#(and also i'm partial to statues)

[nightshadeowl]

Taking a moment to whinge: I've been dragged somewhere on vacation and haven't gotten to spend much time drawing despite the fact that that's one of the things I most want(ed) to do with my winter break. I haven't gotten to watch any Hermitcraft in ages, let alone the world tour. This SUCKS

[sysig]

Your tastes are skewed, you know that? (Patreon)

[heritageposts]

What does life in North Korea look like outside of Pyongyang? 🇰🇵

Hey, I'm back again with a very scary "tankie" post that asks you to think of North Koreans as people, and to consider their country not as a cartoonish dystopia, but as a nation that, like any other place on earth, has culture, traditions, and history.

Below is a collection of pictures from various cities and places in North Korea, along with a brief dive into some of the historical events that informs life in the so-called "hermit kingdom."

Warning: very long post

Kaesong, the historic city

Beginning this post with Kaesong, one of the oldest cities in Korea. It's also one of the few major cities in the DPRK (i.e. "North Korea") that was not completely destroyed during the Korean war.

Every single city you'll see from this point on were victims of intense aerial bombardments from the U.S. and its allies, and had to be either partially or completely rebuilt after the war.

From 1951 to 1953, during what has now become known as the "forgotten war" in the West, the U.S. dropped 635,000 tons of bombs over Korea — most of it in the North, and on civilian population centers. An additional 32,000 tons of napalm was also deployed, engulfing whole cities in fire and inflicting people with horrific burns:

For such a simple thing to make, napalm had horrific human consequences. A bit of liquid fire, a sort of jellied gasoline, napalm clung to human skin on contact and melted off the flesh. Witnesses to napalm's impact described eyelids so burned they could not be shut and flesh that looked like "swollen, raw meat." - PBS

Ever wondered why North Koreans seem to hate the U.S so much? Well...

Keep in mind that only a few years prior to this, the U.S. had, as the first and only country in the world, used the atomic bomb as a weapon of war. Consider, too, the proximity between Japan and Korea — both geographically and as an "Other" in the Western imagination.

As the war dragged on, and it became clear the U.S. and its allies would not "win" in any conventional sense, the fear that the U.S. would resort to nuclear weapons again loomed large, adding another frightening dimension to the war that can probably go a long way in explaining the DPRK's later obsession with acquiring their own nuclear bomb.

But even without the use of nuclear weapons, the indiscriminate attack on civilians, particularly from U.S. saturation bombings, was still horrific:

"The number of Korean dead, injured or missing by war’s end approached three million, ten percent of the overall population. The majority of those killed were in the North, which had half of the population of the South; although the DPRK does not have official figures, possibly twelve to fifteen percent of the population was killed in the war, a figure close to or surpassing the proportion of Soviet citizens killed in World War II" - Charles K. Armstrong

On top of the loss of life, there's also the material damage. By the end of the war, the U.S. Air Force had, by its own estimations, destroyed somewhere around 85% of all buildings in the DPRK, leaving most cities in complete ruin. There are even stories of U.S. bombers dropping their loads into the ocean because they couldn't find any visible targets to bomb.

What you'll see below of Kaesong, then, provides both a rare glimpse of what life in North Korea looked like before the war, and a reminder of what was destroyed.

Kaesong's main street, pictured below.

Due the stifling sanctions imposed on the DPRK—which has, in various forms and intensities, been in effect since the 1950s—car ownership is still low throughout the country, with most people getting around either by walking or biking, or by bus or train for longer distances.

Kaesong, which is regarded as an educational center, is also notable for its many Koryŏ-era monuments. A group of twelve such sites were granted UNESCO world heritage status in 2013.

Included is the Hyonjongnung Royal Tomb, a 14th-century mausoleum located just outside the city of Kaesong.

One of the statues guarding the tomb.

Before moving on the other cities, I also wanted to showcase one more of the DPRK's historical sites: Pohyonsa, a thousand-year-old Buddhist temple complex located in the Myohyang Mountains.

Like many of DPRK's historic sites, the temple complex suffered extensive damage during the Korean war, with the U.S. led bombings destroying over half of its 24 pre-war buildings.

The complex has since been restored and is in use today both as a residence for Buddhist monks, and as a historic site open to visitors.

Hamhung, the second largest city in the DPRK.

A coastal city located in the South Hamgyŏng Province. It has long served as a major industrial hub in the DPRK, and has one of the largest and busiest ports in the country.

Hamhung, like most of the coastal cities in the DPRK, was hit particularly hard during the war. Through relentless aerial bombardments, the US and its allies destroyed somewhere around 80-90% percent of all buildings, roads, and other infrastructure in the city.

Now, more than seventy years later, unexploded bombs, mortars and pieces of live ammunition are still being unearthed by the thousands in the area. As recently as 2016, one of North Korea's bomb squads—there's one in every province, faced with the same cleanup task—retrieved 370 unexploded mortar rounds... from an elementary school playground.

Experts in the DPRK estimate it will probably take over a hundred years to clean up all the unexploded ordnance—and that's just in and around Hamhung.

Hamhung's fertilizer plant, the biggest in North Korea.

When the war broke out, Hamhung was home to the largest nitrogen fertilizer plant in Asia. Since its product could be used in the creation of explosives, the existence of the plant is considered to have made Hamhung a target for U.S. aggression (though it's worth repeating that the U.S. carried out saturation bombings of most population centers in the country, irrespective of any so-called 'military value').

