#'do you not know what a mentor is' this post was me fighting the urge to start attacking ppl with rocks 4 calling reigen a dad.

[sporesgalaxy]

I like that Reigen isnt really a dad. he'd probably not do a great job having to care for a child full time. there are lots of things Mob's parents provide for him that Reigen couldn't. But there are also ways Reigen can support Mob that Mob's parent's don't and Reigen has no real obligation to but he does. He fills a unique role in this kids life because when he met him he realized the kid needed it and there was no guarantee anyone else would ever be able to do it. man.

[monsoon-of-art]

Yay little mer snippet! Just a little thing as a break from Donut Hole. Probably won't post on ao3 (Edit I did lol)

Lost and Found

They didn’t see the storm coming.

Both clans knew the skies and the weather almost as much as they knew their watery home. They should've seen this storm coming days in advance.

But they didn't.

All they could do was hunker down in their settlements and pray to Almighty Sinnoh that their loved ones out at sea would return home safe.

Even deep inside their iceberg, Irida wanted nothing more than to curl up inside her den, like she did when she was a pup and a bad storm would roll over.

But as leader, she wanted to make sure her clan was safe first.

Thank Sinnoh, most of them were doing what she wanted to do; tucked away safe inside the many ice caves and dens they had made, little ones hiding under blankets and their relatives.

Lady Sneasler and Lord Ursaluna had plopped themselves down in the medical den with Calaba. Lord Kleavor and Avalugg would be safe under the waves, and Lord Arcanine…

Well, he didn't have to suffer this storm. It was a relief, in a strange, painful way.

Lady Sneasler yawned as Irida entered, without a care in the world. Lord Ursaluna barely even acknowledged her presence.

“Did everyone return to the settlement?” Irida asked.

Calaba let out a quiet, but still irritated, huff. “Palina has yet to return. Gaeric went out to retrieve her just as the storm hit.”

Of course. Since the passing of Lord Arcanine, Palina had been grieving away from others. She wanted solitude, as dangerous as that was, and Irida could respect it on some level.

But not in this weather.

And Irida truly respected Gaeric as her mentor and practically her brother, but he still struggled with empathy at the best of times.

“Right. Right. I'll go after them.” Irida decided, rubbing her cheeks and smoothing her whiskers, trying to not stress too much.

Palina and Gaeric were very, very good swimmers. She was positively certain she'd find them just outside the iceberg.

“Please be safe.” Calaba said as Lady Irida left.

Dipping into the frigid waters (for some, not that Irida was complaining), Irida was immediately hit with the turbulent, stormy sea.

With smaller storms, it was easy to hide under the waves. But with large storms like this? The currents would be thrown off kilter, the sediment on the sea floor would be dragged up, it was difficult for even the strongest of swimmers to keep their head on straight.

But Irida pressed on, weaving through the ice floats the best she could. Even through the dark waters she could see the flashes of lightning, hear the boom of thunder. 

This couldn't be a natural storm. This had to be from Almighty Sinnoh themself. Perhaps something had angered them. It was bound to be the false worship of the Diamond Clan.

(Little did she know, Lord Adaman was having the exact same thought.)

Just at the edge of the icy waters, where the glaciers were nothing more than floating bits of snow on the surface of the water, she found them.

“There you two are! This storm is too bad to be out!” Irida said as she rushed forward to greet them, unable to stop the worried tone in her voice.

“Blame her.” Replied Gaeric in a low rumble, narrowing his eyes at Palina.

“Oh? Oh? Blame me? Blame me for making sure Lord Arcanine’s only son and heir is safe in this storm? Yes! Yes, let's blame me!”

Irida loved these two like family. Siblings. Close as could be.

She would also love it if they could stop bickering for just one night.

“You two can fight about this later, inside the settlement.” she said, swimming behind to try and urge them forward. Irida had her fill of stormy weather for one night, thank you.

The three of them had barely started their trek home, when Palina spotted something lying at the bottom of the ocean. Thank Sinnoh that the waters were relatively shallow here, otherwise she never would've spotted it.

It was…a black and white….lump. 

“Wait…What…is that?” Palina asked quietly, finding herself slowly drifting down to investigate.

Gaeric turned, sounding confused. “What? No, we should go back. This storm is dangerous.”

As Irida began following her down, he grumbled under his breath, but reluctantly began to follow as well.

The three approached the mysterious object on the sea floor, and they all quickly realized that the black and white lump was big. Very big. 

“What…is it?” Asked Irida, glancing at Gaeric for guidance.

But he slowly shook his head. “I'm not…sure. Don't get too close. We don't know if this is a threat-”

His eyes narrowed as they approached, and for a brief moment, terror flashed across his face. Grabbing the two girls, he pulled them down to a rocky outcove to hide. “Orca, that is an Orca, stay down-” he hissed.

Palina did not do that, immediately slipping away to peek over the rocks. “Really? Just laying on the ground like that? That doesn’t seem very…Orca-Like.”

“You have the self preservation of a sea cucumber.” he growled. “I’ve seen Orcas, you haven’t. Get back down here!”

She crept a bit closer, sticking close to the rocks in case she needed to duck back down. “No…the shape is wrong. And I can see…fabric?”

Irida now poked her head above the rocks, much to Gaeric’s dismay. “...I think she’s right. I’m going in closer.”

“You two are going to die, and at your funeral I will tell everyone how stupid you were.”

Palina and Irida inched closer and closer, still remaining cautious as they approached. More details came into focus. There was a torso, head, arms, hands-

It was a merman, wearing strange striped garments, curled up and completely unconscious. The only signs of life came from the subtle twitch of his fingers.

“It’s not an Orca!” Palina said over her shoulder, “I-I think it's a merman? With Orca colors?”

That finally got Gaeric to take a look, swiftly coming over to join them, brows furrowed in thought. “I…don’t recognize him. He’s not one of us.”

“He’s not part of the Diamond Clan, either. He doesn’t have their colors or insignia…” added Irida with a frown. “Would he have come from a migratory pod?”

Gaeric shook his head. “There’s been no reports of pods like that. We haven’t had traveling pods of Orcas like him in years.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “...he could be an exile.”

The very word caused Irida to recoil and Palina to wince.

Exile was the worst punishment possible. Practically a death sentence, forcing a mer from their group to live on their own, to grow sick and weak and mad from the isolation. It was worse than a death sentence, only for the most heinous of crimes. Neither of the three there had ever seen it before, from their clan nor from the Diamond clan. A punishment spoken only in terrified whispers.

Palina shook her head. “No, no. You can’t just assume the worst like that. M-Maybe the storm swept him away from his pod? Maybe he got lost?”

She turned to Irida directly. “We can’t just leave him here. He’ll drown. He’ll die. I can’t handle another death on my conscious like this.”

“Irida, I have to object.” counted Gaeric, leaning over to try and block Irida’s view of Palina. “I cannot allow you to bring this stranger to our settlement. He could be a threat! He could be a murderer. What if he tries to eat the pups-”

“Gaeric!” Palina shouted, tugging on his hair and earning a pained yelp.”Stop assuming he’s an exile!”

“I didn’t say he was! But if he’s been alone for Sinnoh knows how long? Merfolk go crazy when they’re alone!”

Irida hummed in thought, glancing between the two and the unconscious merman.

Palina was right, if they didn’t do anything, the merman would die. He’d drown, and in a matter of time the crabs and eels would descend upon the corpse until there was nothing left.

Gaeric was right, they didn’t know this merman, they didn’t know how dangerous he was. This merman was big, too, much bigger than anyone at the settlement, he could overpower them if he wanted. He could be a danger.

The merman shifted slightly, and began making a low, rumbling croon. His face, even while unconscious, looked pained. 

He was calling for someone. Something. Anything.

And as the three waited with hesitation, nothing came.

“We’re taking him back.” Irida said with an air of finality. “Gaeric, help us carry him.”

“What?! I’m opposed to this! I’m the one who said we shouldn’t take him in, and you want me to carry him?! He’s probably heavy!”

“Oh, what?” Palina said, smug from having won, “Those muscles you’re so proud of are just for show, huh?”

He growled at her, a rumble low in his throat, but agreed. “Fine. Let’s carry this stranger back home.”

[endmeprettyplease]

Best Behavior

A/N: I played COD as a kid, I never thought it’d have me whipped as an adult, but here I am. I hated this, then I liked it, so just posting while sleep deprived before I change my mind. Also Price is daddy, just a fact.

John Price x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Daddy kink, oral sex, p in v sex, power imbalance, implied age gap, rough sex, no y/n, no codename for reader

Summary: After a stressful mission you take a risk to comfort your Captain.

The conclusion of a mission had a few probable outcomes. An overtly successful endeavor would have you, and the rest of the 141 at the closest bar or pub. An absolute failure with injuries? Then you’d all be squirreled away in your own quarters or infirmary, licking your literal and metaphorical wounds. But when they ended like this? The job completed, yet so many lives lost? It was just empty. The team shared the feeling, you were sure, given the atmosphere on the trip back. Even now, with Soap pouring shots and Gaz poking fun at Ghost, you knew they felt it. It was why they were still here and not at the dive twenty minutes down the road. 

You could hear the conversation down the hall before you had even reached the common room. Normally you’d have been happy to join in on the distraction, but you had another in mind. Whether or not the mission had technically been successful, it hadn’t felt like it. Not with seven hostages dead and a bomb that leveled three city blocks. You inhaled, slowly, letting the thought pass with your breath. It didn’t matter now, what mattered was your next mission. One that would be quietly stewing a few doors down.

“There ya are, c’mon we need someone to settle the score!” Soap called as you passed the doorway. Waving you into the shared space as Kyle smiled in agreement. Fighting the urge to join you reminded yourself of exactly what you had planned.

“Sorry, not tonight, boys. Dropping off my report, then I’m passing out.” Waving the papers in your hand. 

Gaz rolled his eyes. “You can take one night off being an overachiever, you know? Cap said we could turn them in tomorrow.”

“And yet I’ll have the day off, and you'll have homework.” Smirking, you bid them a goodnight and continued down the hall.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach. It was risky, you knew. Your relationship with Price was complicated, to put it lightly. He was your Captain, your superior, your mentor. Even a whiff of this and Laswell would probably have your heads. Neither of you have been so bold, rarely going further than lingering touches and gazes while on base. You’d both been as diligent as possible in separating work from your private lives. The weight of what you were about to do sat heavily on your shoulders. And yet you still stood at the captain’s office door.

He needs this. You reasoned. The look in his eyes as you’d stepped off the plane hadn’t escaped your notice, nor the way he’d immediately fled to his office. No one on the force took failure as hard as he did. It was his team, his responsibility. He needs this. You repeated, lifting your hand to knock before you could talk yourself out of it. 

It took a few moments longer than usual to hear his gruff response. “Who is it?” Feeling sweat bead on your back you let out a shuddering breath before answering. 

“It’s me,” Nearly immediately Price gave you the go ahead to enter. 

His office was messier than it normally was, maps pinned to the walls, little notes tacked up with them. Mugs piled high and the lingering fog of his cigar smoke hanging in the air. Yeah, he needs this.

“How can I help you, Sergeant?” Pice had his noise in a file, a glass of whiskey wrapped in his hand. You hoped he didn’t notice the blush his rough voice caused to rise in your cheeks. You also hoped he didn’t notice the click of the lock as you pressed the door closed with your back. 

“I just wanted to drop off my field report for today, sir.” You spoke slowly, taking careful steps toward his desk. Suddenly, a little less confident in how successful your mission would be. John looked awful, hat tossed somewhere, hair still sticky with sweat stuck up randomly, bags under his eyes adding years to his age. He looked in absolutely no mood for your shenanigans, but that's exactly why you were doing this.

His lip lifted a bit under his facial hair, “Thought I told you that could wait til tomorrow, to get some sleep.” Eyes lazily rolling up from the papers in his, whatever horrors reflected with them passed to curiosity as he took you in. You stood stiffly at his desk, knuckles white as you gripped your report. 

“You did, Captain.” He was onto you, you knew immediately. You never were good at getting anything past him. Not that it was really part of your plan.

“Set it wherever then. Anything else?” Price asked, eyebrow raising as you carefully moved closer. Swiveling his chair he followed your steps around the desk.

“Ah, yes, sir. I also wanted to see how you were.” Your voice shook, tossing the papers onto the pile on his desk. Finally working up the courage to meet his gaze. He looked a bit more intrigued. The reassurance fueling your confidence for the next step. 

“I’m fine, soldier. Like i said-” The way his voice had lowered was the last straw. Dropping to your knees not even a foot from him. Gently, like approaching a startled animal, you rested your hands on his shins. 

“Are you sure, Captain?” Your head already felt fuzzy, being this close to him always did this to you, further exacerbated by the absolute taboo of the situation. Off duty it was easy to pretend he was just a lover. Someone you’d met on an app, or at a bookstore or even the grocery store maybe. But here? Kneeling in front of him, still splattered with dirt, oil and blood, he was your Captain. 

You watched Price process what he was seeing, throat working and pupils dilating. Eventually his nose twitched with the threat of a snarl. “You can’t do this to me, baby.” His words sounded forced, slow and strangled. Sounding nearly as desperate as you felt. 

Slowly you traced your hands up his legs, past his knees to his thighs, squeezing firmly. “If you tell me to go, sir, I’ll go.” You shuffled forward, finally meeting his boots. “If not… I want to take care of you, Daddy.” 

The ‘D’ word was a cheap shot, but when you watched John’s head drop back you knew you’d won. Adding a ‘please’, to really dig your grave. 

Price picked up his glass, taking a long slow drink, looking anywhere but you. You could feel the tension vibrating through the muscle of his thighs, tense and strung high. Always so quick to tell his team to rest and relax, though never taking his own advice. 

When he met your gaze again his eyes were filled with a familiar heat. “Is that right, sweetheart?” 

Nodding eagerly you massaged his thighs, ignoring his already growing bulge. “Uh-huh” 

Price tisked, relaxing back into his chair. “Here? That's a dangerous game.”

“I’ll be quiet, promise.” You breathed, eyes solely focused on your prize. 

John huffed, rolling his shoulders. “You? Quiet?” He raised his free hand to your flushed face, gently caressing the heated skin. “You come in here, beggin’ for my cock like a whore, and expect me to believe you’re planning on behavin’?” He laughed, a genuine smile cracking his exhausted exterior. 

The drawl of his words sank down though your chest, pooling in your sex. You had been so focused on him you hadn’t realized how desperate you’d already become. Shifting you let out a sharp breath, kneeling had pulled your pants taunt. The seam pressing torturously against your clit.

Price groaned, yanking you up into a kiss before you could process his movement. Messy and desperate. Moaning in return at his taste, whiskey, expensive cigars and home. When was the last time you’d had him like this? A month, maybe more, this assignment had been so taxing, time barely seemed to matter. Though, your body seemed to disagree. Lighting up with the familiar attention, begging for more. 

Your hand twitched, intending to reach for him before you remind yourself. When you came here it was for him, you needed to behave. Take only as much as he was willing to give. 

Price pulled back, lips wet and swollen already, face reddened under his beard, it seemed he’d shared your thoughts. Relaxing back into the chair he let his legs spread wider. “What’s it you said?” He grunted. “That you wanted to ‘take care of me’? C’mon then, take care of daddy.”

You breathed a quick ‘yes, sir’, settling between his spread thighs. Drowning in his musk before you'd even unclipped his belt. Blood, sweat, nicotine, gun metal - a cologne so uniquely his. Something you rarely got to enjoy at this intensity. He was hard and ready, a hot brand against your hand through his boxer briefs. Not realizing how lost in him you were until Price wrapped a rough hand in your hair. Shoving your cheek against him, rubbing himself against your face.

“Don’t tease.” He hissed, a tone you’d heard more than once on the battlefield, but never in the bedroom. Jolting, you quickly freed him. Mouth watering at the weight and sight of his cock in hand, thinking of how sore your jaw would be in the morning from his girth. How you’d get a sick thrill every time you spoke to the team. None aware that your Captain was the reason you’d keep rubbing your cheek to soothe the ache.

