in plotting, low-effort in replies, or expecting me to carry the entire thing, it won’t last. i match energy, always.

that said, if we click, i’m all in, worldbuilding, headcanons, pinterest boards, playlists, side scenes. i like creating something that feels like it matters.

nsfw is fine, if it fits the story and comes naturally. i’m also fine with fade-to-black. if it’s sudden, forced, or detached from the narrative, it’s a no from me. i don’t write sex-focused plots.

i don’t have many limits, but the ones i do have are strict. i can provide writing samples and a list of triggers that might show up in my writing. if you’re under 18, don’t message me. and if you expect me to do all the plotting, or you’re dry and disengaged, it’s not going to work.

if you’re serious about writing character-driven stories with emotional weight, slow unravelings, and real stakes, and you’re willing to put in the effort, i’m open to talking. just bring depth, focus, and a genuine love for storytelling that cuts deep.

Feel free to DM me if ur into this, ill provide writing samples, oc lists and a friendly conversation!:)

[bluegalaxygirl]

Old Friends (Zosan X Reader) P9

Plot: Reader is the 9th doctors old assistant but soon moved on to other things, joining the straw hat pirates and falling in love but now their paths cross again (only he has a new face, 10th Doctor) when they go to see an old friend in a strange hospital. Unfortunately there's some one else there that wants to start trouble.

One piece and Doctor who cross over (10th doctor), its based off the new earth episode. i thought since David tenant as the doctor is coming back in November it would be good to get this idea out.

Reader is Female (Sorry), Zoro X Sanji X reader, Poly relationship, established relationship.

Warning: Illness, Death, bad language, Violence and Making out.

P1 - P2 - P3 - P4 - P5 - P6 - P7 - P8 - P10 - P11 - P12 - P13 - P14 - P15

Your eyes open as your head throbs along with your hand but for the first time you can see clearly and move on your own "You ok?" Sanji asks as you gasp looking up to see Sanji and Zoro holding you with concerned looks. Sitting on your knees you smile at the two "Hi" you shakily ran your hands over their cheeks feeling their skin so happy their not hurt. Knowing it's really you Sanji pull you in for a hug holding you tight as you hug back, Zoro looks you over running a hand through your hair, he's still not fully sure if its you or Casandra acting. "Oh ,my love... i'm so sorry" Sanji pulls away cupping your face and placing his forehead against yours "You have nothing to be sorry for, i'm just glad your ok. your not hurt right?" You ask cupping his face watching him shake his head "No, i'm fine. Are you ok?" The cook asks pulling away form your head to look you over "I have a headache and my hand hurts but i'm ok, Hun" You smile leaning in and placing a soft kiss on his lips ignoring your battered knuckles "Baby?" Zoro asks fully knowing its you now, he pulls your injured hand to him looking it over before you pull the swordsman into a hug. Zoro relax into you and hug back, You know he hates himself for what he did but it would have worked if that nurse didn't show up. "Thank you. You did the right thing." you whisper before pulling away to cup his face. "He chocked you" Sanji growls still mad about it but you look over at the cook and take his hand "It wasn't hard at all, she's just a wimp" you laugh seeming to calm the cook down a little.

Zoro pulls you into another hug along with Sanji holding you both close to him "I'm sorry, i'm so sorry, Please forgive me" The swordsman kisses your head then Sanji's, feeling bad for his actions even though you said it was the right thing. You lean up and place a hand on Zoro's cheek "There's nothing to forgive Hunk" rubbing your thumb across the green haired man's cheek you press your lips against his feeling him lean into you. You place a few more light kisses on his lips before hugging him again. "It's ok, Zo" Sanji looks up no longer mad about what happened, you were fine and it seemed Casandra was really good at acting "I'm sorry too" The cook leans in placing his lips on the swordsman's who happily kisses back. Pulling away from the two you happen to glance down and sigh, taking out the key card from your cleavage you button your shirt back up and then place the card into your back pocket "Got to admit love, I liked it" Sanji looks over with a blush only for you to glare at him making Zoro chuckle. Taking the jacket off your hips you rip the sleeve off before Zoro places a hand on yours "Here let me" The swordsman takes the sleeve ripping it up some more and then wrapping it around your injured knuckles. The green haired man places a kiss over your now bandaged hand before looking up at you and rubs his thumb over your lips "Can i be honest babe?" you look up at him confused but nod your head "That shade of red doesn't suit you, i prefer their natural color"

Laughing you shake your head with a slight blush "Gods what did she do to me" Sanji pulls out a tissue and hands it to you so you can wipe the lipstick off. "Oh wow, look at that ass" The doctors voice catches your attention, all three of you look over to see the man feeling his body and looking at himself over in the mirror. You raise an eyebrow at him wondering what is going on. The doctor strikes poses in the mirror messing up his hair putting the long coat on in different ways to look seductive. "Casandra?" you ask realizing that if Casandra isn't in you then she must be in him. "This feels so weird. Two hearts" Casandra laughs feeling the doctor's chest as she turns to look at the three of you "It's like i'm beating out a samba." she dances a little while laughing "Get out of him" you yell the boys pulling you close not wanting to lose you again. "Now there is no need to shout, you all wanted me out and now i'm out" The doctors body walks over to the three of you with a smile "How cute, reunited at last" Zoro stands letting go of you and punching his hand into his fist with a glare "Now your in someone else i don't mind beating your ass" You stand up Sanji trying to stop you but you grab Zoro's arm pulling him close to you "Please don't" you beg not wanting the doctor to get hurt.

Sanji stands and wraps an arm around your waist "Isn't that sweet you still care for him" Casandra crosses the mans arms over his chest sticking out his hip slightly "Just one punch" Zoro looks down at you but you shake your head as the banging starts to get louder making it more noticeable "We have to find a way out of here, and we kinda need the doctor to do that" You state only for Sanji to step in between you and Casandra "She won't leave and i don't want her going back to you" Letting go of Zoro you look up at the cook, you were about to say something when the door up stairs breaks down a loud crash filling the air "Oh shit, what do we do?" Casandra asks stepping back as voices and groans start making there way down the stairs "The service elevators where are they?" You ask looking behind Sanji to the doctor "The elevators won't work, this place will be on lock down remember" Zoro glares at the Doctor's body since Casandra seems to be mocking you "I know that, the service elevators have ladders that lead to the top now let's go" You look behind you to see the sick making it down the stairs.