The plant was immediately rebuilt after the war, and—beyond its practical use—serves now as a monument of resistance to U.S. imperialism, and as a functional and symbolic site of self-reliance.

Chongjin, the third largest city in the DPRK.

Another coastal city and industrial hub. It underwent a massive development prior to the Korean war, housing around 300,000 people by the time the war broke out.

By 1953, the U.S. had destroyed most of Chongjin's industry, bombed its harbors, and killed one third of the population.

Wonsan, a rebuilt seaside city.

The city of Wonsan is a vital link between the DPRK's east and west coasts, and acts today as both a popular holiday destination for North Koreans, and as a central location for the country's growing tourism industry.

Considered a strategically important location during the war, Wonsan is notable for having endured one of the longest naval blockades in modern history, lasting a total of 861 days.

By the end of the war, the U.S. estimated that they had destroyed around 80% of the city.

Masikryong Ski Resort, located close to Wonsan. It opened to the public in 2014 and is the first, I believe, that was built with foreign tourists in mind.

Sariwon, another rebuilt city

One of the worst hit cities during the Korean War, with an estimated destruction level of 95%.

I've written about its Wikipedia page here before, which used to mockingly describe its 'folk customs street'—a project built to preserve old Korean traditions and customs—as an "inaccurate romanticized recreation of an ancient Korean street."

No mention, of course, of the destruction caused by the US-led aerial bombings, or any historical context at all that could possibly even hint at why the preservation of old traditions might be particularly important for the city.

Life outside of the towns and cities

In the rural parts of the DPRK, life primarily revolves around agriculture. As the sanctions they're under make it difficult to acquire fuel, farming in the DPRK relies heavily on manual labour, which again, to avoid food shortages, requires that a large portion of the labour force resides in the countryside.

Unlike what many may think, the reliance on manual labour in farming is a relatively "new" development. Up until the crisis of the 1990s, the DPRK was a highly industrialized nation, with a modernized agricultural system and a high urbanization rate. But, as the access to cheap fuel from the USSR and China disappeared, and the sanctions placed upon them by Western nations heavily restricted their ability to import fuel from other sources, having a fuel-dependent agricultural industry became a recipe for disaster, and required an immediate and brutal restructuring.

For a more detailed breakdown of what lead to the crisis in the 90s, and how it reshaped the DPRKs approach to agriculture, check out this article by Zhun Xu.

Some typical newly built rural housing, surrounded by farmland.

Tumblr only allows 20 pictures per post, but if you want to see more pictures of life outside Pyongyang, check out this imgur album.

[suiana]

SHUTUP I GOT AN IDEA BECAUSE OF THIS TUMBLR POST I SAW

imagine being the spouse of a high ranking court judge. the problem is that you're a big ass criminal (like, tax evasion and stuff idk) and you finally get caught by the police.

thankfully, your yandere! judge has decided to save you.

"you are convicted for several accounts of tax fraud and love scamming. do you plead guilty?"

"yeah, i did it. I'm not trying to lie or defend myself. anyway, is it really my fault if those guys were so gullible-"

"silence in the court."

you can only stare awkwardly as the judge enters the cout room and silences everyone. why was his voice so- oh. it's your husband..? IT'S YOUR HUSBAND?!

you weren't really sure what happened throughout the rest of the court session. you heard something about how you weren't in the wrong and how your husband would often go on tangents about why your crimes weren't considered crimes because it was you who did it.

before you knew it, you found your lawyer cheering in joy as the judge announced the results of the case.

"partially guilty. punishment is to be on house arrest for a month and to give their husband attention. case dismissed."

"s-sir! there is clear evidence of them committing-"

"you heard me the first time and i won't repeat myself. case dismissed."

you were in a daze the rest of the way home. was it... really that easy? i mean, you knew your husband would bend the world and back for you but to blatantly excuse your crimes like that... in front of tons of people too! isn't that-

"honey, you-"

"why would i put you in prison? that would be a punishment for me as well. also, have you forgotten who i am and my status? i'd break any law ethics for you, and no one would be able to say anything."

wow.... you never knew he was so... romantic.

i mean, you knew he was obsessed and loved you when he stalked and practically forced you to marry him but this had to be the ultimate act of love!

"also, i killed the guys you love scammed."

wait what?

[biteofcherry]

Touch The Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary for this chapter: Accompanying Steve to a club goes terribly wrong. However, what follows may shake you even more. Certain self-discoveries are best left ignored and denied, right?

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; forced marriage; violence; being turned on by violence (not against the Reader); hurt her and you die trope; hurt/comfort of sorts; smut; gun kink; oral (m receiving); fingering; anal play; double penetration; dirty talk; praise; D/s undertones;

word count: 6.2k

Author’s Note: We're on the penultimate chapter! It means certain discoveries and revelations about Princess and Steve's dynamic. Personally, I'm happy that I've written it all exactly like I imagined when I created the outline for all ten chapters of this fic 😎 Also, just to calm you all down, the main story will end on chapter 10, but it doesn't mean I won't write some fics and drabbles for Steve and Princess in the future.

Also, in this chapter, there's a tiny blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to @krirebr's vampire Steve 🤭 No, he doesn't appear. There's just a particular innuendo.

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 9. Eruption 

~ * ~

A myriad of colorful splashes chased each other along the dark, cathedral ceiling. Following their drugged dance felt both tiring to your eyes and childishly relaxing. 

When Steve informed you of the opening of a new club - one that was officially owned by someone else, but in reality fell under Steve’s command in that twisted dark web of connections you learned intertwines the city and the whole fucking coast up to the Capitol - you snorted at him that you’re not a college girl interested in spending her Friday evening skanky, drunk and groped. 