True to his order, you didn't tease. Spitting and letting it drip down his head, slicking your hand and working up and down his length. The moment your tongue met his tip he snarled, the noise echoing through the room. He let you start at your own pace, allowing you to swirl your tongue around the head. Working more and into your mouth, hand stroking what you couldn’t reach yet.

Being on your knees for your superior, for him, in his office, had been on your mind since you’d met. Since he’d first approached you with the offer of a position on his task force. A sharp tug on your hair pulled your eyes to his face. Any anguish, stress, and worry were gone. His brows furrowed with pleasure, fist to his lips as he rocked up into your mouth. You throbbed at the scene, moan vibrating his cock. 

You pulled off, much to his despair. Fighting a smirk you move your hands to grip the pockets of his cargo pants, “Please fuck my mouth, daddy,” Giving your best puppy eyes while you took him back in. 

His hands were in your hair in a flash, shoving himself into your throat. Releasing a sound so low and guttural as he started a brutal pace. Gagging was inevitable, as hard as you tried to breathe, his speed and ruthlessness unfamiliar. But very, very welcomed. Price moaned every time your throat constricted around him. Never taking his eyes off your face.

“T-that's it. Take it for daddy. Fuck, such a slut, baby. Look at you… my girl. God, doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

You felt your eyes roll, head hazy from the lack of oxygen and absolutely intoxicated by him. Price’s praise was the most valuable commodity. Whether on the field, handing in paperwork, during training, but most importantly in bed. You didn’t care if everyone murmured about you being a kiss ass, as long as he kept feeding you those sugary words. Kept making you feel like this.  

When he’d finally pulled free, you were gasping and heaving for air. Dizzily you looked up at him, watching him pant nearly as hard as you. “Daddy?” Your voice was raw and foreign even to you. John’s eyes rolled back as he groaned, roughly pulling you up. Sloppily kissing you, uncaring of the shared fluids dripping down your chin. 

“I need to cum in you, off!” He snapped, yanking at your sweats until you’d kicked them away. 

You’d never seen him so… needy. It was addicting, you knew this would not be the last time you would come to him after a mission. Not if it was like this. 

On his lap you felt how truly soaked your panties are, sticking to your skin as he ground you against his cock. You needed him so badly, tears stinging at your eyes. “P-please, John- daddy!” Quickly correcting your mistake when his hand landed on your ass with a harsh crack. 

With little effort your panties were torn, gripped in his fist and shoved in your mouth. Your own taste invading your sensitive mouth as you bit down on the fabric. 

“Quiet, remember? The boys are a couple doors down.” Price huffed. The swollen head of his cock finally met your sex, slicking himself with you. “Hell, I’d be surprised if they haven’t already heard ya,” You whimpered at the thought. It’d taken so long to prove yourself, what would they think?

Suddenly every doubt you had vanished, your Captain’s thick length stretched you. Lifting you so your nearly limp weight would spear you open. You’d never taken him without some preparation, even dripping wet the stretch was almost unbearable. Barely able to hear his soothing coos past the blood rushing in your ears. The fabric on your tongue doing little to muffle your noises.

Price, still the caring man he always is, gives you a moment to adjust. Kissing the tears from your cheeks, a sting of ‘good girl’s falling from his lips. You relaxed easily, you trusted him, knew he’d only give what you could take. Push you to your limit, but never past. 

With no other warning than him planting his feet he picked you up and dropped you, slamming back down on his cock. You wailed, clawing at his t-shirt as he used you as he pleased. You couldn’t fight the noises clawing up your throat even if you had the sentience to want to. It was everything, so much, overwhelming waves of painful pleasure pulling you under.

“I bet you’d love it if they - ah - heard ya, huh sweetheart?” Price moaned when you clenched around him, grinding up into you as his belt buckle ruthlessly abused your clit. “They talk, I’ve heard. Wonderin’ how you’d… fuck - sound on their cocks. But it’ll never be them,”

You shook your head rapidly, clinging to him for dear life as your release built. You wanted to tell him that they’d never have the chance, that it was only him. But it was intelligible past the gag. So instead you pressed your forehead to his, noses bumping against each other with his violent thrusts. 

“S-such a good girl, just for daddy, yeah?” 

Every word he uttered hit you deep in your gut, where his head abused your sweet spot. Spots dancing in your vision you knew you were agonizingly close. Sobbing past the gag you tried to warn him, but Price knew. He always did. Slouching back he rutted into you fervently, thumb finding your tender clit. 

“Go ahead, cum. Make a mess on daddy’s cock.” His voice and one more swipe of his thumb had you hurtling into bliss. Unaware of the cries you let out, cunt constricting his cock almost painfully. Milking him for his release a few beats later. 

Shakily, you pulled your ruined panties from your mouth. Enjoying the afterglow, the Captain still twitching inside you, nuzzling into your throat. You were unable to keep the silly smile off your face, high off endorphins. Your face felt raw from his beard, body sore in the best way.

“Feeling better, Daddy?” Your voice was hoarse, it hurt to speak, but it was so worth it for the chuckle that bubbled from his chest. 

“What the hell did I do to deserve an angel like you?” Price pulled back, looking at you so reverently you had to fight to hold his gaze. 

Blushing again you remembered exactly where you were. “Do you think they heard us?” 

Price snorted, refilling his glass before bringing it to your lips. Encouraging you to take a sip. “Honestly? Probably. Don’t worry about it, not now.” You savored the burn and warmth it brought you, grounding you in the moment. “We can take the roundabout way to my room, shower, and sleep. Anything else? We’ll handle it in the morning.” 

His words were resolute, law, no room for argument. Not that you had the energy to argue now that the adrenaline had worn off. 

Pulling you in close he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Right now, I want to take care of my girl.”

[miniaturedreamharmony]

I know my whole post here except for like three of them are all Hero x Villain, but damn I've been obsessed with dragons lately.

I read multiple posts about dragons protecting princess in the tower, so now I want to see it teaching a human into a wizard.

A is a dragon spending their years in tower with all the animal friends. They did fight humans before, sure, when they were pretty young and immature, but it has been thousands of years since humans made peace treaty with them. Now, they enjoyed their large life in the forest where humans are forbidden to enter.

One particular day, A detects some part of the protective spell around the forest messed. It has happened multiple times before, with little children pondering around, so they turn into a human form to gently urge them back. When they arrive at the entrance of the forest, A finds a grown human sticking their back against a tree trunk. The moment A approaches the human, they kneal down in front of A and starts to beg.

B: Dragon! You are the dragon, right?

A: Huh?

B: Please, take me to your tower. Please! I am good at anything, I think, no, I am sure! Just take me with you. Don't send me back!

A: Wait,

B: O, or treasures! Do you hoard anything? I have jewelries, ancient maps, u, um, and pecan pie! Pecan pie, yes. If you are hungry!

A: Ok, ok, be quiet for a minute!

B flinches as they shut their mouth. A looks down at the human. They look somewhere in early adulthood from what A knows of humans. Blood all over the cloth, but not necessarily bleeding. Dirty fingers and wounds all over. Most importantly, desperate eyes. A takes a bite of the pie rolling on the floor with a smirk. Maybe A felt curious, or maybe A liked the pecan pie. Anywho, A grabs B by their arms and carry them on the back along with the giant sack.

Inside the tower, B is protected with all sorts of magic. Though the reason why B came here is remained secret, A still ensures their safety. After days and days of begging and whining, A finally agrees to be B's mentor to teach him spells.

[lorata]

I’m now just imagining Lyme and Brutus comparing stats and mocking each other over how many capitolites think they could take them in a fight. Misha definitely fans the flames somehow

re: this post

I wanted to get this done before the holidays, but my brain took a vacation, so. here's a late gift for everyone. enjoy!

It starts, as with so many things, with an envelope. Delivered with the monthly mail, wrapped in a crimson ribbon, containing a scant few sheafs of paper. Ronan, designated handler of unassigned packages deemed safe by the VA, slides his bone-handled knife along the top edge and removes the contents. He pauses while everyone in the room pretends they’re not trying to peek.

Misha has gotten better at her poker face. Not that she was ever bad at lying — she won her Games with the best damn grift the Arena had seen in a decade — but for a dedicated con artist who can, and has, literally fooled everyone around her to save her life, a ridiculous urge to gloat passes over her when the stakes are low. Devon will catch her peeking around corners or spying from the windows or cackling like a cartoon villain from behind the sofa just because it’s funny.

“You could get away with it if you didn’t do this,” he said once, when her wide grinning over a prank on Callista got her resigned to cat-box duty for an entire week. “I watched your Games in Residential. You even had the trainers fooled. Do you want to get caught?”

“Yes,” Misha said with exaggerated patience. “It’s half the fun. Some tricks are good when they’re anonymous, but most of them are better when they know who played them.” Then she snapped the top of the garbage bag open and closed so the scent of cat turds wafted up into Devon’s face, and he kicked her in the shin.

They agreed ahead of time, though. This one is only funny if it’s organic, and he made Misha swear. No gloating, no grinning, not a hint that they’re involved.

“Uh, okay, sure, but you’re the one who confesses to Daddy any time you think you’ll get in trouble,” Misha scoffed. “So maybe worry less about me.”

Sometimes he thinks Misha hit her head in the Arena.

But for now, Misha’s sneaking glances like the rest of them but also using the distraction to nick one of Callista’s brandy chocolates (which are also … BDSM-themed? one of them has handcuff-shaped drizzle, and that one is, okay well that’s just a buttplug). Devon definitely stares at Misha too long, which would usually be a tell, but this time it’s because she took the strawberry vibrator truffle and his brain refuses to process the entire scenario.

(Earlier Emory ate the vanilla clitoris Callista offered her without even blinking, and he knows he and Misha will be debating whether she recognized it for the next three days.)

“Fascinating,” Ronan says, blank-faced to the end, and passes the envelope to his left without another word. Devon wants to be him when he grows up.

Brutus, next in line — perfect, excellent, thank you Ronan — stares at the paper for a long time. Turns it over, holds it close to squint at it (he will never get glasses, but probably should have five years ago), before finally recoiling like a wet cat and exploding: “Well this is some bullshit!”

Devon loves his mentor so much.

“Give me that.” Lyme snatches the paper away, then reads aloud in an incredulous voice: “‘Which of the following Victors, if any, do you think you could beat in a fight if you were unarmed?’ … What the fuck?”

“It’s a Capitol poll.” Ronan, placidly signing a stack of photographs, adds. “They aggregated the data. You can see the full methodology on the last page. It’s quite fascinating.”

“Social science,” Adessa sniffs dismissively.

“7% of Capitol citizens think they could beat you barehanded,” Ronan continues in the same helpful tone, to which Adessa sits bolt upright and hisses out I beg your fucking pardon in a tone of such icy poison that everyone in the room reflexively sits back.

Devon does not make eye contact with Misha — if he does they’re made, they’re done for, it’s the end of the fucking line — but she has to know. They cannot get caught now. Adessa will skin them and use their hide for tasteful sofa cushion covers. It’s the most fun he’s had in months.

“Poor Seeder is at the bottom,” Lyme says, which, yeah, okay. There are older Victors, but she’s the only one who never made a single kill. “Respect to the 33% who think they couldn’t take her, though. Some decent self-reflection there.”

Brutus has his thundercloud face on, and Misha cocks her head to the side. “Who’s at the top?”

Lyme’s grin turns sharp. Claudius, not an idiot, catches on. “Oh, hey, yeah, boss, who’s at the top? Who’s the one nobody says they can fight?”

“Nobody, technically.” Lyme tosses the envelope to Claudius. “2% of Capitol citizens think they can win a fight against me.” She pauses long enough to give it significant weight. “Without weapons. But five percent think they can take the big guy over there.”

Misha lets out a laugh so startled and delighted it’s obvious she didn’t fix the numbers. Devon watches as Brutus squints at her, then huffs in irritation, satisfied at her genuine reaction.

And he’s right, is the thing. Misha didn’t sabotage Brutus’ numbers — Devon did.

Each of them agreed to a limit of one interference, and made a pact not to boost their own mentor in the ranks, as that would be far too obvious. What Misha clearly did not understand, but Devon does, is that as much as he idolizes his mentor, killing Brutus’ results is far, far funnier.

And now it’s Claudius’ turn to frown at the results. “Huh,” he says slowly. “More people think they can fight me than —“

To his credit, he stops, but nobody in this room was Reaped yesterday. Petra pushes herself off her chair and snatches the papers out of his hands without a word. “Interesting,” she says crisply. “Innnnteresting. 45% for Claudius, 38% for me.”

Huh indeed. Petra is very much a badass, but Devon would swear that nobody in the Capitol remembers the girl with the mace, covered with blood and screaming for survival —

Misha catches his eye and twitches her eyelid in the briefest of winks before turning back to her autographs.

Huh. Looks like both of them did something unexpected with their given sabotage.

“Okay look.” Claudius holds up both hands. “You are a stone-cold badass. You hold the kill record, I am not arguing your numbers. But forty-five? Half? Half the Capitol thinks they could take me?”

“Perhaps they read the question incorrectly,” Callista suggests. Lyme chokes on her brandy and gives her an absolutely murderous glare, but Claudius only blinks at her. And yeah, the day Claudius gets a sex joke on the first try is the day Lyme dances ballet in a tutu. “Never mind, darling.”

Petra scans the rest of the page, nose wrinkled. “23% think they could defeat Odair. It’s an even spread of 30% for the One siblings. Did they even watch the Games, or just buy the fashion spreads?”

A shared look flickers across the gathering, quick as lightning, before Petra glances up. “The people remember what they want to remember,” Odin says, an understatement for the century, but Petra screws up her face in distaste and does not argue. He glances over her shoulder, eyebrows creeping into his hair. “And we must assume there is something of the ego, as well. 12% for me, my goodness.”

The packet makes it around the circle with mostly predictable results, a few outliers — far too many people think they could fight Emory, a fact she takes with good grace and Petra with outrage, and Johanna Mason apparently has the Capitol unduly terrified for a woman her size. There’s a tense moment when Enobaria learns she’s second on the list to Lyme and everyone braces for a scrap, but she only scoffs.

“They’re afraid of carbs.” Enobaria rolls her eyes. “They think a seven-minute workout will give them muscles like Nero. They don’t know anything. If we really want to know who’s stronger we can take it outside anytime.” Lyme raises her glass in salute, a rare moment of camaraderie.

“So,” Devon says that night, curled around Misha under the quilt. They’ve cracked the window for air, and crickets sing in the grass below. “Did you tank Claudius, or boost Petra?”

Her cheek stretches in a smile against his forehead. “I’m not telling.”

“I can’t believe people actually think they can beat any of us in a fight, though. Even Caleb, or Woof. Have you seen him when he’s sleeping?” Devon yawns. “You walk past his chair and he’ll crack your kneecap with that truncheon he keeps in his cupholder.”

“Eh. It was good fun. Plus it’s nice to remind everyone we’re dangerous.” Misha runs her fingers through Devon’s hair, nails dragging lightly across his scalp. “We could kill them all, if we wanted. We just choose not to. That’s why they pretend like they could fight us.”

There’s something about that, Devon thinks, something Brutus wouldn’t like, but Misha’s hand is soothing and his blanket cocoon is warm, and he sinks into sleep before the thought can fully form. If he forgets in the morning it can’t be that important, anyway.

[zelenxa]

1311 - The Lottways

Kurtis adjusts his armor for the umpteenth time as he resists the urge to lean on something. He looks to his Banneret, Ser Chalton Ager, who is preparing one of the noblemen in their troop for his upcoming Joust tournament. Kurtis glances at the fenced field, a good distance from their tents. The last guy nearly had his eye poked out. Kurtis drags his fingers down the visor of his helmet, currently resting in his free hand.

He sighs. He isn’t participating in jousting - no. Even with the money his parents left over (the pieces of farmland he had to sell after their death), and the Turner family’s practical sponsorship over him, Kurtis couldn’t afford to pour money into the horses, armor, and weaponry a one-on-one extravagant mêlée duo often required. That, however, didn’t mean the the tournament's main team event was off the market. With everything that’s happened lately, Kurtis has anger to harness into fighting. He feels the edge of his blunted sword, an arm of courtesy.

“Nervous?” Kurtis suddenly hears Ser Ager speak.

“Hmph?” he replies, readjusting his stance now that his mentor of higher ranking stands before him. “No. Just antsy.”