With Casandra leading the way you all run down the hall way to where the service elevators are. Casandra heads up first shortly followed by you then Sanji and then Zoro "Where are we going?" The doctors voice yells out as Casandra makes him climb "You sent Chopper and that nurse to the 26th floor so thats where were going. Chopper can help cure these people, if where lucky they'll still be on that floor" you climb up the cold metal of the ladder hurting your hand a little but you push through "You mean the flesh, they were born for this there's no saving them, i say we just find a way to kill them" The fact that the doctors voice is saying that makes you sick "They've done nothing wrong, they didn't ask for this, and everyone deserve a second chance at life." You yell up at her also pointing the comment at Casandra, yes she's done some very bad things and you hate that she did but you also felt the pain she was in and the thoughts in her head, its still no excuse but you feel a little connected to her. The climb was long and hard but soon your half-way there "Shit" Zoro calls out making you all look down to see the Sick climbing up behind you all. "Oh god" Casandra squeaks trying to climb faster along with the rest of you "Were almost there keep going" You call out to her trying to give her words of encouragement which seemed to help her panic a little less "How do we open the door?" Casandra yells out once you all make it to the top looking at the closed elevator doors. "Use the sonic screwdriver" You stop near the Doctors feet looking up as his body holds onto the ladder while looking through the pockets soon taking out the sonic screwdriver "How do i use?"

The question shocks you making you panic a little but you manage not to show it "Shouldn't you know?" you ask seeing the doctor sigh as Sanji starts climbing further up to be over your legs letting Zoro get further up since the Sick are getting closer "He's shut out everything, i have no idea" Casandra yells back getting angry at the situation "There getting closer, let me up I'll open them" Zoro yells out but the ladders too small there's no way he can get past without you and Sanji letting go "Casandra, go back into me and let the doctor out, he can do it" Sanji and Zoro's eyes widen looking up at you "What no" The two yell out in unison but the doctors shoulder shrug "Hold on then" The doctor breaths out a multi colored cloud going from the doctor you. The doctor gasps clinging onto the ladder his head throbbing. "Open the doors" Casandra yells out now in your body clinging onto the ladder while Sanji's hand holds your waist stopping you form falling "Get out now" The three men glare at you "Oh for god’s sake, open the doors or do you want us all to die?" Casandra yells looking down to see the sick much closer than before "If you don't want to die Casandra get out of her now" The doctor yells, Casandra thinks for a moment before breathing out.

The multi colored cloud going form you and back into the doctor, your hands grip tightly around the ladder as you legs give out, your head pounding but lucky Sanji held you close and Zoro pushes your legs back up "You ok baby?" Zoro looks up seeing you pant a little "Yea, what happened?" you ask unsure of why there still in the elevator shaft "He refuses to open the door's unless i'm out of you" The doctors voice calls out making you look up. "Go somewhere else then" Sanji yells up still holding some of your weight "What like you? no thanks too much of a perverted mind, i dread to think of the things I'll see. I'll probably be scared for life" Casandra glares at the cook before looking down at Zoro "And you'll deferentially fight back, i'm not taking that chance" You look up at the Doctor before looking back down "Oh no... i'm not doing that" Casandra glares at you as your eyes shift back up to her "Please" your eyes beg her, noticing Sanji looking back down you take the opportunity to mouth to Casandra "I'll let you back" Shocked at your words Casandra takes a second to think before seeing you lift up your pinkie finger "Pinkie promise" You mouth watching as the Doctor's body sighs "I'm so going to regret this" The doctor breaths out multi colored cloud going all the way down into the first sick clone, a female with long brown hair and yellow eyes.

The girl stops and gasps clinging onto the ladder and stopping the other sick people form continuing up. "Oh god" She calls out panting while looking around as the Doctor shakes his head trying to regain focus. "Doctor" you call out getting his attention, the man looks down at you then down at the sick who have stopped "Open the doors" The sick girl bellow calls out, realizing what's happened the Doctor uses his sonic screwdriver to open the elevator doors. He quickly jumps over to the doors and holds his hand out as you make your way across, quickly followed by Sanji and Zoro "Hurry" The doctor yells using his screwdriver to close the doors so Casandra can't get back. Sanji and Zoro rush past you but you stay right by the doors looking down at the sick girl and giving her a nod. "Y/N" Zoro yell out about to grab you and pull you away form the doors when the multi colored cloud comes over and into you. The swordsman catches your body as it falls to the floor, Sanji running over once the elevator doors slam shut "What the hell Y/N?" The swordsman yells knowing it's not you but he can't understand why you would just stay there. Sanji looks down at you concerned before kneeling down and moving some hair out of your face "I am done Casandra get out of her now" The doctor yells only to see Sanji running his hand over your cheek.

[findyourrp]

❕❔ hey! 19 male here, back in my writing era & absolutely frothing at the mouth for someone to write against one of my original characters in an m x m and oc x oc plot! i write on tumblr and/or discord so it all depends on what you’re most comfortable with. i’m comfortable with a wide variety of genres and tropes, but have most experience with slice-of-life, horror, and historical.

if it comes to it, my muses are generally all dom tops 😱😱 however…….. i am open to writing for anything else if it comes to it. i only write smut when it moves the plot along or for character development sake! my writing style is advanced literate, preferably pretty chunky responses. i’m not all about those rapid fire replies & am mindful of lives outside of writing, although at least one reply a week is suitable! reply speed doesn’t matter so as long as we’re communicating ooc, plotting, musing and all that jazz. ⚡️

all of my muses have real-life faceclaims and i hope for your muse to follow suit. saying that, i am more than happy to use artbreeder if i have a specific visual in mind.

please interact with this post and i’ll reach out ♡ triggers, writing styles, characters, etc can be discussed in dms!

.

[legacieswcrp]

I have a question about legacies! Will all legacy options be clan/fallen cats? If I want a character who might be defined by feeling "out of place" within the clan's current climate at the start of the roleplay, could a cat with weak or no allegiances theoretically find their way into a legacy later through ideals? (Say I had a backstory where a cat joined the clan as an outsider, and through their connections with clanmates found themselves connected to a legacy through their character arc over time?)

There will be legacy options across all factions and factionless legacies alike available to all cats at RP start! The majority of established legacy characters currently are of course Clan cats, but I would say a solid third or so are not - and that includes loner occultist rep right out of the gate! And yes, you can choose any legacy for any character in any way. If a specific legacy doesn't suit your preferences, you can always add notes regarding your character's personal ideological and familial roots, including specifying whichever faction ancestry you would like. All book-canon and RP-canon factions are free game for that.

Changing characters' legacy ties through RP is also totally fine and encouraged if you want to dig into them more! That's somewhat expected as part of the nature of character interaction; as characters move through the world, it's only natural that their allegiances, family loyalties, and ideals would change along the way. Legacy tracking is totally optional, though; only the initial selections on character submission are required.