The last word you should’ve skipped, because of course your husband grinned that lethal way that wordlessly reminded you that you’d most certainly be groped and ruined by him anyway. 

Thankfully, Steve didn’t utter a word about the importance of that club opening to his business, or reputation, or whatever. You didn’t give a damn about any of that. Honestly, you doubted Steve did either. 

It was probably an opportunity for him to remind someone that he was still the biggest predator, or to put deep fear in them. For you, it was a chance to get a migraine. 

However, Steve had one argument - the only one he used - that won you over. 

Pepper was going to be there.

Apparently, her husband loved all kinds of extravagant parties and had a solid chunk of the club’s profits. Considering the interior design of that monstrosity, you suspected Tony also had some influence on that matter. It was gothic meets the 80’s disco, though you couldn’t exactly imagine a gothic staple in the form of a vampire preying through the glittery crowd to sink its fangs into someone’s neck under the disco ball sparkle. 

But Pepper’s company was always welcome. Not only she became a true, honest ally in this murky underworld, she also helped you remember there were pieces of your life worth enjoying, instead of just drowning yourself in bitterness and hate. 

She was exceptionally smart in assessing you, too. She never pointed out money or status as something of value, but rather opportunities to use to help others and small bits of care you refused to see on your own. 

She also had a hilarious evil pixie side and roped you into making sassy, judgmental comments on the people dancing the night away on the dancefloor below. 

You both leaned on the wooden balustrade of the choir balcony of the former church that now served as the VIP lounge, watching and laughing as the colorful crowd swayed on the shiny-tiled dancefloor. Behind you, Steve, Tony and some two other men whose name you chose to ignore, had a business conversation. Bucky and Nat were off to the side; partially on duty and partially off of it, having some almost-silent conversation with Tony’s man, Happy. 

Despite your vehement reluctance at first, you found yourself relaxed and having fun (which you assigned mostly to Pepper’s influence). 

Steve didn’t attempt to show you off in any way; he didn’t suggest you go dancing, nor did he send you away when he started talking business. And when you walked back to the sofa, his body shifted your way without him losing his focus on the conversation. 

His hand landed on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze, but thankfully not moving upward in a bold, inappropriate way you knew he was capable of. 

Pepper smirked at you when she noticed the gesture, then grinned unrepentantly when you shrugged but made no move to knock off Steve’s hand. In a way, it was comforting to have him acknowledge your presence; even if a part of you was irked at the possessive side of it. 

Not to mention the third, unsophisticated inner goblin, who wanted you to spread your legs a bit and have Steve’s fingers glide up your thigh. 

With a sigh, you relaxed against the soft cushions and let your gaze roam the ceiling for a moment, chasing the spots cascading off of the disco balls and chandeliers. You shifted your attention back to the table when a hostess brought fresh drinks. 

She set the glasses on the table, perfectly balancing the smoked-glass trey on one hand. The hostess behind her held the trey more wobbly, though still gracefully. You suspected she had experience in the job, but not necessarily in serving a group that had to at least be rumored to be criminals. 

You glanced at her face, noting the perfectly maintained calm, polite smile. Not a drop of sweat, nor a tick of nervousness. She actually reminded you of Natasha, once her mask was torn off and her true identity was revealed.

That realization made you pause. 

You weren’t a behavioral psychologist, but that level of composure and control of the smallest muscles in the body rang alarms in your head. Your own body shifted, your back straightened and your muscles tensed. 

You felt a twitch of Steve’s fingers against your knee.

It seemed to be less than a blink of an eye when the hostess tilted the glass trey and a glint of metal was seen before sparks ignited.

At the same moment brutal force knocked you off the sofa and down onto the floor. Heavy, suffocating weight landed on you, crushing you and stealing your breath. 

Though it was possible that the sudden burst of panic locking your lungs in place was responsible for the trouble with breathing. 

You squeezed your eyes tightly as your ears filled with noise that mixed with the still beating music. A crash, yells, another echo of a bang. Two, three heartbeats and the heavy mass was lifted off of your body. It didn’t quite help with your breathing. Quite the contrary, its lack seemed to steal away the sense of warm safety. 

Forcing your eyes open, you dared to look around and up. 

You were curled between the sofa and the knocked over table. It was kicked onto the side, the wide table top forming a wall in front of you. The floor on its other side was now covered in a spill of drinks, shattered glass, and redness that surely didn’t come from any juice. 

The tight spot you were pushed down into provided a semblance of shield. 

As did the looming shadow over you - the tall, broad form of your husband, standing in a way that hid your body from the only open angle through which someone could reach you.

Steve was the one who pushed you down to the floor, you realized. The heaviness that pressed into you was the weight of his body. 

The music was still loud and you couldn’t hear the exact words, but Steve was spitting out commands. His fists were clenched, the muscles in his forearms tense so much that his veins protruded visibly even through the dark swirls of ink on his skin. 

Slowly, you dared to lift your upper body, bracing on your hands to peer over the table. You saw Tony rush Pepper down the stairs, his hand laid protectively on her head. Their security formed a tight cocoon around them. The other two men were nowhere to be seen, probably rushed away into safety by their own guards. 

Natasha and Bucky were gone at the moment, as well, though you suspected it was to deal with the would-be assassin. Through the carved balustrade you saw the sway of bodies still dancing to the music, oblivious to what had just happened on the VIP balcony. Your civilian logic told you all these people should be evacuated, but apparently your mobster husband saw it differently. 