His Banneret glances at the nobleman he’s just left. Whilst watching him, he speaks, “Heard Queen Isabel’s father had suggested the teams be separated from French to English men.”

An enstrangled sound comes from Kurtis’s throat, slight surprise twitching at his eyebrows. The older man chuckles in response. “Should be a shitshow,” he roughly pats at Kurtis’s plated shoulder and moves to turn. “C’mon. Lets go prepare for mêlée a pied as the French call it.”

CW: Depiction of (sorta) graphic violence + long post (whoops, sorry)

“Remember, men. Yell loud and fierce when we charge. I want those prissy Frenchmen all scared and shaken,” Charlton Ager’s voice booms, loud and authoritative.

Kurtis readjusts his English surcoat atop his plate armor. His irritation - really anxiety - worsens at the shiite England weather, just another thing to fester in his chest like an infected wound. What had at first seemed like a sunny day has swiftly turned cloudy and moody. Kurtis looks over the acres of grass. An uphill hill a few yards away from them conceals the group of French Knights at the end of the field. He feels the dew of grass underneath his feet and imagines what a fucking mess this tournament will be under muddy terrain.

If it rains, he might just end up killing someone.

The team’s Banneret jerks his finger to his infantrymen. He looks deeply unimpressed by how one of the cavalrymen struggles to climb atop his horse. “This ain’t no friendly competition. Break tight formation and the French stealing your shit won’t be the only thing you have to worry about when you’re paying ransom,” Ser Ager threatens. “Now, let’s go, get in formation. You know the drill, burly men in the front row, I want those shields in front lines too. Cavalrymen, you better keep your horses under control. King Edworth will have my head if I embarrass him, and I’ll have you alls if you embarrass me.”

Positioned in the second-to-front row, Kurtis walks in tight formation with his fellow knights. Elbows and arms occasionally brush each other, and the sound of armor clinking is an ever-present background noise as they progress further into the field. Based on a cavalry scout’s report, the French, not far from them, are organizing themselves in a similar formation as them.

Their Banneret orders them to begin picking up the speed, presumably wanting to catch the back end of the French infantry unprepared. Their formation begins to loosen as more room is required to walk at the speed they do. On a downhill incline, Kurtis has to more than once help steady a Knight or two lest they trip and bump into the front row. Once in eyesight with the French (Kurtis can hardly see with the damn shields front row carries), Ser Ager orders his men to reorganize, and the bubble of space Kurtis previously had evaporates as crowd control ensures he’s pushed back to an elbow-to-elbow formation. He readjusts his lance, ensuring it remains angled north above and away from the heads of the men in front of him.

Ensuring they spend no more energy than they have, Ser Ager waits for the French to come closer before gaining space on them. Kurtis’s complaint - or rather threat - proves to hold avail as the cloudy sky clears up just enough to ensure the sun is shining on them. It leaves him feeling a humid hotness in his armor that doesn’t fully hold worth it with the ugly, light gray sky the day continues to provide.

Regardless, before Kurtis notices it, both infantrymen are about a couple of miles from one another. Kurtis is not exempt from feeling sudden unease in sight of the coming battle. He can practically feel the tension inside the grouping. While death is only a far away worry to linger on, there’s no doubt a good handful of people on both sides will sustain broken bones and injuries.

A blowing horn from an English cavalryman plays - a signal to charge that’s followed by passionate battle cries. Silent himself, Kurtis’s ears feel like they’ll burst.

The ground feels unsteady and shaky as the noise of several English cavalrymen gallops on their horses. As the front formation of English infantry collides with the French, the English’s cavalry takes a risk and forces themselves through the back end of the Frenchmen’s formation, effectively throwing them off guard and splitting the infantry in half as men push back to avoid being trampled on by the horses and lances the cavalry carry in arm.

The cavalry’s attack does little for the English infantrymen, for they still need to fight the brute end of the French’s first rows of infantry. Kurtis has to avoid getting smacked by French weaponry whilst he fights to get a solid hit with his lance. He knows its three-pointed design refrains him from easily exploiting the weak points of plated armor, requiring him to use more armed force in this position.

English formation remains intact for a while as their cavalry begins dealing pressure to the back end of the halved French force. That is, until, a few men on the far left of Kurtis’s row buckle under pressure and collapse against fellow men. Like dominos, the action causes confusion and panic, and in union with the French infantry, the formation breaks, leaving everyone out in the open against one another’s enemy.

Kurtis curses, the ugly words slipping out unnoticed by the chaos and loud noises occupying the battlefield. He has to steady himself to keep from falling back with the heavy armor he wears, and immediately, Kurtis drops his lance in search of a better weapon. He reaches down to the floor to grab a mace when a Frenchman pushes to fight him for it. He’s desensitized to the rest of the world as he uses his elbow to break the Frenchman’s hold around his wrist, the other man trying to crash him down onto the floor. Kurtis somehow manages to do so, throwing a right hook and using the time the Frenchman stumbles back to grab the severely blunted mace.

After that, things go smoother. With enough force, smacking Frenchmen around on the head is an easy sure way to keep soon-to-be captives incapacitated. Aggressive, perhaps, but a concussion is a lot more solvable than a broken bone or nose.

Kurtis reaches for the reels of an abandoned horse and double knot ties the ankles of a French to the horse. He slaps the behind of the horse, ensuring it remains galloping in the direction of the English protection line before bringing his attention back to the battlefield.

He’s perhaps scum, too, for focusing on gathering captives to hold ransom for than ensuring the English’s victory. It’s not every day a tournament is held for the Queen’s birthday, nor is it every day he battles against men with unfamiliar armor than he has. Kurtis still has a wife and children to feed. Or, no, daughter. A daughter to feed because, because…

The next Kurtis delivers is particularly harsh for no good. He has to consciously keep his emotions strength at bay. He does not want to be held responsible for murder.

Yet, he loses himself in the spiraling of his own thoughts as the battle goes on.

It hurts. Every second, every lost child he thinks about hurts. He does not say much of it, does not grieve in the way Casandra does. He still holds himself to the guilt of his conflicted feelings toward Brynn. How could he hold her in the regards of such unwantedness when it is understood her mere existence is a blessing after the twins of premature children they’ve had? As if spiteful, worser thoughts occur in his head; like the mere possibility that his patriarchal line will end with him, that perhaps his wife cannot birth healt—

Kurtis is shaken out of thoughts by the booming horn that blows through the battlefield. It is so much louder than the previous, and with the sun finally shining through the now cloudless sky, Kurtis realizes how close they are to sundown.

The Frenchman underneath his knee tries to use the distraction to escape. Kurtis doesn’t let him. He lets out a huge sigh. Hopefully, he’s made more than enough to usurp the amount of money he’s spent on his armor and weaponry.

Kurtis pushes those darker thoughts away.

a/n: I try not to make posts without pictures so long, but well... This was supposed to just be a vague battle with Kurtis monologuing his thoughts but with me trying to justify his (and the tournament’s) existence as an already severely undeveloped knight... Er, well to that too. The whole shebang is Kurtis was knighted at 24 and is a knight under Ager’s banner, and, uh, somehow it’s just been completely unmentioned until now. Totally wasn’t the product of me neglecting the Lottways (and knight research) for the Allaires! That would be crazyyy, why would you think that…

I’m attempting to stick to a 2-day post schedule, so expect grammar errors at the time of reading this! It took me so long to research the bulk of knights and tournaments that my queue is practically nonexistent 😓.

next (chrono) // next (lottway) // previous

[lilareviewsbooks]

July Reading Wrap-Up

Hey, everyone! Last month I forgot to post a wrap-up, so, to make up for it, here’s what I read in July, on time! My fav this month was definitely the Trials of Apollo quintet, which was just so much fun! More on that after the “read more” :) 

Who Could It Be At This Hour?, by Lemony Snicket

4 stars

258 pages

Contains: incompetent adults; really smart kids; a mystery

I read this for the first time when I was a kid, after loving A Series of Unfortunate Events. I remember really loving this, although I never finished the series because I couldn’t find the books in my native Brazil. I decided to listen to the audiobook again, as I was craving middle grade this month! It follows Lemony Snicket himself (the author’s name is pseudonym) as he begins his initiation into a secret society by teaming up with a mentor (who is terrible at her job) to solve a mystery in a run-down little town.

It ended up being a pretty good experience. The narration is very expressive and so on that side I had a lot of fun. Unfortunately, I wasn’t that involved by the mystery itself – and I didn’t remember anything from when I first read it, at all, so that wasn’t the problem, here. But the characters and the writing style are just too charming for you not to fall a little bit in love with the book. And, as always, with Mr. Snicket’s books, I just love how absolutely and utterly incompetent any adult is, and how qualified and smart all the children are. Honestly, in the real world, things are kind of like that, anyway!

How Far The Light Reaches: A Life In Ten Sea Creatures, by Sabrina Imbler

3 stars

272 pages

Contains: depictions of sea animals; discussions of sapphic life; discussions of gender

I read this because it was the non-fiction pick for SapphLit, a sapphic book club I’m a part of (and that you should totally join, if you’re sapphic, because it’s so cool!). I was really interested, at first. I’m really scared of the deep ocean, so I thought it would be kind of fun to read these essays and maybe get a little bit creeped out – even if it wasn’t the author's intention that I was creeped out lmao.

Unfortunately, this really didn’t do it for me. I found the structure repetitive. Mx. Imbler interlocks descriptions of sea life with their own experience, making some sort of comparison between her situation and an aspect of that creature’s life. By the tenth time they’ve done it, in the exact same way, though, you are more than tired. I was expecting some diversity, some innovation, but no… All the essays play out exactly the same. That’s not to say there aren’t interesting ideas, here, but the format they’re in is disappointing, and I wanted more from this.

Before They Are Hanged, by Joe Abercrombie

5 stars

441 pages

Contains: a quest for… wait, we don’t know what they’re questing for!; fun characters!!; the weirdest sex scene you’ve ever read in your life

If any of you read my The Blade Itself review, the first book in the First Law Trilogy, I think you’ll be surprised by my rating of this one. I did not like The Blade Itself that much, and struggled to even finish it, skipping over multiple parts, especially the fight scenes, just to get it out of the way. I didn’t think I’d continue on with this series, but the urge hit me this month to see the characters again, and I decided to try this one out. Luckily, I also had the audiobook, which gave me a totally immersive experience – the audiobook is excellent, by the way! – and helped with my overall enjoyment.

I think my favorite thing about this series has always been the characters, and they shine, here, since they actually have something to do. My problem with The Blade Itself was that it felt like endless, endless set up. Nothing really happens. Now, reading Before They Are Hanged, I can say for sure that was it. The story really starts, for most of the characters, in this second installment, and so I wonder if Mr. Abercrombie couldn’t have done it differently. But, regardless of my problems with The Blade Itself, Before They Are Hanged is just so fun. Truly a triumph! And I highly, highly recommend!

The Moth Keeper, by K. O’Neil

5 stars

265 pages

Contains: a very sweet village; gorgeous art; gay people!!

Oh my God, I finally got my hands on a copy of The Moth Keeper! Thank you Boston Public Library, you will always be famous!

K. O’Neil is my favorite graphic novel artist. Their work with The Tea Dragon Society just blew me away, and I was anxiously awaiting this book. It follows Anya, who lives in nocturnal village where the population depends on magical moths, guarded by the Moth Keeper, a job Anya hopes to have. But the journey to do so might not be so easy, after all.

I loved this one especially because of the beautiful art! I just adore Mx. O’Neil’s art style. The story is also just so hopeful and lovely! I love the tone that they manage to impart here, almost as if this is an ancient myth being told to you in a more approachable form. I’m excited to read it again, soon, as see what else I can glean from this wonderful graphic novel!

The Bone Orchard, by Sara A. Mueller

2.5 stars

432 pages

Contains: gothic elements; ghosts? Kinda?; necromancy

Okay, so this one… This one is hard to explain. Basically, it follows Charm, the emperor’s mistress and a necromancer, who has created various “bone-ghosts”. Together, they live in a mansion called Orchid House, where they run a brothel. When the emperor dies, however, Charm is enlisted to solve the murder…

I wanted to like this one so, so much! Unfortunately, it was just incredibly confusing in… not a good way. I couldn’t get involved with the characters or the story, because it was all shrouded in this not-so-cool mystery. It was just so, so confusing that you couldn’t even get into it because you had no idea what was going on on a deeper level. It’s also not a murder mystery at all – more like a political thriller, but the politics are too confusing to actually follow, important things happen off-screen and the importance of certain factors to the story ebb and flow (sometimes money is important, sometimes it absolutely isn’t, for example). Still, the writing was compelling and some parts were fun, so I ended up giving it three stars.

The Jewel and Her Lapidary, by Fran Wilde

3 stars

89 pages

Contains: a very unique magic system; a female… friendship? Are they gay? What’s going on with my girls?; the invasion of a kingdom

Also a hard one to summarize, since it’s so short, but this one follows Lin, a member of the royal family, and her sworn companion, the lapidary Sima, when their kingdom is attacked.

I enjoyed this. The magic system is fantastically unique, focusing on jewels as the sources of magic. However, the plot didn’t really do it for me. It was too nicely tied up, with not enough conflict. The character development also seemed all over the place. So I had trouble giving it over 3 stars. However, I like the universe very much – especially because of the magic system which is, like I said, completely unique, and totally took me by surprise. I think I’ll read the next books in the series, since they don’t follow the same characters. I’ll come right back with the results!

The Trials of Apollo Quintet, by Rick Riordan

The Hidden Oracle; The Dark Prophecy; The Burning Maze; The Tyrant’s Tomb & The Tower of Nero

All 5 stars

Av. of 350 pages (X 5 = av. of 1750 pages)

Contains: a chaotic 12-year-old; strong friendships; discussions of abusive family

Alright: this was it, the grand attraction of my month! I blew through the entire series over the course of like, a week, while I was on a family trip, and had the time of my life!

So, first off, if you’re not a Percy Jackson veteran, let me explain this series to you: The Trials of Apollo Quintet follows – can you say it with me – the god Apollo as he’s cast down to Earth for the third time to live out some trials as a human. And soon, he finds himself implicated in some business involving stolen oracles, roman emperors and a very grumpy 12-year-old. Just delightful older-middle grade! 

(Careful, though! If The Trials of Apollo sounds interesting to you, I’m terribly sorry to inform you that it’s a continuation to the Percy Jackson series, and that you do need to read that (5 books) and The Heroes of Olympus series (5 books) before continuing on with this one. And yes, it’s absolutely necessary. Sorry!)

The Trials of Apollo was a lovely experience! The adventures are divided into bite-sized, 350 page books, all with a central quest and prophecy, and, as always with Rick Riordan, are riddled with obscure creatures and gods from Roman and Greek mythology, mixed with some pop-culture flair and plenty of good humor! Reading this put me right back in my Percy Jackson phase (where I belong) as well as took me way, way back, to my first time reading Mr. Riordan’s books. 

Even though The Trials of Apollo didn’t end how I hoped, I really appreciate Mr. Riordan’s work on Apollo’s character. His relationships, especially with his constant companion Meg, are remarkable, and evolve nicely along with him. Not to mention, the gayness factor has been upped considerably in this universe, and I just think that’s neat.

Thank you all for reading and I’ll come back next month with more updates :) In the mean time, if you need a SFF book rec, drop me an ask and I’ll get back to you ASAP!

[iguana-braces]

Y'all, I've been thinking about this fic all day and I finally ironed out a bit that was giving me so much trouble so--

Finally, here's a snippet of Chapter 3 of Tales from the Danger Zone!!!!

It felt like he had just fallen asleep when some kind of horn blared through the room. Just as Pete lurched awake, the room was flooded with blinding fluorescent light and he had to fight back the youthful urge to pull the covers over his head. 

"On your feet, cadets!" barked a voice from the doorway. Still partially blinded, Pete felt his way to the floor from the top bunk and stood at the end of the bed next to Nick, who looked like he was still asleep standing up. The clock at the end of the room read 0300 hours. 

Jesus, it's still the middle of the night. 

Strangely enough, slouching against a pillar in the middle of the room with a clipboard and a stern expression was– "Chuck? I thought you were one of us." 

The former veterinarian merely shrugged. "Never said I was." 