The legacy list will be changing as we go as well - as players build out family trees and traditions, some of them will be picked up for the legacy list, and faction openings will also expand legacy selections considerably as new tales enter our pool of accessible lore. The world of Legacies is at its core one that we want to build collaboratively as an RP community with everyone; staff will provide the starting points and plot-neutral nudges where they're needed, but our goal is for the setting and its future to belong to our playerbase as a whole.

[novaalexanderwrites]

Blood and Thorns - Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Down the Path Together (Read Chapter 1 (part one) here) - (See here for a complete list of chapters)

Author's Note: This is the complete last chapter of Blood and Thorns! Thank you for reading along with me, it's been a wonderful experience uploading here on Tumblr. I have a sequel written in its entirety, but it's still in its editing phase so if you enjoyed Blood and Thorns, please follow me here and over on AO3 where the final version of B&T (as well as some of my related short stories) will live. I will continue to edit the Blood and Thorns chapters over there as well as here, but this is our last proper update. I'm proud of the work I've done over the past year on this book, and I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a comment, reblog, leave a like if you did and tell me what you enjoyed most! Who was your favourite character? What do you think about the themes and the plot twists? I love and appreciate each and every one of you 💖

   “Y’sure you’re gon’ be alrigh without me?” Razi asked as she finished tying Frigga’s boots. “I can come, Frigg.”    Frigga waited for Razi to stand and help her to her feet. “I’ll be fine. Besides, didn’t you say that Rosalind’s home creeped you out when we were there?”    “I was jus’ bein’ dramatic,” Razi answered as she began to help Frigga down the steps of Thorneheart Manor to the waiting carriage. “I don’ see why your meeting had to be today and why it had t’ be there.”

 “Rosalind’s still too weak to move unnecessarily, so we’re meeting there. I want to check in on them, but I have to ask them and Theodore about Leland.” They made it to the car and Razi helped Frigga up the step into it. “Besides,” Frigga continued, “I need you to look after Leland while the authorities take my aunt to the hospital.”    Razi sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I can do tha’.” She closed the car door and tilted her head up. “Jus’ get back ‘ere soon as you can, yeah?”    Frigga leaned out the window and met Razi’s lips with her own. “I will, I promise.”    “I’ll make some of those buns you like to go wit’ dinner, if you wan’.” Razi murmured    “With the honey and oats?”    “Yeah.”    “I’d like that, and I’ll thank you for them later.” Frigga kissed Razi on the cheek and winked.     Razi just grinned before stepping away from the carriage, finally allowing it to leave. Frigga leaned back into her seat and turned her thoughts to the errand ahead. The ride into town was easy enough, and the salted air lifted her spirit. As she crossed into town onto the cobblestone, Frigga watched the shops go by and noted any that might be of particular help when she and Razi left next week.     Frigga’s carriage came to a stop in front of the Bloodswell home, and she carefully eased her way down the steps. One of Rosalind’s staff members, a young man with a standardly handsome face, escorted her inside to the library; the newly-appointed Head of Household had adopted it as their preferred office and place of business and she walked in to find Rosalind and Theodore having a quiet discussion, a carefully polite expression on his face and a somewhat tense one on theirs. The two of them seemed to be doing their best to get along, but it was going to be an uphill road. Theodore was dressed in his usual white and purple suit, but Rosalind was comfortably dressed; a red camellia was tucked into their breast pocket and their broken arm peeking out from under an oversized indigo cardigan Frigga had a feeling belonged to Marcus. They were much brighter, having finally been medicated for their pain and rested properly in their own sanctuary, but were obviously going to be recovering for quite a while.    Frigga was embraced warmly by Theodore. “Thanks for coming all this way! Hope your ride in wasn’t too bad?”    She took her seat across from Rosalind, Theodore between the two. “It was fine. I saw they were doing some work on the town’s square road.”    “Very overdue, if you ask me, been needing that since New Year’s! Think the Crestfall’s carriage hit a hole, broke the wheel.”    They small talked until a servant brought in tea. Most of the conversing fell to Frigga and Theodore with Rosalind occasionally adding a word in. Once settled and refreshed, Theodore finally struck up their meeting’s topic to Frigga. “I’m told you and your, em, friend?” he hesitated, waiting on Frigga to clarify.    “Fiancée,” Frigga supplied.    Theodore’s brows raised a bit, but he politely continued after a pause with, “Ah, fiancée, yes, you two are leaving Honeyshore?”    “Yes. As soon as I’ve tied up loose ends, Razi and I will be leaving.”    “And I take it that means you’re going to be giving up your spot in the coven?”    “Yes.”    Theodore sighed with and a small frown tugging at his bushy moustache. “That’s unfortunate, I must say.”    Frigga looked down at her lap. Theodore had always treated Frigga like a daughter and she genuinely hated to grieve him. “I’m sorry, Sir. This… this life isn’t for me.”

   Theodore nodded, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “From what Marcus told me, it sounds like you’ve been miserable.”    “I wish I was better suited. I feel terrible about leaving, but-“    “Nonsense, my girl,” he interrupted while waving off her anxiety. “Of course, if it makes you miserable there’s no sense forcing you to stay.”    She looked up from her hands shyly. “Sir?”    He took a sip of tea before looking back. “Marcus said your aunt was trying to force you into it, and that Master Bloodswell here-“    “Theodore,” Rosalind bristled from behind their own tea cup. A silent conversation occurred between the two of them until the patriarch coughed lightly, recovering from the interruption.     “Yes, right, Rosalind here was the one responsible for getting you out of that sticky situation.”    Frigga smiled, holding back a laugh at the awkward tension between her two friends. It felt like that had not been the first time Rosalind had corrected their future father-in-law, and it was only day two of the engagement. “Yes, I wouldn’t be able to… I wouldn’t be free without their help.”    “Right.” His eyes darted to Rosalind and back to Frigga, a momentary, uncomfortable shift in his composure. “Well, I want you to rest assured I’ll make sure your aunt gets properly dealt with. I am disappointed that we won’t be seeing you lead our wonderful coven, of course, but what’s best for you is much more important. Such a shame Sapphire felt your well-being was secondary.”    Frigga inhaled, bracing herself. “That’s what I needed… I wanted to consult you both about. With my aunt being in custody, possibly imprisoned, and with me leaving, I’m not sure what will happen to Leland. I can’t take him, the road isn’t a place for an eight-year-old boy, and he needs a stable place to grow up. I… I’m sorry to ask.”    Theodore laughed in his jolly way. “Nonsense, my girl! Of course young Leland will be taken care of.”    Rosalind had a thoughtful look on their face as they took notes. “I can oversee his education, Frigga, that’s not a problem.” They sipped at their tea continuing with caution lacing their tone, “I’d offer him a place here, though, I’m unsure that’s what’s best for him.”    “The boy should stay with me!” Theodore offered, more enthusiastically than Frigga had expected, and she’d expected enthusiasm. “With Marcus being here so much, it’ll be nice to have a youngster around. Gods know I’ve got the room.”    A not insignificant weight was relieved from Frigga’s heart at the man’s eagerness. “Thank you. Thank you both for your generosity. Maybe I should ask Leland what he would prefer? I think, Theodore, he may prefer to live outside the city, though,” She paused and looked to Rosalind. “If he is to take up the Thorneheart seat, if that’s where he ultimately ends up, it would be good for him to be around a magical family.”    Rosalind shrugged, as if they hadn’t just offered to help raise an eight-year-old. “As I said, I’m sure I can figure that out. I agree that asking Leland what he’d prefer is ultimately the way to go. If he does end up with you, Theodore, I’ll make sure to visit with him often. I can also arrange for other coven members to do the same, if you’d like. I’m not as entertaining as some others.” They hid a wry look behind their cup.    Frigga’s stomach churned slightly. “And that was the other thing I needed to speak with you both about. My aunt… she’ll likely be excommunicated, right?”    Rosalind nodded and their tone became grave. “I can’t see how she wouldn’t be. Even if she wasn’t, she couldn’t lead the coven from prison.”    The air in the room intensified, but Frigga plowed ahead. “Well… That would mean the coven will be in your hands, Rosalind.”