With your heart hammering wildly in your chest, breath still shallow and burning your lungs, you ungracefully scrambled to your feet. You moved closer to Steve, keeping yourself at his back when he remained unmoved. 

You noticed one of his arms tensing and slightly rotating in a micro-move to keep you shielded behind him. You barely stopped your own fingers from clutching onto the fabric of his shirt. 

You didn’t want to lean onto him for support as panic threatened to take over you. 

“No,” you heard Steve’s steely voice as he spoke to one of his high ranking men, “if we sound the alarm and start evacuating people, any accomplices might slip out with the crowd. This way we have more control.”

“Right.” The man (Sam, if you remembered correctly) nodded. “I’ll check the security feeds and see if anyone left in the last fifteen minutes. Nat and Lena will swipe the crowd.” 

When Sam walked away, you finally moved to stand beside Steve. He didn’t even look at you, yet you were sure he was aware of your every little move. His jaw was set in a hard grit. He had to be angry as hell, which was understandable considering he was just shot at. 

You were closer to breaking into heaps of crying and screaming, so you did what usually helped you keep yourself together - you refocused. 

Unfortunately for Steve, he was the only close object your attention could stick to for longer. 

You watched him survey the crowds dancing below then sharply assess the VIP lounge. Not even out of breath, he remained composed, hard as a granite statue. His clothes weren’t even that much rumpled. Though the sleeve of his shirt sported a splash of dark liquid. It wasn’t growing rapidly and the fabric wasn’t torn, so it didn’t appear to be a wound to his shoulder. 

As your gaze traveled up, however, you registered the source of the spill. It made you gasp aloud, a wheezing sound that felt near painful as your chest constricted in rising panic.

Steve’s temple was smeared with blood. Redness matted his dark gold hair around it. A thin trickle of blood dropped down from his earlobe and splashed on the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Jesus fuck, you’re shot!” 

Your palm cradled the side of his face, fingers pressing against the wound. To which Steve reacted with a hiss and childish tilting of his head away from your touch.

“It’s just a scratch.” He grunted, acting like his brain wasn’t just inches from being blown out. 

Steve was more interested in Bucky’s return and a short report on first findings, which you didn’t even listen to, still focused on the bleeding wound. So much, you didn’t even pay attention to your own increasing worry for the man you were supposed to hate. 

“Just a scratch my ass.” You spat in annoyance, frantically looking around for something that could help you form a makeshift dressing. 

Finding nothing of the sort, you reached to the underside of your own dress and, cursing, ripped a piece of the lining. 

Folding it in a big square, you lifted on your tiptoes and pressed it against Steve’s temple. This time you held yourself steady on his arm with one hand, so when he tried to lean away you easily followed the movement. 

“It needs to be checked.” Not caring that Bucky and Steve were in the middle of organizing next moves, you interrupted. “You could have a fractured bone, or internal bleeding. If the pressure on your brain grows, it could lead to-”

“Princess.” Steve growled in a warning tone, gripping your wrist.

“I’m not doing you a trephination at home when your brain matter drowns in your own blood!” You spluttered angrily, hitting at his hand. 

That made Steve pause and look at you. Or maybe it was the pitch in your voice, the quiver of your lips and tears brimming your eyes. He studied you for a longer moment, unbothered by your fingers trying to pry his fingers off your wrist. 

“Fine.” He conceded and turned back to Bucky. “Call Banner. Tell him to be at the clinic in thirty.”

Bucky didn’t comment on the interaction between you two, though if you weren’t so focused on your self-appointed task you might’ve noticed a spark of amusement in his eyes. Still, his face betrayed nothing, as usual. 

“Come on.” Steve’s arm slipped around your waist. “We have to get going if you want the good doctor to tell you the same thing I said, that it’s just a scratch.” 

“You have to put pressure on the wound.” You directed him to hold the improvised wound dressing, but Steve made no move to follow your instruction.

“That’s your job.” He shrugged.

“I can’t exactly walk and keep my hand at your temple at the same time.” Not with the height difference between you two. 

Suddenly, his arm around you slid lower. In a swift move, Steve gripped your ass and hoisted you up. Your legs wrapped around his middle instinctively as he placed both palms under your buttocks. 

“Easier now?” He grinned at you as he started walking toward the hidden exit at the back of the lounge. 

“Have you lost your mind?” You gasped, more shocked than outraged. “You’re wounded, you shouldn’t be straining yourself. It might increase the bleeding.”

“Having you on me is no strain, Princess. Besides… my blood is about to abandon my head for the more exciting ride down south. With the way your warm pussy is right against my dick.” 

You wanted to yell at him to stop diminishing the seriousness of the situation, but you figured it was serious only for you. To think of it, your husband probably had a lot of experience in being shot at. Perhaps, his assessment was more accurate than yours and this was, in fact, a minor scratch.

Still, your worry didn’t decrease. Your fingers were slightly trembling as you held the lining of your dress to his temple. It was soaking up blood, though thankfully not a deadly amount of it. Given that Steve was still able to walk and not get dizzy should be reassuring, as well, yet your brain didn’t accept it and demanded a hospital check-up anyway. 

In the car, Steve kept watching you curiously, as if your behavior was an intriguing novelty to him. 

It was to you, too. 

Was it that fear of falling prey to bloodthirsty rivals of his if Steve died? Just an empathetic reaction because you were a caring person in general? Or were you truly worried for a husband you hated? 