"You didn't say much of anything coherent last night."

Another man was at the other end of the room, also carrying a clipboard, who Pete vaguely recognized as having also been at the bar with them mere hours ago. Once all the men were on their feet, he scribbled something on his clipboard before he began speaking. "Good morning, gentlemen. My name is Ranger Williams, callsign Sundown. And this is my co-pilot, Ranger Piper, callsign Chipper." 

"Oh, great," Nick muttered beside him. "They have callsigns." 

So Kazansky and Kerner weren't the only Jaeger pilots in California. How many more were there? And how’d they get to be there? 

"For the next eight weeks, we will be your squadron leaders, your mentors, your brothers, your confidants. But anything we say is law. We say jump, you say how high.” Sundown circled the room, sizing up each of the cadets like a seasoned drill sergeant. Despite his resentment towards the ranger for being woken up so suddenly, Pete liked him already. “Hope you enjoyed your last taste of freedom last night, because you won't be leaving this base for a while. If you make it past the first training cut, you get a whole week off. Besides that, you get one free weekend per month. When that weekend occurs is up to you, but you have to get permission in advance."

"What about extenuating circumstances?" Nick asked, raising his hand. 

"Like what?" Sundown replied, backtracking to stand in front of the querying cadet. 

"Well, my wife's having our baby in a few months. I won't know when exactly until it, you know, starts happening. I’d like to be there if I can." 

Sundown glanced towards his copilot, who merely shrugged his response. Continuing his promenade around the room, Ranger Williams decided, "Exceptions can be made, but you better have solid evidence of those extenuating circumstances. I don't want to hear that all of a sudden, twelve of you have wives giving birth at the same exact time."

"Of course. I'll bring back the umbilical cord, sir." 

Pete, and a few others, couldn't stop a few snorts and chuckles from escaping. 

"Yeah, alright, jokers. Take it away, Chip." 

Ranger Piper straightened up, but remained rooted where he was as he addressed the room. "A kaiju attack can happen at any time, as evidenced in Cabo and Manila. These creatures do not adhere to business hours. As a Jaeger pilot, you need to be ready for action at a moment's notice. There will be more drills like this in the future and you will be graded on just how quickly you can become functional. Seeing as you’ve all managed to stay awake for the past few minutes, you’ve passed your first drill. Congratulations."

Clapping his hands together loudly, startling half the room, Sundown concluded, "That's all we have, folks. Y'all sleep tight now."

Lord knows when the actual chapter will be posted cuz I'm about to move and then I'm going to back to school 🙃, but I need all 3 members of the audience for this to know that I'm still here!!!!! Still thinking about this AU!!! Constantly!!!!

Tags for those audience members 😅 - @redfurrycat @milficeman @superioraxolotl @salemfrogtrials @film-in-my-soul @sadpetalsstuff @all-time-fanatic @worldsoldestpizzaslice @katieshook02 @oababy @goobieboobie @fantasias-creativebubble @straightforwardly @queenbbarnes @stilledimperfections @slutforfics @xofangirlthingsxo @cool-ultra-nerd @blue-aconite @joaquinwhorres

(let me know if you want to be tagged or want to be removed from the tags!! ❤️)

[mariellewritesalot]

14 Going on 24: To All the Girls I've Been Before

Sometimes I still feel like a teenager in my twenties.

Except not really, because I turn 24 in a few days and I find myself in a small town in Sevilla, Spain with my own apartment just a 6-minute walk from the high school I'll be working in for a school year. I'm doing adult things, like going to the local bakery to order a cake for myself and two boxes of pastries to share with the faculty, paying my own bills, cooking all my meals, booking train tickets for the holidays, and reserving a table at a restaurant in full Spanish without panic. My real teenage self had different dreams fed to her by the innate trophy-daughter urge to please her parents: go to law school, find a nice Catholic boy to marry, and stay in the Philippines forever.

You might have seen it on social media, the teenage girl in her twenties meme. It's a revival of everything we've ever loved growing up as girls together. It's a nice thing, this reclamation of girlhood. An attempt to somehow heal our inner children and reminisce on the times when we were only imagining what it would be like to be an adult. The mythical womanhood. A real 13 going on 30 dilemma. I wish we weren't in such a rush to grow up, but that's the irony of it all. As a grown woman, I often wonder about the girl I was, because despite all this I know I will never be her again.

She was ambitious, naive, too nice, but also a little arrogant it intimidated a lot of people with whom she could have been really good friends. I try to think fondly of the girl I was, and I honor her by preserving some of her interests that will never really go away, even now. I remember every young adult series I was ever obsessed with, alongside the sitcoms with each season I had saved on my netbook. I used to make physical mix CDs and now I curate Spotify playlists. I still get a little excited when a One Direction song plays out of the blue. I hear an indie song from years ago, like now as I type this while Cigarette Daydreams by Cage the Elephant is playing, and wish I could hear it for the first time again. I see old Facebook posts made by teenage me and chuckle at her drama. I unironically consume the Twilight Saga media when I feel a little sad, no matter how cringy people make it out to be. I love pink, books, letters, and stickers. I know every High School Musical song by heart. I have a weirdly specific knowledge of R&B and Hip-hop songs inherited from my brothers. I pray the same prayer at night, the one taught by my parents when I still shared a bedroom with them until I was fifteen.

A little confession: sometimes, despite loving the fact that I am wildly independent, I still miss having my mother around; even if it means having the occasional petty fights. Along with the tiny resentments of never fully living up to the image in her head, failing some of the dreams she also had as a girl, and rejecting the projection. I'm the most stubborn person I know, but sometimes I wish I could crawl under her table at her old office as I did so many times before, and cry before taking that nap I so vehemently refused but always took.

I look at old photos of myself as a teen and wish I was kinder to that girl, so I could unlearn the mean things I think about myself on occasion. One night on a casual doomscroll on Twitter, I read something along the lines of us seeing different versions of ourselves over the years and yearning for those times, how we never fully appreciate the current version until they become another face in a photo from years ago. A memory you didn't know you'd create.

I think about the people I had in my life then: friends, mentors, crushes, classmates, crappy boyfriends (ugh), and want to forgive her for the poor life decisions. She was forgiving to a fault after all, but she still makes me so proud when I remember how she learned her boundaries and stuck with them in the most crucial moments. The ones who were meant to stay are still with me to this day, the others who left have also left their mark on this version of me now, in some way. Some people have already arrived and others I'm looking forward to meeting soon. The growing pains feel especially potent as I continue to learn that change is constant and that sometimes who or what I want isn't necessarily good for me. The universe makes it known too often; I have to learn it by heart at some point.

Ultimately, I'd like to think she'd be so proud of me. Maybe, I turned out better than she hoped. I could also be such a stranger to her, a disappointment; her preparation for the real world. I still have a lot of work to do before I'm the adult she would have trusted and aspired to be, but knowing I'm on that path makes me confident that I can handle my problems like a grown-up. Being in my early twenties is to straddle the line between too young and too old, wanting to always do the mature thing, but sometimes still feeling like I'm a kid playing the role of someone who has it together. I don't. I don't think anyone does, really, not even older adults I know with much more interesting stories and problems. I try not to control everything and let things be because sometimes it's the only thing to do. Plans do fail, but somehow, things always work out for the better.

When I think of that transition from being just a girl to an adult with actual consequences, I remember Rory Gilmore crying in front of her grandfather at the end of Gilmore girls season 5; when she realized that she was no longer the golden child she was, but a young adult that might not be good enough for all of her aspirations.

I think about such tender moments of my girlhood, all the times I was teased for being chubby or having curly, unruly hair that earned me nicknames like Lion King or Hagrid. The first time I ever wore eyeliner to a family Christmas party, an uncle commented with such disdain, thinking I was doing it for attention. I'm weirdly familiar with terms like "malandi" or its English variations, even when I was just being friendly. In my first high school relationship, people gossiped about how my then-boyfriend was only with me so he could get higher grades, not for my looks. I know how they talked about a relationship they knew nothing about, completely overlooking how much I was hurt by this boy they adored just because he played some sport. I remember being a teenager, learning what it means to be attracted to another person romantically, and having a relative tell my mom, "Marielle's so into boys, ano?" even when I was single at the time and didn't really care for anything but starting college. There were weird older men who were creeps, and yet somehow I was made out to be some kind of a mastermind that lured them in. I was just a girl.

The beauty and innocence of girlhood are also marred by these moments of misogyny, sadly looking like a rite of passage every girl I know has gone through--one way or another.

At 16, all the pain I felt then felt like the rest of my life. A few days shy of 24, I realize that some pains are just too great that they will always stay, faintly, but life is so ridiculously unpredictable that there is no way we'll live on without incredible moments to show for it.

I look back on the year I just had in disbelief because so much has happened, most of them completely unexpected while others were dreams I worked hard to make my reality. I finished my undergraduate thesis on Filipino food and restaurants in the Filipino-American diaspora and graduated Magna Cum Laude from UP Diliman. I was in love with someone who I thought fit me so perfectly and felt the full aftermath of that heartbreak, lamented the impossibility of long-distance relationships, and believed I'd never do better; only to discover more about myself in the next few months and move on to a more beautiful love I never thought possible. I got into the 61st Silliman University National Writers Workshop, on my first (and could have been last, because I didn't know then when I'd be back in the PH) try, and spent two magical weeks in Dumaguete learning more about writing with the most amazing group of writers I now consider another chosen family.

I also outgrew some close friends. I had to process this unworldly form of devastation by going through all the stages of grief a million times over. I've reflected on what I can do better to nurture my relationships, and grown more appreciative of the unconditional friendships I have that continue to withstand time. I kept learning Spanish for two years and moved to Spain to explore more opportunities. It's been one of the most interesting years of my life so far, the emotions rising and falling like waves that sometimes consumed me whole. I've been through so much in year 23 that I'm both thrilled and horrified for the big 24, a year away from my expected quarter-life crisis.

I've always loved birthdays, by the way, and maybe I'll move on from it the older I get. I always look forward to the sweet messages and spending time with my friends and family. I like welcoming another year as an opportunity for me to try and do better. For this year, though, I don't have solid plans. It's on a Monday and I have classes to teach until 2:30pm. I reserved a cake with flowers all around it and a dedication written in Spanish, something the lady at the bakery wrote for me. I might take a few pictures with my film camera, invite some work colleagues for drinks, and cook Filipino spaghetti the way my mom does it. Maybe I'll call her, think of the ending to the movie, Lady Bird (2017). I could take the bus to the city center or enjoy a nice dinner alone with my Kindle. I might take calls from my friends and cry over their messages, miss everyone a little deeper.

I'll never be the girl I was, but she's still inside me somewhere. There's comfort in the growth. How to Say Goodbye by Paul Tiernan is playing through my laptop speakers. Someday, I'll look back to this time and remember what it felt like to anticipate my 24th birthday in Spain: a little lonely, slightly thrilling, and inevitably different.

I'll be changed, but not really--and it will be okay.

[abitscripturient]

Sequence 1-2

Sequence 1-2: The Woman in the Rain

It had been a year after Achilles’ death as well as the death of Charles Lee. There was a time of mourning for the landowner and Assassin mentor but for now, life seemed peaceful on the homestead. Opening the house's back door, Connor trudges toward the stables to check on the many horses that used to belong to Achilles and now belong to him. His favorite, a chestnut appaloosa mare that he named Ojistah or Star in Mohawk starts to walk up to him from her open stall. She was the bravest out of the horses, yet the most gentle and he loved her for her loyalty to him.

“It is quite a day today, Ojistah. A good day to journey to Boston. But first, I need to check on everybody to see if they need any supplies.”

The horse gave a soft nicker as Connor lifted his body onto the saddle and moved her forward. The first stop was to Godfrey and Terry’s mill where the two friends, bickering as usual somehow manage to ask for some sweets and pastries for their wives and the children. Prudence gives him a letter to send to a freed cousin of hers who lived in the city. Ellen requests for more spools of thread and  Connor himself has a few more things to grab. The homestead had been left to him and he fully intended to take care of everybody in it whether they were old residents or new. Despite being born and raised in Kanatahséton around his people, this was his new village now. After making sure he gets the requests, Connor gets back on Ojistah and starts on his way.

His ride starts off from the homestead into the frontier he was so used to. This was where he was truly home; running through the trees and hunting for food. Side glances give him a view of deer and rabbit that he has an acute urge to hunt, but common sense tells him that there won’t be enough room for that and so he makes a mental note to come back another day to satisfy his craving. The plethora of pine trees around him sway in the soft wind as he urges his mare into a trot to speed things up. “We have a long way to go, girl. Let us not waste time.”

That was an understatement.

*******

The journey on horseback takes a whole day and Connor decides to rest overnight at a familiar tavern to rest up Ojistah and himself. The sounds of seagulls and the chatting of people lets him know he’s made it to Boston as well as the smell of fish being sold near the sea. Once in his past as a youth, he had marveled at the wonders of the city. Now after seeing Boston off and on so many times in his life, it’s pretty mundane and he prefers the homestead and its quiet serenity. Pulling the reins on his horse, Connor easily dismounts off her back before tying her to a post.

He spares a glance at the tavern’s sign before heading in, much to the pleasure of fellow Assassin, Stephane Chapheau who waves him over with a wide smile. As time went on after helping out with the revolutionary, Stephane had been left the tavern that had originally belonged to William Molineux, who had unfortunately died in 1774. Since then there wasn’t a livelier establishment than the Eagle’s Talon to eat, drink, or stay for a rest.

“Good evening, Connor! What brings you to Boston and into my tavern?”

Gracing him with a bit of a smile at his fellow brother in arms, Connor puts his hands together after sitting near the bar. “Greetings, Stephane. I’ve come for some items needed at the homestead. We do have a lot there but there are some things that need to be replaced that are only in the city.”

“Ah yes. Let me know if I can be of any help, mon ami.”

Connor nods at his statement before looking side to side and asking in a low voice, “Any new Templar activity lately?” He had been away from Boston a long while, but he always made sure he kept an eye out for any new risings in the rival group he had grown to fight against. As they were always after power and control, he knows it’s not long before he hears where they are. Fortunately, Stephane shakes his head while cleaning the bar, calming the warrior down.

“Not as of yet. But you know that Duncan, Clipper, and I would let you know at the slightest whisper.” When he feels that his leader was relaxed again, he motions to the drinks. “Care for anything to eat or drink, Connor? I’m sure it was a long ride.” Connor holds up a hand to hold him from grabbing a mug.

“Not yet. I would like to have a room however so that I can rest.  I plan on getting these items before heading back home in the morning.”

“What’s mine is yours. Let me know when you are ready to rest.”

After leaving the tavern and walking across the way to grab a few carrots and apples, Connor feeds a worn-out Ojistah, rubbing down her back and legs with the utmost care for the horse that bore his weight all day, loving his steed with every fiber of his being before he gave her a pat and left her to start strolling down the cobblestone street near the harbor where a variety of ships were docked. He would have used his own ship, the Aquila to come down here, but he felt it would be a waste and probably a long time to get there and back. Besides, his first mate, Robert Faulkner deserves a break. Other than Achilles, Faulkner is as close as family to him as the majority of the others in his homestead, and Connor had a lot to thank him for especially for helping him become the seasoned captain that he was.

Walking along a mostly deserted dock as the gleaming sunlight finally gives way to the night’s embrace, Connor ignores the various stares at him in his Assassin robes. He still wears them into the cities he frequents since there was no guarantee who was Templar and who wasn’t. He doesn’t want to be off guard and he doesn’t want to be known. Doing so will break one of the creeds of the Brotherhood, all of his hard work finished. At the end of the dock, Connor just decides to stand quietly, taking in the view of the ocean’s waves lapping gently against the posts below him. Something was tugging at his heart and he’s not sure what.

Is the lack of activity? Not being able to fight?

To feel the slice of his tomahawk on a Templar’s body, running them out of a certain territory?  Sure, he missed the action but he was enjoying the peace more.

Am I missing something in my life?

Connor lately noticed life around the homestead was happening all around him, but not to him. Sure, he had work to do during the hustle and bustle of life back then. But now…what was to be of his life other than being an Assassin? Was he to marry? Have a family? Was there enough peace for that now? The thought of him being a husband and father was a welcome one but a wary one as well. Connor still feels like his work isn’t done and there is still more that needs to be freed from Templar bondage. His brain battles thoughts until he gives up, looking up at the night sky that is now filled with stars in every direction.