   There was silence; Frigga gripped her hands, Theodore stiffened, and Rosalind placed their cup on the table quietly. “It would seem that way,” they replied slowly. A pained expression drifted across their face briefly before continuing, “But the coven will not like it. I can’t think of a single member who would stand with me and,” Rosalind looked at Theodore briefly before looking away from both their guests. “I’m unsure I’m right for the position.”    Frigga’s heart ached with a fresh wave of guilt squeezing it to bursting. “I know this wasn’t something you wanted, and I feel awful for putting you in this position.”    Rosalind shook their head softly. “You didn’t, Frigga. You made a choice about your own life. This is not your responsibility.”    “But how am I different from my aunt if I’m forcing you into-?”    “You haven’t.” Rosalind cut her off, their tone firm. They settled back into their armchair with a sigh. “I’m not thrilled about the situation, and there are ways I might,” they paused and their eyes narrowed very slightly. “It was never my ambition to become a leader, and I never thought I’d be called upon to do it.” Rosalind looked at a teary-eyed Frigga then to a grimly guarded Theodore. “But this is my home, the coven is my family, and if I am needed, if I can help then I will. I could get out of this responsibility if I truly wanted.” Rosalind looked back to Frigga, and their expression was both confidently resolute and softly compassionate. “Frigga you need to know I am not trapped as you were and I won’t have you feeling responsible for my choices. As long as I am needed, I’ll do this.”    “I… don’t know what to say.”    Rosalind’s softness faded and they grimaced instead, “But telling the coven won’t go over well.”    They were right. With everything that had happened regarding Victoria, there would likely be several members of the coven who would be resistant if not outright hostile to the concept of a Bloodswell leading the group. “I’ll vouch for you, of course. Marcus will too, I’m sure.”    “It is not going to be enough.”    They were right, “But it might-“    Theodore cut her off. “I will too.”    Both Rosalind and Frigga’s eyes blew wide as they looked to the man who’d surprised them, though Rosalind was the more surprised of the two. “Theodore?”    The man crossed his arms again and grimaced. “Honestly, Rosalind, I wasn’t enthusiastic when you told me Marcus asked you to marry him, mostly for the same reasons our coven members will be suspicious of you. We worry you’re following in your mother’s footsteps, you see.”    Rosalind looked away from Theodore to the table. “Yes.”    Theodore exhaled through his nose, an air of resignation settling around him. “However, I think it’s obvious you’re rather more like your father. Not sure how those two ever got together, to be honest.”    Frigga quietly giggled at his recollection. Jun and Victoria Bloodswell had been, by any measure, a strange couple. She had always been ambitious, cut-throat, and an active member of the coven’s social society. If there was ever a meeting, casual get-together, or party, she was the one you could rely on to be there dragging her long-suffering Heir along with her. In contrast, Jun couldn’t be bothered. He was a great academic and historian, a vital resource to the coven’s research and archives, but he was rarely seen. The only reason he’d show up to anything was if Rosalind was being spotlit somehow as in dance recitals or if his wife dragged him out by the ear. He was pleasant enough if you managed to catch him in conversation, but it was a complete mystery as to why he’d married Victoria because the man avoided conversing as a rule. Rosalind resembled their mother for the most part in appearance with their sharp features, black straight hair, heavy dark eyes, and slim stature, but were almost the exact reincarnation of their father in all other respects.    They smiled wistfully. “I try.”    Theodore nodded. “If things do get out of hand, I will vouch for you as well.”

   Rosalind took a deep breath in and let it out, their tight shoulders easing visibly. “Thank you, Theodore.”    The man broke the tension with a large grin. “Hopefully then we can all move on from this unpleasant business and get some real work done. We’ve got a wedding to plan after all!”    Rosalind groaned and Frigga beamed. Maybe there was some hope Theodore might warm up to them after all? She had been so worried about how this meeting could have devolved, but it had gone well in the end. With the worst of the meeting was over, the details about the emergency coven meeting were nailed down and it would be held in five days at Thorneheart Manor, the day Frigga would leave home.