The hate part was crumbling to pieces, it appeared. There wasn’t a single flicker of joy, or malicious satisfaction that he got hurt, that someone might have killed him and released you from the forced marriage. 

Like there was no repulsion whenever Steve put his hands on you; be it when dancing at Tony’s ball, rousing each inch of your body as he fucked you into unconsciousness, or simply passing by you when moving around the house. 

For a few weeks you told yourself it’s simply desensitisation grown out of habit, since you were exposed to that touch constantly. However, there wasn’t only indifference to it. There was a certain, fucked-up warmth. And pleasure. 

It grounded you even at that moment when you pressed to his side at the backseat of the car and Steve smoothed his fingers along your thigh, as if he was the one soothing you in distress. 

Scared of what else you might feel, you abandoned the makeshift dressing when you reached the private clinic ran by doctors Banner and Cho, choosing instead to walk side by side with Steve. The clinic catered to Steve and a plethora of his criminal minions, but was also veiled with pretty bows of free service for the homeless and at-risk citizens. Bruce was already waiting in the hall when you entered, ready to get right into saving mode.

Instead of rushing towards you, like the doctors in the ER might, he scanned Steve’s body head to toe as you approached, then released a single (relieved, or disappointed) “Oh.”

“It’s just a scratch, but my loving wife got really worried.” Steve informed briskly, gently pressing his hand to your lower back. “Check her first.”

“What?” You almost stumbled in your steps. 

You were about to protest that you didn’t need any checking, because you had zero injuries. It would’ve fallen onto deaf ears, because Bruce nodded and guided you forward to a room stocked with top quality equipment. 

“Are you worried your massive body broke my ribs when you laid on top of me?” You snorted at Steve after doctor Banner checked your pupils. 

“Nah,” Steve sat on the gurney opposite of yours, “you have my body on top of yours quite often and sustain no injuries. Can’t be sure about shards of glass, or ricochets, though.”

He said it nonchalantly enough that you suspected he wasn’t really worried, but more likely a little petty. Since you forced him to come here, he would subject you to medical treatment as well. Steve couldn’t be worried about you. Not when he was the one making sure to cover you from any bullets and the table he kicked over to provide a shield knocked all the glass on the other side of it. There was no chance anything hit you.  

“All good.” Bruce announced then swiftly turned around to finally check Steve’s wound. 

With wide eyes, you observed his every movement. How he checked Steve’s vitals and went through the basic neurological examination. Then how he cleaned the wound and dried blood on Steve’s earlobe. 

When he said no stitches were needed, only strips, you felt both a relief and suspicion. You pressed your lips tightly to prevent yourself from questioning Banner’s decision. Or from demanding a CT scan. 

You refused to look at Steve for longer than brief glances on your way back home. And when you were at home, too. Since he and the doctor claimed he was fine, you wouldn’t give a damn anymore. No matter that it still gnawed at you. There was that growing itch to check if the wound wasn’t bleeding, if he didn’t have a headache, if he wasn’t dizzy, if… 

No! Don’t! You inwardly scolded yourself as you rubbed your freshly showered body with a towel. 

In the bedroom, Steve was already in bed. He showered before you, since you decided to distract yourself from thoughts about him by calling Pepper and checking if she’s all right. Leaning against the headboard, he simply read something on his tablet. Probably one of the variety of articles on economy, science, or politics. It still shocked you that someone so primitively brutal was so fucking smart. 

Just check once, the voice in your head goaded as you slid under the covers. One quick check and you can go to sleep. You won’t fall asleep if you don’t check.

Cursing under your breath, you rolled to the side and then sat up. Steve tilted the tablet down as you leaned over him. Without a word of explanation, you scanned his injury. Your fingertips traced gently along his hairline, close to the wounded area but not touching it directly.

Steve’s warm, steady breath tickled your skin. He made no comment as you silently fussed over him. Not even a sassy remark. 

It looked good, the injury. With the strips in place and all blood cleaned off, it really appeared to be just a scratch. Yet the tension in your body rippled with the potency of an eruption. You swallowed hard. 

Steve’s fingers circled your wrists gently. He tugged your hands down. With another nervous gulp, you tilted your head to look him in the eye. For a moment he didn’t say a word, just studied you with a frown. 

When he spoke, it was with words you didn’t expect to hear. Not from him. 

“You’re okay.” It wasn’t the softest shush, but a firm declaration. 

You shook your head, feeling the sting of tears gathering beneath your eyelids. 

“You are.” Steve repeated calmly. His frown deepened when you closed your eyes and shook your head again. 

It was another life-threatening situation you found yourself in since Steve barged into your life. A part of you was shaken to the core by it. But it wasn’t that part that tightened the iron grip around your chest at the moment. 

“I’m okay.” Steve’s assurance opened our eyes. 

You looked at him, teardrops swaying on your lower eyelashes. A heartbeat, a stuttered breath, and then the tears fell freely. 

Strong arms wrapped around you, crushing you down into Steve’s chest. He didn’t coo at you, didn’t whisper any soothing reassurances. He simply held you. 

And it scared you so fucking much how good it felt, even though it shouldn’t provide any form of security when he was the monster who forced you into all of this. 

You fell asleep in the monster’s embrace. Woke up with relief that his warmth was still there. Neither of you made any comment about your breakdown last night. Aside from briefly watching Steve move and dress, you didn’t feel the desperate need to check his wound again. 

It was easier, getting back to the routine of daily life and ignoring the uncomfortable revelations about the messy tangle of emotions you felt. The fact Steve was his usual self, one that felt nothing beside rage for vengeance and desire, helped to pretend that nothing has shifted.