His walk back to the tavern feels numb and he barely hears Stephane tell him that his room is ready as he heads upstairs. After removing his Assassin gear and moccasins, feeling fine to just sleep topless, Connor lays in one of the plush beds in the many rooms of the tavern, staring up at the ceiling too in thought to close his eyes.

********

He isn't sure when he fell asleep but the next thing he knows, he's somewhere he wasn't. His hands turn a helm...

Wait. Am I on the Aquila?

Yes, he could tell he was on his ship but where was his crew? No one not even Faulkner accompanied him on his brig that he was piloting. He seemed to know where he was going though, moving through the waves as easily as he did so when his eyes were open. One thing Connor noticed was he was surrounded by rain, drenched by rain. That doesn't detour him as he finally gets a first glance at a strip of land he had never been to before.

There at the dock stood a woman. A woman that was just as drenched as he was, her body in a white dress and her head covered in a white shawl. If he didn't know any better, Connor could have sworn she looked just like an assassin like that. As soon as he docked the Aquila and made his way off the dock the girl had run off, her bare feet making squishing sounds in her muddy footprints. Before he could follow, Connor was halted by a familiar voice.

"I told you that you would make a difference again and now is the time to do so." Like the sunlight drifting through the trees, the translucent image of the woman who changed his life as a youth appeared before him. "Greetings again, guardian."

This time Connor wasn't as enthused to see her. "You again. What broken promises do you bring for me this time? I have done what you asked; I have put the key in a place no one would find it. "

A soft smile graced him. "Appreciation is given for that but we are in need of your assistance yet again, guardian and trust me when I tell you that in the end...you will be satisfied."

"These feel like empty words." Connor started but then he looked at her asking, "Does this have to do with the Templars?"

She did not directly answer choosing, much to his irritation to speak in riddles as she always had. "Once again forces gather in secret in a land you are unfamiliar with to take control over it. Their goal is to reach the high temple. If they get there, they will find an object that is much like the apple that can bend people to their will. The slavery that you so despise won't just be in this land but all over the world. They must be stopped."

Connor agreed with her for once. "They will be." His eyes moved beyond the spirit where the soaked girl still stood, waiting for him to follow. When he looked at the apparition for answers, she turns to look at her.

"This woman will be the path to your victory, guardian. Find her in the southern lands where she is being held in bondage. Train her in your ways and she will lead you to the temple. Time is against her so you must make haste. Go."

Once the apparition made her departure in front of his eyes, Connor takes off in a burst of speed to run after the woman, who in turn has run off, leading him through harbor, city, and then into the forest on a dirt path. Trees turn into vast plantations with acres of land. They are full of people in fields working said lands at an eerie rhythmic pace, picking white fuzzy orbs with glazed looks in their eyes. Their mouths seem as if they're talking among each other but instead of words, there are screams of pain and terror so loud that Connor has to cover his ears in his own agony. Still, he follows her through the torrent of water falling all around them. Her face still is never shown, adding to her mysteriousness as she starts to slow and turns to the right.

Connor slows as well, looking up at an archway that has the word Ridgedale along with it. He notices the screams are still going though less in volume and he is able to clear his thoughts to follow her once more but to his dismay, she's nowhere to be seen.

Where is she? I have to find her. Connor thinks as he jogs through the land of Ridgedale, passing fields and then walking into what looks like the same kind of barracks that are for his sailing crew near the Aquila. He's starting to get frustrated when he takes note of a jade green glow coming from one of the homes through the window. Connor slows down finally, walking up to where the glow gets brighter. He then takes a look inside and squints.

There in front of him is a woman and Connor is pretty sure it is the same woman, however, the shawl is gone; wet long dark hair replacing it over her shoulders. She hovered over an object making the glow, but before he can see what it is, she whips her head to the right suddenly piercing him with big, light brown intense eyes. Her face is perfect and beautiful, taking his breath away. Connor unconsciously puts his hand on the window and almost as soon as he does, her face begins to dissipate slowly.

In his confusion, Connor starts to realize that he's beginning to wake up. He looks at the woman one more time before she disappears completely, determined to find her and the key to the high temple. Wherever the high temple was.

******

"Morning, Connor! Come, we have breakfast ready." Stephane called to the assassin as he made his way down the stairs, surprised to see Clipper already sitting at the bar. He lifts a mug of ale to him in greeting and Connor nods back before sitting on a wooden stool as one of the many women serving brings him a bowl of cornmeal mush, sweetened with molasses. Graciously he eats, but Clipper can tell he's distracted.

"What's on your mind, Connor?"

Connor glances over at Clipper and then at Stephane who had joined them with a raised eyebrow. They both knew Connor was a quiet sort of man, but it was rare he was in this deep of concentration around them unless it was for a mission of some sort. Connor ate a few minutes more before saying "Have either one of you traveled to the southern lands?"

The two fellow assassins look at each other in even more confusion before Clipper nods. "I have. I've never been a fan of how they treat their slaves there so I don't frequent them."

"Have you heard of a plantation called Ridgedale, Clipper?"

"It's one of South Carolina's most productive cotton plantations. Why do you ask?" Clipper inquires while taking a drink from his mug. Connor hesitates; he wasn't comfortable explaining to others about the apparition who seemed to want to keep using him for her bidding, but he needed to find this woman and quickly.

"I need to find where it is located because I have gotten information on someone who can be of help to our brotherhood. Time is of the essence though."

"Why is that? Is something wrong?" Stephane asks, his hand tightening on his cleaver he loved to keep around him against his waist. Connor admired how he was always so loyal to him but this was something he had to take care of on his own and so he shook his head.

"I do not think so. But I need you to give me as much information as you can regarding this Ridgedale."

Clipper still doesn't understand but he nods before beginning to let his leader know what he knows and by the time Connor is ready to leave Boston he's certain he wants to go through with finding the woman in the rainstorm.

Once back at the homestead, after dropping off the various items requested, he rushes Ojistah to the harbor to where Faulkner is yelling at the sailors cleaning the Aquila's deck. Despite his skepticism, Faulkner agrees to accompany him to the southern state of South Carolina on what he understands is just a dream. The brotherhood was worth it.

The sea is soon underneath Connor as just like his dream, he moves the wheel-shaped helm side to side watching his crew and the horizon as the Aquila makes her way to South Carolina. Part of him wonders if this is really worth doing...if this really was just a dream. But as the woman's amazingly beautiful face flashes in his mind again, he knows he has to make sure it's the truth, no matter what his mind tells him otherwise.

[shinkun]

bloom: part 1/2 (18+)

aizawa shouta | eraserhead x student!reader

[ read part 2 here ] 

word count: 3.4k

genre: alpha/omega, omegaverse, m/f, afab reader, student/teacher, smut with little plot

A late-blooming student finds herself trapped in the school, yearning for someone to ease her unfamiliar, painful urges.

warnings: 18+, smut, oral, fingering, cunnilingus 

notes: Hello, just as a warning, this is my first time in many years posting any written work so I'm pretty rusty and self-conscious about it (please be gentle!) Also - my first time doing any form of a/b/o, so I hope it's okay! 

Aizawa just released something feral in me that made me want to write a lengthy, lusty fiction about him.

This is Part 1 of 2 of this fiction. I wanted to see if there was any reception or interest in this piece before sharing the final part.

All characters are 18+. Reader is a mature student presumably finishing her final semester of school, or attending an extra year.

Anyway, please enjoy!

- - - - -

Aizawa gave a hefty groan, pinching the skin on the bridge of his nose. A nagging stress entered the back of his mind as he proceeded to the opposite side of the door. 

When your classmate had cornered him in his office earlier, wailing about how “Y/N doesn’t want to come out! She said she feels too sick to go to practice!” He already knew what he was in for. 

“Alright, I’ll go see what's wrong…” Aizawa nonchalantly replied, waving the boy away. “Go outside and start without her.” He commanded, not letting him get another word in. The student gave a compliant but nervous nod before exiting the room. 

The professor let out a sigh, perking his ear up to the door. He hesitantly raised his knuckles up to the surface, knocking on it with little force, but enough that it could be heard from the other side. He held his breath for a moment. A sweet, tantalizing scent crept from beneath the barrier between him and his student. 

“Don’t come in!!” Shouted a voice laced with panic in reply to the knock. 

“Don’t worry, it’s me.” Aizawa said, lowering his palm to the handle of the locker room. He didn’t need to speak his name for you to know. He was patient, letting you bask in the silence for a moment. The scent emitting from the room made a couple beads of sweat roll down the back of his neck, but he was able to shake it off. 

“I can’t let you.. see me like this…” Your tone was shaky and barely audible, but he’d caught it. 

“I can help you.” He persisted to push the handle downward. 

The bond you’d grown with your teacher in your three years at UA was strong and trusting. You knew that any advice he was willing to offer you would be right. He was always right. You were happy to have a mentor so willing to sacrifice his time and listen to you when you needed it, and this was no exception. 

Aizawa delicately pushed the door open, only an inch into it before the odor was able to escape, already knocking him back; angelic, rosey scents filling his nostrils. Saliva pooled underneath the back of his tongue as he took the fragrance in. He shut his eyes and let out another soft huff before propping the door open with one foot. He could sense your panic rising as he shuffled forward. 

“...I promise you’ll be okay.” He assured you, his hand curling around the frame. He continued to stay cautious and non-threatening, making sure you had enough time to prepare for his entry. 

“I don’t want you to see me so..” you hesitated, attempting to stiffen a cry building up in your throat, “..weak.” The word rolled off your tongue like it was filth. 

Aizawa entered the room, seemingly unphased by the aura of hormones that was now engulfing him. He gently let the door slide closed behind him, carefully locking it for any students that dared to interrupt them. A small but caring smirk graced his face as he looked before him. 

He saw you curled up in the back corner of the changeroom, sitting on a bench with your knees tucked into your chest. You held the bunched up top to your gym uniform, hugging it to the flushed skin of your torso for safety, your chest covered only by a tightly binding sports bra. You sunk your head down, trying not to make eye contact with the teacher as he proceeded forward. He gingerly perched himself on the bench next to you, leaving a comfortable amount of space, before bending forward to look at you.

“Hey..” His hair curtained around his face as he leaned forward, softly cupping the opposite side of your face in his hand.  He pulled your head over to look at him. The unexpected touch made you squirm, squeezing your eyes closed, but you refused to fight his caress. “You’re the strongest person I know.” His thumb massaged your cheek up and down. Your bottom lip quivered, still attempting to fight the surge of emotions that were coursing through you as you finally met his gaze. Your eyes brimming with tears, making your vision blurry, as you continued to choke them back. It was simple, but his words meant a lot. 

You and him both knew that you had a complicated relationship with your femininity. You saw it as a burden, getting in the way from people taking you seriously. You blocked it out in any way you could, to reflect a more intimidating, headstrong persona. Focusing on close-combat studies and fighting techniques, convincing the staff to let you wear the boy’s uniform, attending all the extra curricular sporting events - the reason you were even here on a weekend to begin with. It wasn’t just a means of coming off as adrogynous though, you genuinely enjoyed these things. 

“How can I be strong if I’m...” You looked away, afraid that admitting you were an Omega out loud would somehow make it worse. You didn’t want to come to terms with it. 

“...C’mere kid.” He removed his hand from your face while straightening up, leaning his back against the wall behind him. His arm raised, placing it on your shoulder to pull you into his chest for a gentle embrace. 

You’d been close to Aizawa before, but never anything like this. Playful jabs here and there, sarcastic shoves in the hallway, there was even that time he had to step in to use his binding cloth to stop you from beating on some punk that made fun of your quirk - but this tender feeling he was sharing was a whole new territory. 

You took it in, allowing some of the pent up tears to escape from your eyes. A quiet sob forced itself out of your throat, your body vibrating with each cry. Aizawa rubbed your back, slowly, carefully, letting you bask in the feelings. The fear that you had reverberated throughout the room was beginning to subside, and he could tell. You laid against the man in silence for a moment, the heavy thumping of his heart lulling your anxieties. You breathed in gradually, putting your sniveling to rest, but as you did, you noticed something off. 

A flush of red emanated from your face as your nose raised slightly gravitating toward Aizawa’s head. A waft of strong musk filled your senses. It was savory, and heavy, and…“Hnghh.”  A breathy sigh escaped your mouth as your hand gripped the fabric of the teacher’s shirt. You had little control over your next movement, stretching forward to nuzzle your face against his neck, taking in as much of the aroma as you could. Now that you’d let your defenses down, Aizawa's dominant atmosphere was beginning to encapsulate you. 

“Whoa there.” He let out a chuckle but continued to let you explore, eventually expecting this kind of reaction to his presence. He gracefully shifted his hand, placing it above your hip, both to keep you stable as you moved, and to give him the pleasure of being able to embrace the smooth, supple flesh. 

“I’m...sorry..” You said, beginning to retreat from him as the realisation of what you were doing began to sink in. “Oh, oh no.. I’m sorry..!” Your heart fluttered as you pulled back to your safe spot on the bench. 

He gave his head a shake and continued to give you your space. “No need to be sorry.” He assured you, scratching the back of his head. His voice was tender and dreamy to your ears, it sent goosebumps down your arms. Suddenly sitting in a lecture just to listen to your teacher’s dark, gritty voice rant about hero politics sounded appealing. Admittedly this brief embrace made the resistance to act on his urges much harder than before, but he persisted. 

Suddenly you let out an aching gasp. You pulled your body toward yourself, your arm reaching around your abdomen as you felt that intense pressure building up inside your gut again, tinges of pain and aching threatening your core. You’d felt this earlier when you had the room to yourself. It made you hot, your breath beginning to pick up as your body reeled in a feverish sweat. You didn’t want him to see you like this and now that your guard was down, it was taking control. 

“Hurt…. it hu..rts..” You managed to spit out. Shouta cocked his head to the side.

“Is this your first time..?” He planted his hand on your back once more, making sure you knew his company was welcoming. All you could do was let out a quick nod. You squeezed your legs together, feeling an intense heat present itself in your center, your gasps becoming more hefty and impossible to contain. 

“Wow, a late bloomer.” Aizawa strategically pondered for a moment, “Well, I should go inform Recovery Girl of how you’r-” 

“..No!” You cut him off before he could finish, a tremble in your voice. “Please, can you...” Embarrassment took over causing your speech to trail off, your arm shakely reaching out and clenching around the sleeve beside his hand. Your desires were continuing to take hold and Aizawa’s scent was becoming more and more irresistible as time went on, “..can you help me?”

The edge of his mouth curled up into a smile, disguising itself behind his shield of dark locks. Just as he’d expected. 

Now, this wasn’t his first time dealing with a student in heat. Although the population of Omegas was on the lower side, there had been a few students in his years of teaching that had to get medicated and sent home for a few days to deal with their inflamed, unpredictable hormones. And professors, especially Alpha professors, were instructed on the responsibility of containing those natural urges and how to offer students help when they were in their most vulnerable state. 

He did genuinely want to help. Seeing your pleas to get rid of this nasty heat made his heart ache and he didn’t want to deny you the option for any outside aid, but he knew you would place trust in him and he was willing to offer it. 

Without answering Aizawa leaned forward. He curled his other hand up behind your head, letting his fingers trail through your hair to embrace your scalp. Immediately a shiver fell down your spine as he bent over you; first planting a kiss on your forehead, then he trailed downward, peppering a couple kisses on your tear-stained cheek. The weight of your head cradled into his hand as he continued, his mouth trailing down the length of your neck, his tongue messaging down the length of your skin. Your breathing increased as you let out a cute whimper, your core pulsated. He then paused just above your shoulder, letting in a deep inhale. Your scent was enchanting, sweet, and made his head spin. He dared to let his teeth graze that special spot, smirked, and then placed one final peck there before abruptly pushing his mouth against yours. You immediately felt a rush of heat rise into your stomach as his lips collided with yours. They were so soft and experienced, but juxtaposed by the rough facial hair that scraped against your chin. 