///

   The coven’s meeting room was set up the same way it had been for Victoria’s trial, a large table in the centre of the room with enough space for the Head of Household and their Heir to be seated. Frigga would take up her aunt’s place at the head, Marcus and Theodore at her right side, the Rynaulds on her left, with Rosalind directly across the table in their family’s place. Though the coven members had been informed that something fundamentally disruptive to the coven had taken place and that they’d be having a formal discussion on the events, the details of the events had been left vague.    As the families arrived at the manor, a strained politeness manifested. Everyone remained civil but it was clear the  witches were worried about the future of the group. Though nobody outside herself and her close friends knew it, this would be Frigga’s last meeting and she’d be leaving immediately after so she did her best to briefly mingle with everyone. She was relieved she would finally be free of these niceties and was starting to see what Razi meant when she said rich people were assholes.    They weren’t unpleasant people, not at all. Frigga was fond of most of the coven members. Indeed, everyone was perfectly polite and that was the problem. Frigga felt no connection to these people and the conversations only went so long before they began to revolve around themselves. Their concerns were insular, their perspective isolated from concerns of the world. Some of them barely seemed to recognize that a world outside of their social circles existed so it was no wonder Razi was harsh on them.    As the families took their places, Frigga’s heart began to pound. She was nervous, for herself naturally, but also for Rosalind. She saw them try to socialize somewhat, though they’d ducked out of the interaction at their first opportunity. Frigga was proud of them for trying.    Finally, everyone sat in their places and Frigga sat at her aunt’s seat at the table’s head. “Welcome, friends,” she took up her chalice in greeting, sipped at it, and replaced it on the table as the coven members followed suit. The room went silent and Sapphire’s absence stung. She’d led this coven for thirty years and this was the first coven meet in more than that time she was absent.    Frigga cleared her throat and put on her most authoritative demeanour; it felt like trying to don armour built for a six-foot man. “As some of you know, there has been a grave happening within my family, the ramifications of which will profoundly affect this coven going forward. My aunt has been arrested for assault and the attempted murder of Rosalind Bloodswell. She did so because they assisted with breaking a curse she’d cast to control me.” The other witches’ reactions were varied. Some stole quick glances at Rosalind, many Head of Households whispering to their Heirs. “I was a witness to these actions but there are two others who have given statements on the matter who were present as well. Marcus Magnus-Monroe and a member of staff who was also assaulted by my aunt.”    Frigga handed out copies of the statements given by Marcus, Razi, and herself to the rest of the families and the coven members read through the statements in short-lived silence. Mildred Crestfall stood to her feet, anger clear on her face. “These are grave accusations, and obviously not something we can abide if they are true. I notice Master Bloodswell’s witness is missing from the evidence.” All eyes turned to Rosalind who was strangely calm about it. “Why might that be?”    They took a deep breath, and responded with a practiced, bored answer, “I have opted out, at this time, and I don’t believe my own testimony is necessary when these,” they gestured towards their own injuries, “speak well enough for me. I have nothing to add the testimonies have not already made clear.”    Mildred’s eyes creased narrowed, unsatisfied. “I would have thought you might be eager to put your attacker away, Master Bloodswell?”

   Rosalind did not take the bait and, judging by their small eye roll and fractional wince, Frigga figured they’d already tired of the accusation they’d heard a dozen times already. “As I said, I feel it unnecessary Lady Crestfall. I feel my injuries speak sufficiently on my behalf. You might imagine how traumatic the event was for me.”    The woman nodded, defeated for now, and sat back down. Frigga moved the meet along and moved to excommunicate her aunt immediately, a motion that was unanimous with a few abstaining from the vote, Rosalind included. Paperwork was dealt with and kept track of by Ophelia Rynauld, and the second item on the agenda arose.    Marceline Cromwell spoke as the last of the paperwork was finished, “That means we must have Miss Thorneheart officially made part of the coven as soon as possible, then?”    A general murmur of agreement echoed but Frigga sat up as straight as possible, digging deep within herself to find her courage. “No.” The room fell silent and Frigga tensed, holding her breath. They looked to Frigga with apprehensive faces, and she looked to Marcus, who nodded encouragingly. She then glanced over to an attentive Rosalind before looking around. “I will not be taking up the Thorneheart family’s place at this table. I’m leaving town today.”    The silence shattered all at once.    “Miss Thorneheart, you won’t be taking up your role?”    “How could you?”    “This isn’t like you!”    “Why?”    “How can this be?"    “Who does that leave?”    “Obviously Leland isn’t eligible yet!”    “That leaves…”    Another silence fell on the room as the realization began to settle on the group. Eyes turned to the opposite end of the table. Frigga’s did too and saw Rosalind’s eyes flashing between herself and Marcus. She stood once more. “So until such a time as Leland can accept his place as Thorneheart Head of Household, Master Rosalind Bloodswell, our second family’s Head of Household, has agreed to take up intermittent leadership.”    Chaos erupted with shocked protests coming from various families, confused questions from others, and some witches began begging Frigga to change her mind until Morgan Blackwood stood to his full height. “Miss Thorneheart, is there no way we can persuade you to reconsider?”    Frigga shook her head and took her seat with finality, surrendering her claim to lead the meeting. “No, there isn’t Sir Blackwood, but I have complete confidence in Master Bloodswell.”    Edna Downspire protested, her voice shrill, “But the Thorneheart’s have led this coven for one hundred and fifty years!”    Aurora Morgansons argued, “We have contingencies in place for this sort of situation. Master Bloodswell is the next eligible party!”    Mildred railed against the suggestion and the meeting began devolving into an argument, just as Frigga had feared. She tried to recenter herself and looked away from the chaos to where Marcus was sitting next to her. He was softly giggling and his father was shaking his head in exhaustion. She silently looked for support from either of them and Theodore stood to his feet.    “Compatriots!” He rose his voice, capturing everyone’s attention. Once the volume lowered enough and he’d gained the floor, he continued. “I hear your concerns for the future of this esteemed group, and, if I might be afforded the privilege, might I suggest we hear Master Bloodswell out?”

   Slowly, hesitantly, every member of the coven turned their attention back to Rosalind who hadn’t moved. As the coven yielded the floor to let them speak, they stood to their feet and looked to their fiancé and his father. “Thank you, Theodore.” Their face remained neutral, though Frigga saw them toying with a ring they wore absently. Their voice was calm, as always, but some of the artifice of disinterest had disappeared from it. “I see the reluctance many of you are experiencing, and I fully comprehend why. It has not been kept from me how my family’s past currently reflects on myself and it is not lost on me that my past actions might be misinterpreted as evidence of my disinterest in our coven.” Rosalind paused to look around the table, and Frigga followed their eyes to find a completely mixed reaction to their speech. There were many thoughtful, receptive faces, but just as many or more embittered or unresponsive expressions.“I care for everyone of you at this table, this coven is important to me, Honeyshore is my home. I don’t share the ambition for leadership some in my family had, but if I am called upon to serve this coven in such a capacity I will do so for as long as I am needed and no longer.”    They took their seat and the room remained silent. This was unprecedented in many ways, the witches around the table looked to each other but nobody stood to respond to Rosalind’s appeal. Frigga held her breath. It was out of her hands. She wasn’t even technically a member of the coven so her opinion held little weight. She said a silent prayer that someone might back them up, Rosalind couldn’t act until they’d been officially acknowledged.    Finally Ophelia Rynauld, the timekeeper and historian of the coven, slowly stood to her feet. She rarely contributed her own thoughts, but her opinion was highly respected when she did. She’d been silent through the entire exchange, and Frigga’s hands twisted with uncertainty.     “Friends,” she said in her deep, warmed tenor, her dark hands gesturing vaguely to everyone, tinkling with the brightly coloured bangles she wore on her wrists “our coven’s traditions and statutes are clear in these matters. In our one hundred and fifty year history, our ordinances have not failed us. As there is nobody willing nor eligible for Head of Household in the First Family’s home, the role of leader will fall to the Head of Household of our second family, the Bloodswell family, until there is.” She looked to Rosalind, her expression respectful. “Master Rosalind Bloodswell has yet to act in anyway to shame our company, nor have they given us any reason to expect less competency than their predecessor which is, more than I can vouch for regarding others at this table.” She slyly smiled, her eye passing over specific coven members and coven patron’s sons. “I recognize their leadership until such time as there is an eligible member of the Thorneheart family to take up that office.” She took up her chalice and raised it in Rosalind’s direction before taking a sip and retaking her seat.     The group digested her words for a few moments in poignant quiet as the air shifted. Slowly, eyes shifted from Ophelia to Frigga and then, finally, to Rosalind. One by one, chalices were taken up and raised in their direction in acknowledgement, mirroring Ophelia. The weight on Frigga’s shoulders finally dissolved. It was done, Rosalind had been acknowledged, and she was free of her obligation.    Once the last chalice was lowered, Rosalind stood and took up their role with their usual, confident stature. “Thank you, Ophelia, and thank you everyone for your trust in me. Now, is there any other business to be resolved?”    There wasn’t and Rosalind dismissed the group shortly afterwards. Frigga saw them take out their datebook and start writing in it before making their way to Ophelia Rynauld. For not wanting to lead the coven, Rosalind seemed very well-equipped to do it, like they’d already been doing it for years.