Natasha’s presence also reminded you of why hate and disdain should be your main operative modes with your husband. With occasional need for a good fuck. Nothing more. 

When less than five days after the shooting Steve came to pick you from work himself, you greeted him with a suspicious glare. Then, when you realized he was taking you back to the club, you cursed the fact you were already trapped in the backseat of the car, which meant you had nothing but your own fingernails to attack him with. 

Which also didn’t happen, because you weren’t in the mood to be fucked hard while Bucky sat in the front seat. 

The club was empty and thus eerie. 

The VIP lounge was cleaned so thoroughly nothing suggested it was chaos and mess a few days ago. Even the table Steve kicked over was fully polished, or maybe it was replaced with a new one. 

Steve left you there and walked back downstairs, onto the main floor. Soon after, you heard the door open and the sound of some scuffle. Hesitantly, you walked over to the balustrade and peeked over it. 

Heart lurched to your throat, your fingers tightened on the wooden beam so hard you almost broke your nails. 

In the spotlight on the floor knelt a man - bruised and weak, meaning he already had a meeting with some of Steve’s people. Bucky was a few steps aside, having dragged the man in. Steve was standing right in front of the man. In all that dark, scary glory. 

Back straight, sleeves of his shirt rolled up, a display of tattoos and glinting rings. It reminded you of that first moment you saw him stride into the health center. 

This time, Steve held a gun in his right hand. Fingers firmly wrapped around it, with confidence of a man who used it hundreds of times. Not flamboyant showing off. No tremble of uncertainty or fear. He held it like an extension of himself. Like an experienced surgeon might hold a scalpel. 

In the empty cathedral belly of the club, Steve’s voice carried easily. 

“You know,” Steve started almost conversationally, “I often admire the gumption of some gangs who go for what they want. Sometimes, if I’m really impressed, I even offer them to work for me.”

“I’m not even bothered you went bold with your attempt to kill me. Not the smartest move, but I can see what you hoped to gain. However-”

You didn’t hear the click of the safety being switched off, but you assumed it had to be that moment, because a visible shiver went through the man’s body.

“ -you made a huge mistake-” Steve lifted his hand and aimed the gun at the man.

“ -scaring my wife.” 

The gunshot echoed. 

Steve didn’t toy with the man. Didn’t prolong it like a game, but simply executed the kill order he’d have placed on the man’s head anyway. 

You felt the reverberation of that shot through your bones, yet no nausea followed. No urge to turn away and hide your face in your hands. Your fingers clenched tighter on the banister, but you kept staring ahead. At the spot where blood was pooling around the dead man’s head in a creepy halo. 

Slowly, you moved your gaze from the wide splatter of blood to your husband. The way Steve was standing as confidently and unshaken as before. Your eyes dragged up his form, taking in the gun still in his hand, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. His insanely handsome face and eyes looking up at you. 

He said something to Bucky, but you didn’t listen to the words. You were too focused on watching Steve and the way your body ignited with terrifyingly hot excitement. 

When scenes like that played in your dreams, you could easily blame them on brain chemistry going awry in sleep. Getting wet because your dream subconsciousness liked being made to ride the handle of the knife while blood covered the floor was something you could assign to haze beyond your control, since it happened in sleep.

But now it was happening in reality. 

It wasn’t the killing that pooled warmth low in your core, but the way Steve held that gun, the way he didn’t hesitate. The way he fucking moved toward the stairs and up to the balcony you were on. 

Your walls clenched as Steve stepped into the lounge. Your breath quickened with each powerful stride towards you. 

He still held that gun in his hand and your body nearly toppled with need, remembering how it felt still warm and lethal when he rubbed it against your pussy that one time. 

Though at the moment you didn’t want it inside of you. No, there was a different desire blooming and spreading its demanding branches. 

You wet your lips with your tongue as Steve stopped right in front of you. Icy blue eyes so intense as he studied you. He was the magnificent iceberg in a sea of sunset red ripples and you were the sun warmth about to melt yourself all over his jagged edges.

When Steve touched your cheek with the muzzle of his gun, you didn’t even flinch. You were bravely holding his gaze. He traced a line from your temple, over the roundness of your cheek and down, pressing under your chin.

“Take what you wish, Princess.” His tone was underlaid with hunger that resonated with yours. 

Because, for the very first time, you weren’t playing down the sudden eruption of dark desire you felt for Steve. 

He put his arm down, holding the gun at his side, as you reached for his belt. Steve’s chest seemed to expand when you didn’t hesitate to unbuckle it. Your fingers worked swiftly, any previous tremble gone, as you lowered the zipper. Then you were dragging his jeans down along with your descent to your knees. 

For all the times Steve had his mouth on you, wrecking you completely, it was the first time you were going to fill your mouth with him. You had your hands around his cock many times, but strayed away from tasting him. Especially out on your own volition. 

You didn’t only want to do it now. You needed it. 

Every inch of your body was thrumming with that irresistible craving to worship the scary power that was Steve Rogers. 

A man who fucked up your steady life. A man who showed no remorse. Who was never soft, or empathetic. A man who protected you with his own body. Who held you as you broke down. Who killed someone for scaring you. Who would do many more unholy things. 

You ran your hands up Steve’s thighs then gripped the back of them to steady yourself. Your breath puffed along the hardening length of it as you admired his cock for a moment. You’d never say about any dick that it’s pretty, and you wouldn’t say it about Steve’s either, but there was something about it that was so fucking attractive. 