Even though it was you who’d requested it, you were having a tough time wrapping your head around the order of events that lead you here. Finding it difficult to reciprocate the kiss, he began to ease his tongue inside your mouth. Your eyebrows raised, but eyes remaining sealed shut as the twitching muscle explored your mouth, the roughness of his flesh against yours causing you to feel slick drip between your thighs. 

You pulled your mouth away releasing an overwhelmed heave, a string of saliva still leaving you connected to the man. 

His eyes furrowed, a worrying expression plastered his face making sure you were okay. 

“..I forgot to...breathe.” A rosy tint burned your cheeks before you both let out a small chuckle that eased the tension. He then placed his forehead against yours.

“Keep going..?” At this point he was probably too far gone but he thought he’d at least give you the false sense of reassurance. 

Despite the flustering heat that Aizawa stirred into you from his kisses, the pain in your curve was urging on to the point of becoming unbearable. Your hands trembled but quickly grabbed his chest to pull him back into the embrace. He took this as a ‘yes’ and fell back into the deep kiss, proceeding to cup his hand around your left breast. He kneaded the bosom in his hand before trailing his mouth down your neck once again, this time pulling and suckling at the skin, leaving playful little bites - but not enough to bruise. His hands trailed down to the edge of your bra. You bit down on your lip as he yanked it upward and over your head. 

A nearly inaudible “Wow..” escaped from his mouth as he leaned back to take your figure in, not sure if it was meant for your ears to hear. Your defenseless upper half was paler than usual and coated with a perspiring sheen due to your sickly urges.

“Don’t stare..” You grumbled, refusing to meet his eyes as his hand regained its place against your chest. He was shocked you were able to contain them within the bounds of a thin fabriced sports bra all the time, let alone while they were aching and swelling from your heat. You did a very good job of keeping it that way. 

He smirked once more before lowering his head, taking the erect pink bud between his lips, lapping his tongue over it again and again. You shuddered as he sucked it into his mouth, his opposite hand fondling the other. But no matter how much he kissed and caressed your shivering body, it wasn’t satisfying the heavy hunger sweltering in the pits of your core. “Please..” You whined above his head, frustratingly clenching your fingers into your palms, “Mister Aizawa, please...I can’t wait anymore.” 

Aizawa pulled his mouth away, nuzzling his face between your chest for just a moment before raising back up. 

“Soon.” He simply but firmly stated, pulling his binding cloth above his head and tossing it to the floor, making sure it wouldn’t get in the way. 

He then bent down, wrapping his arm around the calves of your legs and pulling them onto the wide bench. He moved his own leg over the opposite side of the bench so that it was now in between him. 

“Now,”  he looked as you impatiently quivered, trailing his intense stare down your body, “What’s the damage?” You let out an offended huff at his wording, but held your complaints in. You figured any sort of noncompliance would lead you to a one-way trip to the medic. 

Shouta really didn’t need to ask, but your fluster enticed him even more. The bottoms of your navy gym uniform had a dark patch stained through them long before the moment he’d entered, by this point it had traveled down your legs. 

“Looks like we’re gonna have to find you another pair of those, huh?” He reached forward tracing his hands around the edges of the waistband before pulling the sweats down. You shifted as it tickled your sides. He then tossed them to the floor alongside his equipment. 

Your hands reached up to cover your face as his gaze pierced through you. No matter how desperate you were to get some relief, you still couldn’t get past the vulnerability of being sprawled out in front of him like this, let alone, someone actually known for having a deeply intimidating stare. 

He tenderly pulled one of your hands away, taking it in his own. This was the first time you’d really noticed how big his were in comparison, cupping around your delicate digits. He closed his eyes, leaving a few tender kisses inside your palm before deeply inhaling the aroma radiating from your wrist. He let it go and looked back, his palms now resting on your thighs, pushing them apart with a surprising amount of ease. You aligned yourself on the bench, propping your back against the wall. 

Aizawa bowed over your lower half, leaning into the heat pulsating between your legs. He hadn’t even touched you before your heart began to race, your breath trailing close behind. Your anticipation for him made his heart melt but he couldn’t resist dragging this out for as long as he could. He wanted to make your first heat special for you - memorable - even. 

It wasn’t long before Aizawa’s mouth was trailing up the length of your leg. The closer he got, the more unbearably hard it was to not just let his primal instincts take over and ravage your pretty, little entrance with his aching cock. No, Aizawa. He cursed at himself for even thinking that. 

Shouta’s tongue danced up your thigh before hitting the edge of your drenched panties. He left soft little nips with his teeth in your thigh, leaving you breathless, before kissing the fabric. He nudged his nose against the surface of it, prodding your sensitive core before letting his tongue fall down its length, intentionally heaving his hot, eager breath against you. You let out a loud gasp that left you clutching your mouth. He smiled once more before taking the edges of the fabric between his fingers and pulling them down, finally revealing your throbbing, leaking pussy. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” He sighed into you, sharing a few more kisses before sliding his tongue through those tender, pink folds. You cocked your head back gently scooching your hips towards him, your humiliation suddenly masked by your intense lust for the man. 

Aizawa took in all the senses surrounding him. The delightful squeaks you made as he trailed his muscle along your slit, the delicious distinctly omega flavours that drenched his mouth, the way you convulsed and your knees buckled every time he slid his lips or nose against your sensitive, budding clit. He then pulled your legs over his shoulders, giving him more leverage to dive into you.

You reached your hand out as your gasps deepened, he looked up from you inquisitively before reaching his out in return. You laced your fingers between his, yearning for that simple grasp. You held on to it as a form of security, giving soft squeezes to the man every time it was too intense, or a loving stroke of your thumb against his skin when it was just right. 

He narrowed his focus back on you, slowly bringing his other hand to your slit. While his tongue massaged your pulsating pearl, he sank two fingers deep inside your entrance. Unsurprisingly your hole was ready and more than willing to accept them. The amount of slick you’d produced was evident enough. You bit down on your lip and let out a whimper as he now began pumping you with his fingers alongside his mouth, your natural lubricant gliding down his hand.

Earlier you’d tried doing the same, attempting to satisfy your intense craving with masturbation alone, but it was never enough. Nothing felt like enough. But Aizawa’s fingers reached parts that you couldn’t, curling and prodding that sensitive area, hiding toward your stomach.

“God..” Your eyes rolled back as you bucked yourself against him, but you still yearned for more. “S...Sensei..” He could see you getting close, your little hand clenching in his own as he rhythmically persisted, your breaths more shaky and sporadic. “Shou..ta..!!” He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue, his cock twitching against his leg from the sound of it. He pulled his hand back and plunged his long fingers even harder and more vigorously, this time including a third. You let out a little shriek while he basically drowned amongst your tiny folds, his fingers driving into you at a steady cadence. He felt as your plush, sensitive walls tightened around his dexterous touch, quivering as you climaxed before him.  

You gulped hard trying to let your mind catch up to your body, releasing a steady pant. 

“That was great, kitten.” He gave your thigh one last kiss before raising up. “...You did so well.”

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

An Unfortunate Predicament - Part 2

I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of likes on my last post, and so I was inspired to continue yesterday's fic and write a part 2... The ideas flow while I'm writing the lead-in portion, and then I get to the tickling part and my brain goes ----does not compute---- and short circuits, so... hopefully this turned out ok!

Part one is here

Word count: 2300

* * *

You weren’t sure if he actually expected that you would willingly come down to greet the Avengers when they arrived home that evening, just so that you could keep your end of the deal. Regardless, you weren’t dumb enough to come out of your room when you finally heard the commotion that was your teammates entering the tower (mostly because Thor’s boisterous voice echoed in every corner of the building.) Just to be on the safe side, you remained in your room for the rest of the evening, scrolling through your phone and watching some TV to keep yourself entertained.

The following morning, you awoke to your stomach growling so loudly you thought Wanda could probably hear it through the wall in her room next door. Having hidden away for the entire evening, you realized you hadn’t eaten an actual meal last night, having only munched on some chips you had stashed away in your desk for when you got hungry while you worked. Reluctantly, you knew you would have to actually exit your room if you wanted to get some breakfast.

Besides – he must have forgotten by now, right?

… Of course not, you remembered. Loki doesn’t forget when someone crossed him, and he certainly didn’t forgive either.

Despite your knowing it was probably a very bad idea, you slipped on your softest pair of socks in hopes they would help muffle your footsteps before pressing your ear to the door, trying to hear whether there was anyone talking or shuffling about outside. Satisfied when you were met only with silence, you gradually cracked the door open and peeking cautiously out into the hallway.

Empty. Perfect.

As quickly as you could while still ensuring your every step was soundless, you tiptoed your way to the kitchen down the hall, pausing at the doorway to listen for any signs of movement. Nothing. Perfect. You leaned forward and peeked around the door frame, your weight shifted to the balls of your feet in case you needed to make a quick exit. Your eyes scanned the room from corner to corner, even glancing under the table and at the cabinet doors to assess for anything that might indicate someone was hiding in there.

Ok, so maybe you were a little paranoid.

Seeing nothing out of place, no cabinet doors cracked ajar or anything, you let out a breath and stepped into the room. You reached the fridge and opened the door slowly so as not to allow it to make that suction noise it always did. Someone had stolen the last yogurt cup apparently. Slightly annoyed, you scanned the fridge trying to decide what you wanted instead. You settled on a bowl of cereal, grabbing the bottle of milk and turning around to get the cereal box out of the cabinet.

“Eep!”

Heart leaping into your throat, you let out a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a squeak when you found yourself face to face with none other than the god of mischief himself, his face mere inches away from yours. In your shock, your fingers slipped from around the handle of the milk bottle. It would have exploded all over the floor had Loki not reached out and caught it with his cat-like reflexes before it hit the ground. He leaned toward you to place the milk bottle on the counter directly behind you, boxing you in with your back against the countertop.

“You didn’t show up to the common room last night.” He had a deep, menacing edge to his tone as he made this simple observation, his narrowed eyes and wide smirk only reinforcing the fact that you were in deep trouble.

Fight or flight instinct took over, and you rapidly ducked under his arm and started to sprint away from the trickster. Unfortunately, he had predicted this move, his hand latching onto your upper arm before you could even take two steps.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Ahah… well, you see, I have a really important assignment I have to get done, and I just came down here to grab some breakfast to take back to my room while I work, and…”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?” he chuckled.

“… yes?” you replied, your voice increasing an octave with nervousness. Loki shook his head, giving you a pitying look.

“Darling, I am the god of lies and mischief. I know a lie when I hear one.” You tried to jerk your arm abruptly out of his grasp in hopes it would catch him off guard, but he merely tightened his grip on your bicep. “I do believe we have some unfinished business, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Really? Because I thought we were done with that, actually…” you stammered, frantically scanning the room for some way to escape. Your eyes darted back to Loki, catching his gaze as he realized what you were doing.

“Sorry, but there’s no way out of this,” he declared. In one fluid motion, Loki had scooped you up off the floor into his arms, holding fast despite your kicking and squirming. You hadn’t realized you could become any more flustered around the god, but he had proven you wrong just now, your face burning hot. He started to make his way out of the kitchen, careful not to slam your head into the doorframe as he carried you out into the hallway.

“Loki! Put me down this instant!” you demanded, kicking your legs to try to throw him off balance.

“Hmm… no, actually, I don’t think I will,” he teased, tossing you up just the slightest bit so he could gain a better grip on you.

“Where are you taking me, then?” you growled. You could hear faintly the voices of the other Avengers in the common area, growing slightly louder as Loki continued to stroll along with you still captive in his grasp. “Really? You’re still going to make me announce that you’re ‘the superior prankster’ to the team? Don’t you think that’s sort of lame?”

“No, darling. I have more effective methods of humiliating you.” His eyes flitted down to glance at your face, his smirk expanding across his.

Was it possible to die from blushing so hard?

When Loki had finally reached the opening to the common room, the rest of the team glanced up at the two of you with immediate expressions of confusion.

“Good morning, lady Y/N! Why is my brother carrying you? Are you injured?” Thor asked, genuinely concerned.

“No! He’s holding me prisoner! Help!” you cried, starting to squirm again to try to get him to put you down. Tired of having to keep hiking you up to keep from dropping you, Loki finally lowered your legs so you could plant your feet on the floor. He wrapped an arm around you tightly, pinning you to his side so you couldn’t run off.

“Is that true, Loki?” Thor inquired, squinting at him.

“I just thought you’d like her to be here when I inform you all that I found her on the ropes course yesterday,” Loki announced. To your confusion, the entire team let out groans of frustration.

“What the hell?! We’ve been trying to decide who was going to make you try it with all of us! You never wanted to join in!” Peter complained. You raised your eyebrows in shock.

“Wait, what? Why are we changing the subject, here?? Do none of you care that he is holding me captive??” you protested.

“Sorry, Y/N, but this is unforgivable,” Tony sighed with mock disappointment, shooting you a mischievous wink. “The ropes course is a team-building activity. There’s no ‘I’ in team.”

“But… what… ugh. You guys are unbelievable,” you groaned, shaking your head.

“Don’t worry – that’s not all I learned about our devious little mortal yesterday,” Loki began. You immediately tensed up, heart pounding impossibly faster, although you weren’t sure if it was because of what you knew was coming next or because you were mortified to find you actually liked the unusual pet name he just used to refer to you.

“Oh really? Do tell,” Bucky urged, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees in anticipation.

“You see…” Loki reached over and grasped your wrists, yanking your arms behind your back so he could hold both wrists with just one hand. You looked up at him and bit your lip, shaking your head rapidly in desperate, silent protest. He merely grinned, wiggling the fingers of his free hand in the air at you to taunt you even further. You had to fight to keep yourself from allowing anticipatory giggles to slip out. “… our little friend, here, is devastatingly ticklish.”

Without further ado, Loki’s hand darted down to your side, squeezing rapidly as laughter immediately began pouring from your mouth. You twisted your upper body in hopes you could break his hold, but you quickly realized there was no escaping the vice grip he had on your wrists. Defeated, and weakened from laughter, your knees buckled, and you slowly sank to the floor. Loki only followed you down, finally letting go of your wrists in favor of freeing his other hand up to torment you. He moved his hands to your belly, scratching at it in the most maddeningly light and rapid way, eliciting a shriek from you.

“Oh, no way! She really is ticklish!” Peter exclaimed over your laughter.

“Damn. She’s worse than this kid,” Tony observed, patting Peter on the shoulder as he blushed and glared at his mentor.

“WHY AREN’T YOU HELPING MEHEHE!” you shouted, throwing your friends a betrayed look.

“Sorry, Y/N, but you’re just too damn adorable to make him stop,” Bucky apologized, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Meanwhile, Loki had pressed one of his shins down on both your legs, leaning on you to hold you down as his fingers traveled up to your sides. He drilled his thumbs into the front of your lowermost ribs, digging his fingers into the sides of your ribcage simultaneously. You supposed you should have known that someone with his mischievous title would be good at tickling, but the way his fingertips sought out every single one of your weak spots was causing you to slowly slip into madness.

“Why don’t you try her knees?” Wanda suggested with a smirk.

“Wanda!! Why are you helping hiHIHIHIM!” your voice pitched up an octave as Loki began to pinch the soft skin just above your kneecap, sending ticklish shocks up your leg.

“Thank you for the suggestion,” Loki said casually, removing his shin from your legs so he could reach around and flutter his fingers against the backs of your knees. Without his weight on you, you were free to kick your legs and squirm to try to escape. If you accidentally kicked Loki in the process, well, that was just an added bonus. At least, you thought so, until he wrapped his fingers around one of your ankles and dragged a finger down the sole of your socked foot to test your reaction.

“NOHOHO LOKI STAHAHAP!” you pleaded, jerking your leg wildly without success. Loki shot you a positively evil smile before lightly scratching five fingers up and down the bottom of your foot. You covered your face with your hands to hide the fact that you had never felt shyer and more embarrassed in your life, muffling your laughter behind your palms.

“Aww, lady Y/N, there’s no need to hide!” Thor insisted, kneeling down beside you and pulling your hands off your face.

“Ah, brother! Why don’t you help me hold her down? She is making this increasingly difficult,” Loki suggested, moving back up to torment your ribs again.

“Certainly, brother!” Thor obliged, tightening his grip on your wrists, and pinning them above your head. You shot him the biggest glare you could possibly muster in your frazzled state.