   She caught a few words of their conversation with Ophelia before Theodore joined them and Marcus pulled her into a conversation with Marceline and Luna Cromwell, Wade Morgansons, and Moira Blackwood. Frigga could barely catch a word, distracted until she heard him turn the conversation in a specific direction.     “Luna, who was your wedding planner? I don’t even know where to start and yours was so nice.”    Luna blinked and looked between Marcus and Frigga. “Tsunade I think was her surname. I thought your wedding had been cancelled?”    Marcus shrugged. “Yeah, that one was, but it’s not like I’m going to use any of those plans again. That kind of affair wouldn’t really suit Ros, you know?”    The others all stared at him. Frigga grinned as little as she could, though she couldn’t contain it fully as she added, “No, and I don’t think they’d really like all that blue.”    “Right?” Marcus chirped.    “Wait, what?” Luna stammered, her brow deeply furrowed, “what are you saying?”    Wade cast a glance in Rosalind’s direction. “Marcus, you’re going to have to elaborate.”    “Oh, Rosalind and I are engaged,” he explained as though it were the most well-known fact in the world. “You didn’t know?”    Frigga chuckled as Moira and Marceline gawked, Luna’s jaw dropped, and Wade burst out laughing, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “No! How long has that been going on? You didn’t say a word!”    Marcus giggled as he received congratulations from everyone, and Frigga glanced over at Rosalind who was watching the distraction for a half-second with a fond smirk before they resumed their discussion with Ophelia and Theodore. Frigga couldn’t believe things turned out this way and her heart was bursting with relief and joy. As soon as she walked down those stairs she and Razi would be leaving, and she was confident that she’d left the coven in good hands. There was just one thing left for her to do.     She excused herself, letting Marcus know where to go after everything was completed, and exited the room heading towards the private chambers. She grabbed the bag she’d packed night before with Razi’s help, slung it over her shoulders, and left to find Leland in his room. As Frigga had expected, Leland had chosen to live away from the city with the familiar family. Most of his belongings had already been moved to the Magnus-Monroe estate, but there were still a few items he’d had to pack up before leaving today. His packed bags sat next to the door and the boy was on the floor surrounded a few toys he’d kept handy. He was pouting and sulking, his face tightly wound to keep himself from crying and refused to look at his sister when she knocked on the door and walked over. “You ready?”    He shook his head, his pout twisting into anger. “I don’t want to go. Why do I have to?”    She sat beside him taking up a small, hand-whittled deer from the floor. “I’m leaving and Auntie isn’t here. You said you were excited to go to Marcus’ house, right?”    Leland sadly nodded. “But why do you have to go? Don’t you like it here? Where are you going?”    Frigga sighed. Even with her impaired memory she knew they’d already had this conversation a few times. “I’m going on an adventure, remember?”    “For how long?”    “I don’t know, Lee. A long time.”    The boy sniffled and threw the small toy he’d been holding across the room. It fell harmlessly but the visual still had Frigga scrambling to reign in a swell of complicated emotions; she didn’t want to make her brother so angry, so scared. He was losing his sister, his aunt, and now the only home he’d ever known. It was such a big change for such a little boy. “Leland, I see you’re angry. I know this isn’t what you would like, but Theodore will take good care of you. Marcus and Rosalind will too, I promise.”    He crossed his arms and looked angrily away from his sister, refusing to reply.

   “I know it’s scary. It’s understandable to be afraid.” She placed a hand on his shoulder gently and the boy began sobbing. She threw her arms around her brother, holding him closely as he cried.    It took a while, but eventually he calmed down. “I’m gonna miss you,” he finally admitted through his sniffles. “You just got back!”    With a delicate flick of her wrist, Frigga conjured a tissue and gave it to him. “I’ll miss you too, but I promise to write and visit when we can. And this is just a new chapter in your own adventure.”    He wiped his tears with the tissue, his shoulders still sunken. “Yeah.”    Frigga put her hands on his shoulders. “You can be brave too, right?”    He nodded, still sniffling, but finally cracked the smallest smile. “I can be brave.”    The siblings picked up the last of Leland’s things off the floor and Marcus came by to pick up the last of his bags. “Need any help, bud?” Leland crashed into him and the two laughed. Marcus was even more excited than his father that Leland had chosen to stay with them and had shared his plans to help the boy feel welcome with Frigga before meet. The man grabbed Leland’s bag with a laugh. “I think I know what we’ll do when we get home! I invented this sport and Jenkins absolutely hates it.” As the two of them plotted the downfall of the servant’s sanity, Marcus escorted the young boy and Frigga to the staircase.     It was time to go.