Maybe it was the man it was attached to. 

With a little hungry growl you opened your mouth wide and swallowed as much of it as you could. You felt too impatient to play with it this time. Though, with the pleasure that zinged down your spine at the velvety heaviness pressing on your tongue, you could see yourself doing it in the future. 

What you couldn’t take in your mouth you wrapped your fingers around. Smearing your own saliva along it, you set a mild rhythm. Suck and stroke. A little twist of your hand as your tongue swirled over the crown. 

The feeling of a gun gliding along your scalp like a caress pinched your nipples and clit into throbbing attention. Your shameless moan vibrated around Steve’s cock, making it swell in your mouth. 

Steve didn’t hide his groans of pleasure, either. They spurred you on even more. 

“Is it the gun, or is it my cock that turns you into a needy, slutty princess?” Steve’s voice was the most shaken you’ve ever heard him to sound. 

A garbled whine was your response as his dirty words added to the mess between your thighs. 

You were wet the moment he walked up the stairs and towards you. Every second of what followed only worsened your state. 

“You can have my gun in your mouth too, if you want.” Steve teased, weaving his free hand into your hair. “But you’d have to let go of my cock. And with your eager sucking I’m not sure you’d like to part with it anytime soon.”

Glaring up at him, you pressed your fingernails into the skin of his thighs. It only made him chuckle. 

When he lightly tapped the gun over one of your cheeks, you jerked forward with a muffled moan, taking more of his cock into your mouth. Too much. It hit the back of your throat and made you gag. Tears sprang to your eyes as your body tensed. Steve’s fingers in your hair tightened. He let out the sexiest moan.

And it was the hottest thing you ever experienced when sucking a man off. 

You didn’t try to repeat that, but it doubled your eagerness and efforts. Your own hips started swaying in desperate need. You were so hot and wet, and aching to have your pussy filled. 

“Princess,” Steve grunted; you felt his muscles tensing. 

“I’m about to come. Do you want me to paint your beautiful face, or do you want to swallow every drop like a good girl?” 

You paused for a second, holding just the tip of his thick cock in your mouth. You considered the options for a moment then, holding Steve’s gaze, you slowly took him deeper. As deep as you could without tipping that gag reflex again. 

“As you wish, Princess.” He huffed, half amusement half all pleasure. 

When you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, at the same time moving your spit-slick fingers to cup Steve’s balls, he growled a curse. It stretched into a long moan as his cum filled your mouth. 

Each time you swallowed small gulps of it, your tongue moved under his throbbing cock, drawing out more. 

Your chin and mouth were glistening with saliva and white streaks of cum that dribbled out. Steve’s grip on your hair didn’t ease as he slipped out from between your lips. He held your head in place as he brought his gun and rubbed the muzzle in the shiny mess on your chin. 

Then he was tossing the gun aside and lifting you up onto your feet. Steve’s mouth was devouring yours even before you steadied on your legs. His tongue dipped in, unbothered by the remnants of his own cum. 

You gripped at his shirt, eagerly responding to the dirty kiss and mad passion that erupted. Steve’s chuckle melted against your mouth when you rubbed yourself against him.

“Did sucking my cock make you wet, Princess?” 

All of him made you wet. But you weren’t going to admit that. 

You didn’t have to answer his question, either. Steve found out himself, driving his hand beneath your skirt. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric of your underwear. Not just a wet patch. A sticky mess. 

“Fuck!” He groaned, his hips bucking against you. 

Suddenly, he was turning you around and pushing you forward. 

He bent you over the wooden balustrade, pulling up your skirt and kicking your legs wider apart. 

Your glazed over gaze landed on the floor below. The dead body was gone. So was Bucky. Only the dark pool of red blood remained, flashing at you with memory of ruthless brutality. Still, your ass rubbed against Steve’s hand eagerly, your desire not the slightest diminished by the memory of horror. 

Steve ripped your soaked underwear. He tossed it over the balcony, making you watch the ruined garment fall down. 

You didn’t have time, nor brain capacity, to see the metaphor of your own innocent life falling down into his evil clutches. 

You moaned, back arching, as Steve’s fingers swept between your swollen, wet folds. 

“I’d give you the gun, but I want your tight pussy all to myself. Not going to share it even with your favorite, lethal toys.”

His fingers were more deadly, you wanted to say. But no words fell out, only a strangled cry, when Steve pushed two of his thick fingers in. Eased them in and out a few times, before suddenly rotating and curling. He pressed against that spot that made you keen and arch onto your tiptoes. 

“That’s it, Princess.” He praised, wrapping his free hand around the front of your neck. “Getting all messy on your husband’s fingers.”

A guttural cry ripped from your lungs when he forced a third finger in. 

It felt almost too much. Almost as stretched and full as when he had his cock buried to the hilt. 

Then it was really too much when one of his fingers, now all slick with your juices, withdrew from your pussy and pressed against your rim. 

“Ohgodohgodohgod-” you babbled, clenching your eyes shut. 

But you didn’t jerk away. Didn’t plead with Steve to stop. Instead, you shuddered and moaned when he slowly, but mercilessly pushed that finger into your ass. 

“So fucking tight, Princess,” Steve panted against your ear. “You’re making me hard all over again.”

He fucked both of your holes, increasing the rhythm until your cries were growing louder. Until you broke like a string stretched too far and your wetness coated his hand up to his wrist. 