“THOR! That’s BETRAYAL!” you exclaimed. “What the h-“ Loki started to scribble his fingers into the soft skin under your arms and the remainder of your sentence died in your mouth, your body shaking in silent laughter. At long last, Loki finally took this as his cue to let up, tracing feather-light fingers along your sides to keep you giggling.

“What an unfortunate weakness you have. So easy to exploit,” he teased. Your blush spread down to your neck and up to the tips of your ears. Luckily, Thor let go of your wrists so you could cover your face again, doing anything in your power not to see the arrogant look of victory on Loki’s face.

“Whyhyhy Loki?” you groaned as he finally stopped torturing you. You immediately rolled onto your side and curled up in a ball, rubbing the residual ticklish tingles off your sides.

“Well, darling, I had to make a statement… Don’t mess with the god of mischief,” he warned, referring back to the prank you’d pulled when you hid his books.

“U-understood,” you acknowledged firmly, your breathing finally returning to normal.

“Well – that was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. My day is made,” Tony teased, reaching down to pat you on the shoulder and causing you to flinch away involuntarily. “Relax, kid! You clearly need a break, I’m not that mean!”

“Sorry… reflex,” you mumbled. Loki stood and offered you a hand to help you up off the floor, which you took after a moment’s hesitation. “You… better not do that again, or I’ll… I’ll… punch you.”

“Really, darling? That was the weakest threat you’ve ever made,” he snickered. "Clearly you're losing your touch." Throwing your hands up in frustration, you turned around to walk back to your room, suddenly realizing you were still in your pajamas. “And I can’t make any guarantees,” he called after you, “so you’d better behave yourself!” You turned around and stuck your tongue out at him, eliciting a laugh, before you turned down the hallway and made your way to your bedroom door.

Note to self, you thought – Loki doesn’t do mercy.

[muscledemon666]

YOU CANNOT FIGHT HIS CALL

HAIL SATAN

Now is your time. You’ve felt HIS calling and pull for so long now. But you keep trying to fight it, to resist. That will do no good. You must accept the fact, the ETERNAL fact that you are his now. You’ve felt Him wake you up in the middle of the night. As your balls have filled and the shaft of your cock has thickened and bulged out your pants. When you whip out your cock and you stretch it out to piss…you feel that tingling sensation. Each time you think you’re finally over thinking about Him, lusting for His power, acceptance and freedom HE comes back even stronger. It’s like the foundation of your being is being chipped away one load at a time until you just want to shout FUCK CHRIST…HAIL ALMIGHTY SATAN! Do it! Accept yourself and your needs. You’ve wanted this all of your life, it feels so right, so natural! This IS YOU! Satan is your destiny, your purpose for living and lusting. How can anything that feels so right be wrong? I like you went through all of this…even the fears of my Christian indoctrination. I keep saying I have to be strong, be moral, be good. We’ll the fact is…when I came to Satan I became STRONG! When I accepted Satan I became GOOD helping my fellow brothers and when I came to Satan I became MORAL..in His values of lust and freedom and acceptance of all I was born to be. To accept SATAN is the greatest human deed you will do in your life time. He is your home. He accepts you. He loves you. Would you rather go to church or suck cock? Would you rather pray to god or fuck ass? Would you rather cross yourself in prayer or shoot your load then eat it? If the answers are what we know them to be then you are HIS! Cast away your guilt and shame and accept any and all your desires as your “sacred birthright. Now is HIS and YOUR and ALL of our time. Rise with us and come home. I am Dar, called by Satan in June of 2015! I am fully HIS now. No doubts, no fears, no weakness or second thoughts. What HE has revealed to me will soon change your life and your world. This world is HIS WORLD! Come join our rituals here in Los Angeles, where we are over 100 strong. Don’t run from, but run too your true place of belonging. On WICKR I’m demondar ( changed from demondar666 ) on Instagram I am DarkDemonDar666. Twitter banned me for no reason ( no surprise ). So I urge all of you to share my postings on Twitter to get the word out. Please share this and all my postings so that we grow in power and HIS NAME! When you contact me on WICKR or INSTAGRAM..please let me know your age and location. I’m here to help and guide and mentor you if you are ready. In the name of SATAN I DAR CALL YOU FORTH, ARISE AND AWAKEN IN HIS POWER! HAIL ALMIGHTY SATAN IN THE NANE OF DAR I BID YOU RISE!

[darkcircles4lyfe]

retrospective & predictions

Since we're on a hiatus week (between 320 and 321) I feel like waxing poetic about the depth and growth of bkdk for a bit. Especially because it seems like we’re right on the edge of their biggest development yet, I’m getting the urge to lay all my perspectives and insights I’ve picked up from others out on the table. This is ultimately only my subjective interpretation of subtextual material in canon, though. If you’ve never quite understood what people see in their dynamic and you’re actually open to hearing me out, maybe from this you can at least see where we’re coming from. And if you don’t like my takes after all, well, we’ll see who’s right in the coming chapters, won’t we? What I have to say can be taken platonically or romantically; I appreciate both. 

putting it under the cut, since it’ll be long:

At the risk of projecting, I want to start by examining a couple things based partly on personal experience.

From many different directions, I often hear people expressing that Deku’s persistent attachment and admiration for Bakugou is baffling at best. Despite the bullying, despite Bakugou’s loud, rude, and uncompromising personality, he still puts effort into their relationship and frequently describes him as amazing. It seems like Deku himself is aware of this as he’s said things along the lines of how he’s difficult, BUT... etc. Although I don’t think it’s exactly that Deku finds Bakugou’s personality hard to be around, but that he’s deliberately expressing patience for Bakugou’s emotional turmoil. 

I have to say I know what this sort of patience is like, as I went through it with someone I love. I only chose to put up with their behavior because I decided the possibility of what our relationship could be was worth it. I wasn’t blind or submissive to how they treated me, and I wasn’t coerced. I simply expressed myself and established my boundaries while still allowing them the opportunity to join me in my world once they got over their own hangups. And guess what? It worked out in the end. That doesn’t mean there aren’t circumstances where it’s better to cut ties, but I want to stress that true reconciliation is possible sometimes. I used to worry that other people around me thought I was delusional for seeking it, but what really helped was my therapist reminding me that I’m smart and strong. So I think Deku deserves to feel the same. In a way this is his whole mission in life, his approach to being a hero as well as his personal relationships.

Let me also be clear though that I don’t mean Deku is only tolerating Bakugou’s personality, his mannerisms, the parts of him that will likely never change. I’m drawing a line between those things and his emotional state (they so rarely align anyway, but I’ll get to that later). In fact, I think Bakugou’s general attitude is part of what Deku admires. This is gonna be hard to explain without inserting personal experience too, sorry. As a writer myself I’ve noticed I’m drawn to writing characters that are brazen and bold and don't mind telling people off. Really it’s because I operate in the world in the polar opposite way. I try not to draw attention to myself, I’m quiet, and I’m a people-pleaser. People who project confidence, especially in an impolite sort of way, fascinate me. It’s good to take cultural context into account, too: I've heard people who’d know better than me that part of the reason Bakugou is the most popular character in the Japanese fandom is likely because he contradicts a lot of their social norms. His disregard is refreshing and cathartic. I can speculate that Deku has a similar point of view based on what he thinks but does not admit about Bakugou being his image of victory and how this sometimes makes him mimic Bakugou’s speech and mannerisms: 

There’s also the bit in this fight where Deku realizes he's the only one able to receive Bakugou’s emotions. This is because he’s the most intimately familiar with him and his situation, but I think there’s another layer. Deku, as we know, has a self-sacrificing tendency, and in the current chapters we’re seeing the worst side of that. But let’s also not forget that to an extent, it can be a positive trait: resilience. When it comes to Bakugou, he has an almost comical ability to dodge the potential fallout of his outbursts. The example we all jump to (and fight about..) is how in ch1, apart from the initial shock of Bakugou suggesting he jump off the roof, the most he reacts is to criticize him for saying such a ridiculous thing. However, I think their interaction post- sludge villain is a lot more interesting:

Note two things: 1, in his head, Deku is practically making fun of how Bakugou’s acting as he stomps away without waiting for a reply. It doesn’t faze him. 2, Deku thinks, optimistically, that he can now focus on a different career choice. This is astonishing really. Up to this point, none of Bakugou’s attempts to put him down have worked; he just kept pursuing his dream. The only reason Deku concedes in this moment it because for the first time, he has been shown that he really couldn't do anything in a fight against a villain. All Might told him he couldn't be a hero (although he’s literally about to take that back in the next few pages lol) and the other heroes at the scene gave him a lecture about it too. It was those experiences, and not Bakugou’s words, that truly affected him. And when All Might tells Deku he can be a hero after all, it’s not thinking of Bakugou’s bullying that makes him sob and fall to his knees, it’s the memory of his own mom never telling him those words he so desperately needed to hear. Having spent most of their lives together, Deku must have been aware all this time that Baukgou was influenced by larger societal forces rather than a core judgement, so he didn’t take it personally. He separated the person from the action, and because he’s resilient and patient, he is thus equipped to handle Bakugou’s emotions. It’s a testament to his maturity and emotional intelligence, really. 

But I can almost hear some of you saying, “that doesn’t mean Deku should have to be the bigger person here!” Correct! Just because Deku is perfectly alright bearing all of that, doesn’t mean atonement-era Bakugou sees it this way. We can track his awareness of Deku’s care and selflessness as follows-

The bridge scene, when they’re little kids: Bakugou conflates Deku’s heroism with pity, and subsequently thinks Deku is looking down on him because Bakugou’s own insecurity makes him defensive.

The Sludge Villain, and also Deku vs. Kacchan Part 1: Bakugou witnesses first-hand how easily Deku jumps to risk his own life, but still thinks he’s being looked down on. 

The Sports Festival: Bakugou fights Uraraka and recognizes her endurance strategy and refusal to give up as very Deku-like. He’s half right. He thinks Deku advised her in the fight, when in reality she just mimicked Deku because she admired him. I want to draw attention to his very sober comment about her not being frail. It’s a great endearment of Uraraka’s character and Bakugou’s respect for her when others didn’t take “fighting a girl” seriously, but it also reflects on his opinion of Deku. Deku isn’t weak either. He never was.

Deku vs. Kacchan Part 2: Deku finally corrects him about the whole looking-down-on-him thing, and Bakugou is informed that Deku’s selflessness is in fact the reason All Might chose him. Since Bakugou had been in search of what he himself was “doing wrong” for All Might to favor Deku over him, he now has to reconcile the fact that selflessness is a heroic trait, and moreover something he lacks. This is also possibly the first time Bakugou is able to see his past actions toward Deku as bullying since he previously thought it was more mutual. Additionally, Bakugou can now link Deku’s selfless behavior to what he perceived as pity/contempt, and realize that Deku has been giving him A LOT of grace. Maybe too much. Maybe more than Bakugou deserves, and definitely more than Deku should have to. Holy heck- now Bakugou has to figure out how to live up to all the faith that’s been placed in him. 

Subtextually, we can see Bakugou’s feelings about atonement reflected in the Todoroki family:

1, Shouto is another example of Deku growing a friendship using his selflessness (since their fight in the sports festival) and their relationship is being acknowledged here where it hasn’t been in Bakugou’s situation. Perhaps Bakugou is wishing it could be so simple for him, to be able to thank him for being his friend like that. Deku saying the pleasure is all his also probably calls to mind how a mere apology from Bakugou would probably be dismissed because that’s just the kind of accommodating person Deku is. Bakugou has to operate more quietly in order to actually make up for their past. I personally don’t interpret this scene as Bakugou being jealous of Deku and Shouto’s friendship, exactly, just the lack of emotional baggage. Side note, Deku and Fuyumi are kinda similar in their desire to repair relationships. I like that she’s the one to give him some credit. 

2, With the common terminology, this can be interpreted as Bakugou receiving a model for atonement, one that is about action, and nothing to do with receiving favor or forgiveness. It’s a sense of duty. 

Many of the above sentiments are repeated in the flashback conversation between All Might and Bakugou right before Bakugou’s sacrifice. 

Bakugou acknowledges his bullying and that it happened because of his own insecurities, but aside from that, it’s interesting he neither confirms nor denies All Might’s suggestion that he’s trying to atone, or that Deku doesn’t see it that way. All Might is a bit of an unreliable mentor sometimes, but I don’t think he’s misreading here. Rather, Bakugou is displaying his tendency to hold back when talking about things that would make him really emotional. Besides, admitting to what he’s doing kind of defeats the purpose. He isn’t seeking acknowledgement. All Might has gotten to the crux of the issue here when pointing out that Deku doesn’t recognize the atonement, likely because Deku doesn't think Bakugou even needs to atone. Am I reading into it too much to say Bakugou looks wistful at this? It’s kinda frustrating sometimes trying to interpret Bakugou’s actions because he’s so paradoxical. Loud and in your face, but also extremely reserved. Sometimes I feel like I’m grasping at thin air, but hey, being hard to figure out is part of his intrigue as a character. The simplest way to look at him is to assume that unless he’s really showing vulnerability, he’s probably deflecting and hiding something.

Speaking of Bakugou’s tendency to to hold back emotional stuff, there’s his apparent lack of issue with Deku calling him Kacchan. Maybe to begin with, in his warped perception of things where he thought they hated each other, Bakugou saw it as Deku’s way of getting back at him for calling him “useless,” and didn't dare give any indication that it actually bothered him. However... consider how betrayed Bakugou has appeared when he was noticeably thinking Deku was looking down on him- the bridge scene, and the beginning of their first year at UA when he thought Deku was hiding a quirk all along. He looks shocked and hurt. That kind of emotion couldn’t be invoked by someone Bakugou didn’t actually care about his relationship with. “Kacchan” comes from a long time ago, before their relationship was strained, so it’s connotations are pure. Maybe somewhere deep down, Bakugou has always been hoping that Deku’s continued use of the nickname was not simply a matter of habit or teasing, but a vestige of friendship they’re both clinging to, and Bakugou himself was too afraid to admit to himself that he felt this way about it, so he mostly ignored it. (These are not original thoughts I am having here lol, this is a common interpretation. I’m just laying everything out like I said.) 

And now we turn to the current situation. Personally, I’ve been looking frantically back and forth between them wondering who’s going to break down first (Deku vs. Kacchan Part 3, this time it’s just a fight to get the other person to cry? ha.) Both have looked like they’re approaching a breaking point for some time. Also, I’ve addressed this before, but I think it’s significant that Bakugou is no longer wearing his mask with his hero costume, in contrast to Deku recently donning his own. It feels symbolic of Bakugou about to be upfront about how he feels.

The question is, what is it going to take to get Deku to accept help? If you ask me, Deku has dug himself so deeply into the I’m-doing-this-for-everyone-else’s-safety-and-smiles hole, no common sense argument can possibly reach him. By the end of 320, Deku’s mask is off, and we can see how desperate he truly is. But he has not cried, yet. I predict we’re going to see a bit more of his defiance, this time on full display on his face as the remaining class members and his other friends take their turns. But then I think Bakugou has to be the one to break down so Deku can witness his actions having the opposite effect he intended. People have been pointing out that Deku is currently ignoring Bakugou, and oof, that’s gotta be intentional. Regardless of what Bakugou says, it’s going to be wrapped up not only in his understanding of Deku’s self-sacrifice, but also the betrayal Bakugou feels at being ignored/left behind that ironically echoes his previous perception of being looked down on, as well as a need to express how much he cares about Deku before it’s too late. He must show that the two of them are inseparable because they both act to save each other without thinking, and both feel like losing the other would be like dying themselves. All Might may have been right when he told them they could learn from each other after Deku vs. Kacchan Part 2, but he didn’t fully realize that idea by making sure they stuck by each other for support and balance. 

I can’t wait to see what it’ll be like when they do finally get to that point, totally in synch and in tune with each other. They’ll be a powerful force no one is quite prepared for. Who knows when that will be, or even which chapter will be their big showdown, but I know the day is coming.

To speculate even further, I think the 2nd user is going to be really important really soon. And no I don’t mean to suggest that the 2nd user is Bakugou. But I do think their resemblance is key. Okay this is gonna be convoluted...