///        While Frigga was in session with the asshats, Razi went through her pack one last time in her quarters. A map, a few changes of clothes, basic toiletries, tent and sleeping necessities… It was going to be heavy once the food rations and water were added, but working on the grounds for the last decade made her strong enough to do the heavy lifting and carry Frigga to see Bluehaven’s doctors if she had to. They would likely have to stop often until she got used to travelling anyway as Frigga’s condition was delicate. Not to mention the aristocrat wasn’t exactly used to roughing it like Razi expected they would be. Despite Frigga’s symptoms being subtle most of the time, Frigga was going to need more help than they’d initially thought and she wouldn’t be able to carry much weight on their travels, at least to start. The woman was taking her disability in stride, but it was still upsetting to see the witch’s health decline so much. She would never be truly independent, but she was still happy, still hopeful, and she was still Frigga.    She glanced at her left hand, the ring Frigga gave her glistening on her finger. Such a silly little thing, but it’d grown on her in the last week. Almost literally, she likely wouldn’t be able to get it off now. Smirking, she stuck her hand in her pocket to make sure the things were still in it before grabbing her bags. Razi took one last fond look around her room. It had been her home for a long time and now it wasn’t. She’d been at this job for ten years, her father had worked here for five years before that and it was the closest thing she had to a home. She’d grown up here, she’d become an adult here, and now she was leaving. Razi closed the door behind her one last time with a slow exhale.    She found Gertrude and Doris in the kitchens, Doris gossiping away and Gertrude was telling her off about something or other. As it should be. They looked at her as she came in and fell silent. “Mornin’, ladies,” Razi greeted cheerfully. “Just ��ere for a few things and I’ll be permanently out of your hair.”    The two women looked at each other and then back to her. Gertrude wiped her hands on her apron, she’d been peeling potatoes, and gestured to a nicely packed parcel on the island counter. “We’ve actually made something up for the two of you. We know it’ll probably be a while ’til you get into Bluehaven. There’s some baked goods, some dried fruit and meats, and a few of the Miss’s favourite preserves.”    Razi set her things down on the floor, went to Gertrude, and gave her a big hug. “Thanks, Gert. That means a lot. Was just gon’ grab some bits and ends so this’ll be real ‘elpful.”    “I can’t let you go empty handed, Wood. And Frigga,” Gertrude stepped back to square Razi up and down, becoming serious. “Do right by her.”    Razi grinned. “Givin’ me the shovel talk, are you? Tha’s real sweet, Gert. Don’t you know me?”    “I do,” the woman taunted. “I mean it, none of your old habits. It won’t do anymore.”    Razi rolled her eyes; Gertrude witnessed more than one should have over the years, what with Razi bringing girls home and such. She couldn’t blame the woman for this then, not really. “Oh, come on, I’m an hones’ woman now! You don’ think I know tha’?”    Doris piled on while scooting around the counter coming nearer. “She means you gotta marry her, Wood, and you got to be a proper wife.”    Razi levelled a deadpan look at the woman. “Dor, I told you, I’m not sayin’ I will or won’ marry her, not t’ you. Mind your business!” It made sense Doris was protective. She had taken care of Frigga every day for nearly three months so Razi put one hand over her heart and raised the other with great solemnity. “I promise, I’ll take good care of her.”    The older women began to tear up, and Razi opened her arms welcoming both in for a group hug. Even if they were both nosy, they were nice ladies and she was going to miss them. But not a lot.

   Gertrude wiped a tear away with her apron daintily. “You really think she’ll be alright out there? ‘Specially ‘cause of her injury. Is that why you’re headed to Bluehaven first?”    Doris nodded solemnly but chuckled after a thought. “I bet she screams the first bug she sees.”    Razi began putting the food parcel in her pack. “Doris, y’know she’s a flower child, right? Like, she’s ‘round bugs and dirt all th’ time. Pretty sure I saw her catch a spider wit’ her bare hands yesterday.”    Doris laughed. “Oh yes, that’s right. Her stockings and petticoats are always covered in at least six inches of mud.”    She filled two large canisters with fresh water to be kept on her bag’s strap and hung around to chat with the two women while waiting the coven meeting out. They asked her where else they were headed and what she was most excited to see, and Doris also went out of her way to dig for information on said marrying of Frigga. Razi gave her nothing because, once again, Doris needed to mind her own business.    Not to mention she couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut and Razi wanted it to be a surprise.    Steps began to rumble from above; the meeting adjourned and the Honeyshore Coven had finished their final meeting with Frigga. It was still several minutes before the families started making their way down the front staircase. Razi looked on from the kitchen door watching the guests leave. They were all assholes, every last one of them in her humble opinion. Seven families of witches exited the building, and Razi watched them, grinning like the kid that got away with the cookie. Theodore left shortly after too, Leland’s final bag over a shoulder, and she gave him a polite nod as he did. Finally, they were gone and good riddance too.    It wasn’t much longer until she heard footsteps again at the top of the stairs. Frigga, Leland, Rosalind, and Marcus were finally descending, Rosalind leaned heavily on Marcus’ arm and Frigga gripped the railing. When she caught Razi’s eye, she rushed to her love, dropping her bags at the bottom of the staircase. They embraced with a kiss and a hug, both wearing the purest happiness on their lips.    “Ready, Princess?” asked Razi.    Frigga giggled. “Of course, my king.”    Before they picked up their bags again, Leland ran to his sister and crashed into her with a hug that nearly knocked the unstable witch to the floor. Frigga clung to her brother tightly and cast a look over to Marcus who was watching the scene from a few feet away, Rosalind leaned on his side. Over the past week Frigga had expressed feeling enormous guilt about leaving her brother, even if it was the best thing for him. Theodore and the golden retriever would be like a father and brother; Leland would be safe and supported, not pressured to do things he didn’t want, which was more than his atrocious aunt would ever have done.    Marcus walked over to the siblings and put a hand on Leland’s shoulder. “Come on, we’re all gonna go say goodbye outside, alright?”    He led the boy away, Rosalind went with him, allowing Frigga a chance to say goodbye to Gertrude and Doris. The servants were a blubbering mess and Frigga was barely holding herself together. They had been with her every day, and Gertrude had been around even before she had gone to school. Now they were saying goodbye, perhaps forever.    Razi made sure Frigga wasn’t overloaded as the two women picked up their bags. She was a little wobbly, but it would be fine, they’d take it slow. They weren't going far today, just into town and then maybe an hour outside of it. If Razi’s calculations were correct, they’d be in Bluehaven in about a week, and she’d made sure to over-prepare. They stepped outside into the sun. It was the perfect temperature for setting off on a long afternoon walk, just like they always did.    Marcus was the first to give Frigga a big hug and she held him tightly. “Please take care of yourself, Frigga. Let us know if you need anything, anything at all? You’re always welcome in our home.”

   Frigga sighed happily into his arms. “I will. I’ll be fine. We’ll write as soon as we arrive in Bluehaven I promise.” Marcus let go and offered a handshake to Razi that was about as awkward as an ex-fiancé shaking a current fiancée’s hand could reasonably be. Then, with a small nod, he backed away to allow Leland a moment.    Leland gave his sister one last tearful hug and then surprised Razi with one as well. She’d carved many trinkets for him, and he understood how much Razi cared for his sister. He’d said that made her his family too at dinner last night which made the woman’s heart melt whenever she thought about it. After Leland let Razi go, Marcus extended a hand to him, motioning towards the waiting carriage. Leland took his hand and was led away.    That left Rosalind. From Razi’s point of view, they almost seemed to be enjoying the hug Frigga had caught them in. It was the first time Razi saw them enjoying human contact ever, apart from Marcus.    “Please take care of my brother, Ros.” Frigga was fully crying now, and she didn’t let Rosalind go.    Rosalind nodded. “I’ll do my best. I’m only disappointed that you’ll be unable to attend the wedding.”    Frigga pulled back a bit and smiled sadly. “Likely not, but you never know. October, right?”    Rosalind nodded before looking between Frigga and Razi. “Marcus is right, you always have a place with us. If you need anything, either of you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”    Frigga nodded and placed a kiss on Rosalind’s cheek. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.” She released them, and their cheeks were slightly flushed, but the vampire wore the smallest of indulgent smiles, and Razi figured that they sort of had to indulge Frigga; they had just excommunicated her aunt and taken her spot in the coven after all.    Frigga finally released Rosalind and they looked hesitantly over to Razi who was smirking at the spectacle. She saw Rosalind unsure what to do next as her previous one-on-one with them had her threatening them and Razi hadn’t bothered to follow up or make nice afterwards. After some consideration, they offered their good hand to shake and locked eyes with her. “Truly, if either of you needs anything, you need only ask.”    Razi eyed Rosalind’s outstretched hand briefly before they finally took it. “We appreciate it, Vampire.”    Rosalind smirked. “That’s Master Vampire to you, madam,” they retorted dryly, and Razi snorted, shocked they knew what a joke was. They nodded and hopped into their carriage. It took off and both Marcus and Leland leaned out the window, waving like crazy. Frigga waved back until they were out of sight, and Razi and Frigga were left alone on the steps of Thorneheart Manor.    The road stretched out in front of them and a soft breeze in the sea salted air made for perfect walking conditions. They would walk through town to pick up a few things, sell a few valuables, and then head north towards Bluehaven, but Razi had plans for them on their way out of town first.    She took Frigga’s hand in her left hand, slipping her right into her pant pocket fumbling with what she’d stashed there: Her father’s pocket knife and a polished rosewood ring she’d been whittling for the last week. They’d stop at the market for supplies, but they’d also make one last stop at the town’s temple to make good on her promise before they left.    Razi leaned down for a quick kiss met happily, and they set off down the path together.

[he11fyre]

🌟 Looking for a long-term roleplay partner to do a fantasy plot through e-mail

⚡ I've decided to reach out here on tumblr to try and find a long-term partner to RP with. I can be very picky, so please read through everything before reaching out to me! ⚡

A little bit about me. I am 25 years old, female. I studied creative writing and I am both an avid reader and a hobby writer.

There's practically a whole essay below, so I want to summarize some of the infomation here at the top! 🙈

⚡ Writing: - Literate descriptive writing - Preferably 1st person present or past, or 3rd person past tense - Replies from once a day to twice a week

⚡ Characters - 3 to 8 characters each - Any pairings, love alternative dynamics such as open relatioships, poly and RH - Any fantasy race, any personality, good or villain, idc - Only (new) OC's

⚡ Most wanted tropes (relationships) - Age gap - Arranged marriage - Touch her and die! - Fated mates - Enemies/rivals to lovers

I love open-world RPG games, with Dragon Age: Inqusition being my all-time favourite. The option to explore the world, get to know the companions and affect the outcome of the world feels a lot like the freedom of writing.

I would love to explore a big fantasy concept with a potential partner. As of right now, I am especially interested in two types of concepts.

⚡ Something inspired by Dragon Age or similar (such as DnD, Baldur's Gate), with any or all of the following tropes/elements: - Found family - Quest - Magic - Romance - Party of companions - Age gap - Taverns, travelling - Only one bed/horse - Large overarching plot - Chosen one

⚡ Something set in either a fae court or other type of fantasy court situation, with any or all of the following tropes/elements: - Found family - Arranged marriage - Age gap - Forbidden romance - Magic - Seelie/Unseelie - Lesser fae/high fae - Bodyguard

First off, since this may be a dealbreaker, I want to stress that I absolutely require that we each play more than one character! To me, making an interesting and engaging story requires several characters to keep the plot moving and develop relationships. Not every character has to be a main, but I want us both to add characters as fitted while the story moves along. Some characters will be inactive most of time time, but still needed at certain times.

Preferably, we would have 3-4 pairings (3-8 main characters each), as well as "side characters." These sides can be either friends, family, rivals, a guard - you name it - and they don't have to be fully developed.

I do want to ask that you take the time to come up with new characters fitting the plot and world, and not recycle existing OCs that you have written before or fully developed a storyline for.

Another must for me is romance. I want multiple romantic pairings and for the romance to be central to the plot. I prefer a mixture between NSFW and fade to black, depending on my own mood and the storyline. In terms of NSFW, I have very few hard no's, mostly just toilet and blood play.

In terms of characters, I expect you to be comfortable with using faceclaims (real models or artwork). I love writing characters with flaws and morally grey personalities, as well as kind and sweet characters (cinnamon buns!). Alpha males are not my strongest suit even if I love trying, so if you're only looking for those characters for your own subs, then we are probably not a good match.

I write a range of characters and like to keep the ratio of male to female equal. For these fantasy plots, I would be happy to play anything from a high/lesser fae, human, halfling, shifter etc. I am especially itching to play a male half orc character as one of my mains.

I want the roleplay to feel literate, with long replies and discriptive language, but I won't set a limit on paragraps. I'll try to match length, and hope you'll do the same. In terms of replies, you can expect a reply from me anywhere between once a day to twice a week.

I hope to find a partner that doesn't easily get triggered. I don't want to tiptoe around the plot to avoid triggers. 

While the RP develops, please tell me if something isn't working for you. If you think we're a good match writing wise, but a character/plot/couple isn't working for you, I am super flexible to change things up. Finding a new partner is way more difficult!  I would feel really bad if you leave the RP just because you don't like a character of mine, but you didn't give me a heads-up to change or drop the character.

But, if you don't think we're a good fit at all, that's okay too! Just let me know so I can move on.

🌟 In the end, I just want a fun roleplay with an interesting and evermoving plot, different character dynamics & couples, and the occasional drama! 🌟

If this essay didn't completely scare you off, please reach out to me and tell me a bit about why you think we match, and what kind of plot you'd be interested in!

email: fr4nroleplays@gmail.com