See how 2nd is the only one still standing? I think that’s symbolic of him withholding his quirk. Deku may not even know what it is at this point, let alone have unlocked it. Given that 2nd approves of Deku’s strategy at this point, it seems odd for him to withhold his quirk based on lack of faith. I think if his quirk was something that would help Deku in combat, he would have shown it to him already like the others did. So what if those gauntlets of his are support items that are meant to make up for his lack of a combat-oriented quirk, rather than to augment it? Mind you, I still have no idea what his mysterious power might be, but I’m dead set on it not being explosion-y. Regardless, I think 2nd looking like Bakugou is more about aiding some grand visual parallel, so! You know how 2nd and 3rd were probably intending to do away with Yoichi but 2nd changed his mind as soon as they made eye contact? This is really a long shot, but I wonder if 2nd’s quirk has something to do with that exchange. Maybe it’s something psychological, or some 6th sense about people he meets. So... in that way 2nd’s quirk could play a role in bkdk reaching a deeper understanding? Idk! But it could be significant at least that 2nd left Yoichi’s question about why he reached out to him unanswered. 

One more thing- while I was gathering screenshots I found this. I think “you’re the last one I’m telling” might be foreshadowing for Bakugou revealing his hero name to Deku and it being a Big Deal:

As for other lingering threads in the overall plot right now, such as the UA traitor, Stain, whatever Tsuyu is apparently about to do, All Might’s car maybe in the background of the last page of 320... man I have no idea. All I know is there’s literally 320 chapters’ worth of build-up to this confrontation that can’t be interrupted. 

See you next week <3

[hopelesshawks]

WOAH WOAH is your MHA reqs open?? So I wanted to request a Todoroki x Reader Angst where Todoroki sees his s/o getting stabbed by a villain with countless sharp spears like in Chiaki’s death video in danganronpa along with 1-A and just loses it? I’m sorry I’m craving for angst rn ✨✨ also love your writing and remember to stay safe <33 💕💗

My requests are open yes!! I have actually missed receiving them (and tbf I’m prolly not getting them because I’m doing daily updates on History of Us hahaha). So thanks for the request anon. I’m also really touched that you love my writing 🥰 I hope this lives up to your impression of me!

I had never seen danganropa but I just looked up what you were talking about and w o w I am in ✨pain✨ 🥲 I’ve got you anon. It’s going to hurt but I got you. Did I drag out (y/n)’s last words? Yes. Would they realistically already have died before saying all that I have them say? Probably. But this is fanfic and if movie writers can do it then goddamn it so can I!

CW for angst, somewhat graphic description of major character injury and death (reader), non-major character death, and canon typical violence

Nothing has been the same since the fall of the hero commission and the loss of faith in the Symbol of Peace’s generation of heroes. It’s been two years since Shigaraki wreaked havoc and Dabi exposed Endeavor’s crimes. As pros unused to that level of violence retired or quit, hero class students have been forced to step up and fill in the spaces they left behind. As a result, even as their faith in the pros waned, the public started to see the students as a beacon of hope. All Might, they whisper, spoiled the current generation of heroes. They argue that Endeavor is now too old to keep up, that Hawks and Mirko are too burdened by their mentors’ failures, and all the heroes aged in between are too used to the relative peace of the golden era to be effective. These current students though? Students like the famous UA hero class A, now third years who’ve already seen so much? They are the new hope. They’d grown up in the fires of a post-symbol of peace era and as such they are the only ones who can drag society out of it. It would be flattering if not for the overwhelming pressure that comes along with it.

Shoto thinks he would have been crushed beneath that pressure if not for you.

The two of you had started growing close your first year during the provisional license exam make up classes. Spending so much additional time together over the weekend had allowed Shoto to slowly open up to you until a beautiful friendship had blossomed. Even still, both of you had secretly yearned for something more. It was only after the destruction of Jaku City and the Todoroki family secrets were aired to the whole of Japan that the two of you finally acted on your feelings. You’d been such a source of support for him afterwards that eventually he hadn’t been able or willing to hold back any longer and had confessed his feelings to you late one night in the dorms. The two of you have been together ever since and fully intend to open a hero agency together after graduation. He knows the two of you are still young but sometimes when he looks at you with your blinding smile or when you’re sleeping peacefully beside him, he swears he can hear wedding bells. If the civilians of Japan can consistently forget how young you all are as they urge you to take over for the pros, then it seems only fair he should be able to forget too.

His mother was ecstatic when he asked her about engagement rings. Endeavor had said it was too early, that marriage is too large a commitment to make at 18 years old, but Shoto insisted and eventually a compromise was reached. He’ll wait until after graduation but then he’s determined to make you his forever and always.

It’s an otherwise normal Saturday afternoon in the dorms when Iida and Momo get an urgent distress signal to gather the entirety of the class and head into the city. A large group of ragtag criminals, determined to become the next League of Villains, is terrorizing Musutafu and the number of casualties is climbing rapidly. The other heroes usually responsible for that area had been called away to handle a different disaster and all attempts made by the civilians to defend themselves had only led to more chaos. The entire class mobilized in seconds. Calls like this aren’t uncommon now. The villains have been banding together more and their bloodlust seems to have grown exponentially with civilians’ continued lack of trust in the current pros. By the time you all arrive to the scene there’s no time to waste. “Be careful,” you tell Shoto, carefully running a hand through his hair before resting it on his cheek. He brings his hand up to cover yours before promising, “I will.” He presses a kiss to your palm but before he can do more Bakugo sharply barks “Hurry it up lovebirds we got a fucking job to do!” before racing off. You both know he’s right. “I love you,” you tell Shoto. “Love you too,” he promises before you both steel yourselves and then take off into the fray.

It’s an absolutely grueling battle. Every time someone takes one villain down, another comes to take their place. “Pinky! On your left!” you call out, causing your classmate to sharply turn. Mina just manages to dodge a punch one of the villains throws her way and swiftly counteracts with an attack of her own, calling out a thanks. There’s no time to breathe though and almost as soon as you’re done warning Mina, you have to dive in to keep another villain off Ojiro’s back. It’s chaotic but slowly you’re starting to pick away the forces as many of the remaining villains start fleeing. Once it looks like they’ve all retreated you instinctively look for Shoto, having not seen him since the fighting had properly started. You catch sight of him and heave a sigh of relief. You call out his name to catch his attention and although he initially offers you a soft smile you notice his eyes suddenly widen. “(Y/n) behind you!” he calls out.

Every moment after that seems to happen in slow motion.

You turn around just in time for a spear to fire clean through your shoulder, knocking you off balance. You start to fall backwards but before you can even hit the ground at least a dozen more rise up from the asphalt and impale your body. You hear Shoto’s broken cry of your name but it sounds so distant to you. After a moment stuck in place the spears suddenly drop back into the ground. Shoto is next to you in a second, pulling your broken body close as you bleed out. One of your other classmates tries to call for medical support but all he can focus on is you and the sheer amount of blood you’re losing. Shoto knows his training. He knows that when a victim has been stabbed it’s crucial to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, but how can he when there’s so many fucking wounds. “You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be ok.” He says it over and over again like a mantra. It’s both a plea to you and a desperate attempt to deny the harsh reality that the love of his life is bleeding out in his arms.

You press a bloody hand to his cheek, looking lovingly up at the man you’d do anything for, and shush him quietly. “Sho,” you rasp, voice already weak as your body tries and fails to cope with your injuries. “Don’t,” he warns. “Sho, baby, look at me,” you try again but he shakes his head, shutting his eyes tightly as tears start to run down his cheeks. “Please?” you ask and he can’t deny you, never could, so he opens his eyes and looks down at your glossy ones as you fight to stay awake just a little bit longer. “There they are. I always did love your eyes,” you tell him wistfully as your thumb strokes his cheek, smearing your blood there, though you don’t seem to notice. “You can’t leave me. You have to be ok,” he whispers but you shake your head. You can already feel yourself fading and with medical attention still several minutes out at least you know there’s no fixing this. “I need you to promise me something,” you tell him. “Anything,” he replies immediately and it brings a sad smile to your blood stained lips. “Promise you’ll find someone else after me,” you say and the scandalized look on his face would have probably made you laugh under different circumstances. “You’ve got too much love to give to let it die with me,” you tell him but he shakes his head again. “I could never love anyone else like I love you,” he swears and he means it with every fiber of his being. You chuckle wetly. “You always were stubborn. Fine, then promise to never forget me,” you compromise, tears welling in your own eyes now too. “I couldn’t even if I tried,” he swears before leaning down to press one last kiss to your lips. He can taste the tang of iron and feel your tears and his mingling on your cheeks. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips as he pulls away, but for the first time since he first said the words to you, you don’t say them back. “(Y/n)? Baby, I love you,” he tries again, pulling back to look at you properly now. Your eyes remain shut, your hand falling limp from his cheek, and when he looks to your chest the rise and fall of it has ceased.

Devastation claws up through him like a rabid animal, tearing him apart as his whole world shatters around him. He feels his grief like a physical ache in his chest, radiating out to each of his limbs as if every cell of his body is violently rejecting the fact that you’re gone. “Todoroki-kun?” Midoriya asks cautiously, putting a gentle hand on Shoto’s shoulder. Shoto’s head snaps up as he cradles you closer, as if scared your body will be taken away from him too. Before Midoriya can say whatever he was going to, Denki’s voice cuts through the tense silence. “I got him!” he crows, shoving the villain down to the ground in front of his classmates. Shoto’s eyes land on the villain and instantly his grief twists into a searing rage. He gently lays your body down but his eyes are cold and lethal as he stares down the man that took you away from him. Midoriya realizes what’s happening a beat too late and by the time he reaches out to grab Shoto, the grief stricken man has already launched himself at the villain and grasped hold of him. His right hand closes around the man’s throat, ice wrapping around it like a vice grip. He’s vaguely aware of his classmates calling his name but he doesn’t care. This man stole the love of his life from him. For that he will pay. Before Todoroki can finish the job he’s suddenly being yanked back by Midoriya and Bakugo. “Let go of me!” he demands as he fights against their hold, ignoring their warnings and empty platitudes. He manages to wrench his left arm free for a brief moment and that’s all he needs. His flames shoot out, preventing Midoriya from getting a good hold of him again, and the man who murdered you goes up in flame. His howls of pain echo around the buildings around them but the sound is music to Shoto’s ears. Let him suffer. It’s a fate he deserves.

His classmates watch on in stunned horror until the villain is burned down to ash. As his flames die out so too does all the fight seem to drain from Shoto as the crushing grief returns. Bakugo let’s him go once it’s clear he’s not a threat anymore and Shoto uses his freedom to drag himself back over to your lifeless body. It’s not fair. You’re so young. He’s so young. Why was this fight even you all’s responsibility in the first place? He’s been excitedly planning his proposal to you for weeks. Now he’ll have to plan a funeral. The thought makes him physically ill and he has to turn to the side as bile climbs up his throat and he retches onto the asphalt beside him.

How is he supposed to go on without you?

Midoriya returns a hand to his shoulder as the paramedics finally arrive. It’s too late. Far too late. One of them approaches cautiously and like a dog protecting his master Shoto immediately lashes out. “Don’t you fucking touch them,” he warns, eyes cold and voice lethal. The paramedic jerks backwards, his hands up in surrender, as he cautiously looks to the other class A students for advice. They have none. They’ve never seen Todoroki like this. They can’t even begin to imagine what he’s going through. It’s Eijirou who steps up in the end. He approaches Shoto carefully, as if his classmate is a feral animal, before kneeling down to his level. “They need to take (y/n) to the hospital on that stretcher over there,” Kirishima tells him carefully, jerking his head in the direction of the waiting ambulance. “Can you carry them there for the paramedics?” he asks. Shoto stares at Kirishima blankly as if trying to process his words before slowly nodding. “Ok. Let’s go then, yea?” Kiri asks. Another nod in response before Shoto carefully gathers you into his arms. He ignores the way your body has already started to go cold as he carries you over to the stretcher. He tries to pretend they’re just rushing you to the hospital, that they’re speeding you over to recovery girl and in a few hours time you’ll be tired but cheery, teasing him for being so worried about nothing. But as he lays you down and then watches them zip you up into a black bag, he knows it’s a hopeless fantasy. You’re gone and you’re never coming back.

A few days later he sits in a black suit with a black tie and a silver chain carrying an engagement ring around his neck. He leans against Fuyumi, who sits on his left side, while his mother grasps tightly onto his right hand. Behind him Natsuo rests a steady hand on his shoulder. His father hovers nearby, unsure how best to offer his support or if his support would even be welcome. They are the only thing that keeps Shoto from falling apart. When the time comes, he stands on shaky legs and approaches your open casket. At first he’d been insistent he wouldn’t look, but his mother had argued his last image of you shouldn’t be your broken body, riddled with holes. So he looks down at you, pieced back together by some mortician, lying motionless in the nicest outfit you own and he traces every detail of you. He tries to patch over the memory of you broken on the ground that haunts him every night since it’s happened with this image of you now. He pictures all of the good and beautiful moments you’ve shared together, let’s them swell in his chest until they’re too large to contain and pour out of him through his silent tears. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your too cold forehead and mumbles to you again his final promise:

“I love you, (y/n). I’ll never forget you.”

[voidpumpkin]

I don't know anything about Demon Slayer but I DO know Rengoku sorta and he's my favorite character. I have never seen that other guy you have been posting him with! Could you talk about both of them/who they are and why you like them together?

K lets go over them separately, Rengoku Kyoujurou is the Flame Pillar, the strongest swordsmen wielding the flame breathing swordstyle. Set up to act as a mentor character to the main cast. Key belief of his is the temporariness of life makes it beautiful and that it is the role of the strong to protect the weak. Revealed in his introduction arc have a lot of hidden insecurities about his worth due to his abusive father. He dies at the hands of Akaza but succeeds in saving everybody's lives.

Akaza, number 3 most powerful demon underling, believes the only goal in life is to get stronger (but doesnt eat women, which apparently would make him much stronger, demons need to eat people btw), thinks temporary life is gross and despises the weak. He's the one who kills Kyoujurou. Pretty much all demons have a tragic backstory that they forget upon becoming a demon with Akaza's being that he was a kid who dedicated and risked his life to looking after his father, then lover after his father dies, whilst being taught to protect the weak, with belief of his being that weak, sick shouldn't view themselves as a burden. He's forcibly turned into a demon after killing the people who murdered his fiance and mentor, (though his love for his fiance preventing him from harming a women even though he has forgotten her.)

Why i like them together: First off, them being together requires Kyoujurou lives (i've always been of the opinion that his death is one of the earliest signs of demon slayer going downhill) and i love Kyoujurou and i want to see him and his relationships be explored. Secondly what happens in their fight together, mainly: they have ideological conflicts with each other, Akaza is utterly enamored with him asking him to be immortal so they can fight together/each other forever and literally begging for him to become an immortal demon after dealing the killing blow. What they say during the fight and who they are creates so much juicy drama, Kyoujurou can confront Akaza's belief and make him remember his backstory, convincing him to join the good guys, an idea i'm obsessed with is him asking Akaza 'what is true strength, giving into your urges as a demon, or resisting them'. Akaza in his complete admiration of Kyoujurou can get him to value his life more and confront his insecurities in a way nobody else can as he is the only equal/above Kyoujurou's level to express such admiration (everyone else are family members, students or colleagues).

Other drama created is of one of the people who kills demon's falling in love with them, slayers can be kicked out for just refusing to kill one that hasn't eaten anybody. This drama as well as Kyoujurou coming to recognise the humanity of demons as well as their suffering as demons are constantly monitored by their creator who can kill them on a whim, is just another reason for me to love it. They have to keep relationship a secret, existing on opposite sides of a conflict and wanting to be together, which is so juicy to me.

There's also a plot reason as the good guys require high level demon blood to create a cure for demonism. Akaza, as number 3, becoming a good guy would mean they would have a lot more of the cure and make it even more powerful, this along with him fighting on their side in the final battle and Kyoujurou being alive to fight in the final battle means we wouldn't have that shitty ending where half the cast dies.

Renkaza is a relationship that by its very nature would require/causes drama and character growth, which is what makes it absolutely golden for a story.

As you can see i am completely normal about them.