You were a boneless mess, held up only by his hand on your throat and the sturdy balustrade. You felt his pulsing cock against your thigh, getting hard again just like he said. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers from your fluttering pussy. Squelching sound of it made you scorch with embarrassment. 

But then there was another pressure. Right next to the finger already knuckle deep in your ass. 

Steve was pushing another finger there. 

“Nghhh!” You whined, tensing against the bigger intrusion. It was somewhat uncomfortable, yet seemed to rouse your spent body anew. 

“You can take it, Princess.” Steve breathed against your neck as he shifted his position behind you. “Today you’re daring. Taking what you want and not shying away from it.”

His second finger sank deeper and the head of his dick nudged at your pussy. Your hips rocked back against him. You weren’t sure you did it consciously. Your mind felt too scrambled at the moment. It was more an instinctive chase after another shattering completion. 

With two fingers in your ass, the fullness of Steve’s cock stretching you felt nearly overwhelming. And so fucking good. 

You bucked against him with a whine when Steve remained still for a longer moment. His fingers around your throat clenched slightly before he finally gave you the friction you wanted, pulling slightly out then slamming back in. 

At first he fucked you only with his cock, holding his fingers in your tight hole. When your cunt spasmed around him, betraying your heightening peak, Steve amped the ruin by thrusting in and out of your ass. 

Your gaze was no longer on the pool of blood. It became foggy, unfocused. Your eyes rolled back, your vision filled with a kaleidoscope of colorful shards. Your hands let go of the wooden banister; one clutching onto Steve’s arm, the other reaching behind you to grip and twist the fabric of his shirt. 

“Going to come for me again?” Steve rasped, scraping his teeth along the skin of your neck. “That’s it. Go on. Come from having all of your holes owned by me.”

“Come from loving it.” 

And you did. 

Your cry echoed under the cathedral ceiling. A spilling of high pitched keening forming a lewd choir as Steve kept fucking you through your orgasm, tipping it into another peak as he followed soon after and his cum filled your clenching cunt. 

His own ragged breath sank into your skin. He eased the hold on your throat and instead wrapped that arm around your chest. After easing ers out of your ass, he wrapped it around you as well. 

Excess of his cum dribbled out of you when his softening cock slipped out. It was forming a glistening white splatter on the floor between your legs.

A contrast to the dark red blood on the other side. 

[flamingpudding]

I love your writing so much but I'm here with a crack idea just imagine deage Dan is Klarion.

Dan was able to find out who he is outside of Danny then he was able to change his name Klarion Jackson Fenton/Nightingale he is still a little villain boy also now a mom boy.

Ghost King Danny is his mom young justice was so confused when Klarion you're the best gifts get your mom after not talking to him for a while to also begging them to pretend to be his friend . Justice League dark is panicking in the background about the electric being that just shows up.

Danny in full ghost king attire standing there with a plate of cookies ready to meet his son's new friends.

Thanks so much! I am glad you enjoy my writing!

Also thanks because I absolutely love this Idea/Prompt! Sooooo please enjoy this piece inspired by it! Also I haven't consumed a lot of DC material lately so i am basing this all on my memories. In other words.... I went with Tim's little team here.

Hope that's okay and that this won't disappoint.

-------------------

Dan, who was going by Klarion for some years now, had a massive problem. It was the huge kind of problem build on small bubbles of lies that then turned into this one giant bubble that was about to pop just because of one little question asked by his mom when his sister decided to throw him under the bus to deflect from herself and the fact that she was dating a demon. Don't get him wrong he still loves her, but man did he want to strangle Danielle right now.

"So Klarion, Ellie is right. When will I get to meet your friends you told me so much about?"

It was such an innocent question from his mom. And while his moms titles don't scare him, cause at some point in time they could have been his too, the happy dopey smile like nothing was wrong in the dimensions with little expectations directed at him was the scariest thing his mom could ever direct at him when he had asked THAT question.

So now Klarion was in need of a quick solution. When his mom had asked he had mumbled out a quick: "Next week maybe. We won't be busy with hero stuff then." He had started to form a plan. First of all, he needed to remember what all he had told his mom about his new and redeemed life on Earth 43 he had build for himself with the name Klarion Jackson Fenton-Nightingale.

Which fuck. There was a lot he had told his mom just so he wouldn't worry.

Cause now he also remembers that whenever he had gone out to cause some chaos he had made it seem to his mom like he was going out to bond with his new friend or help them with their hero duty. Well, in a way maybe his chaos causing could be seen as bonding. The ghostly kind, that is. And as for helping with the hero duty... he did give them work, something to do with their hero status. Anyway Klarion tried to remember all possible names he had dropped. Shit why did he also mention to his mom that he was working with heroes to make her proud? He should have name dropped some villains instead but nearly all of them were adults. He knew his mom would have frowned if he had only adult friends and no one around his age.

He was pacing his room in their castle. He need a plan, a good one at that. He knows he name dropped Robin, now Red Robin, Superboy and Impulse on a whim once. Superboy more so cause his mom had been interested in the Alien Heros of the Earth of the dimension he was partially living on now. He had mentioned Robin for the joke of knowing that there is a Dinner in an other Dimension with the same name. And because his Grandfather didn't like the Flash-clan which meant his mom didn't like them too much because of their messing with timelines either, he had mentioned being friends with Impulse on pure spite because of a punishment one day and to see their reactions. So he had to get these three on board anyway, and because for the heck of it he would get Wonder Girl involved too. It was never bad to have a girl in a friends group.

Klarion stopped his pacing. Turning towards his demonic ghost cat companion, kind of what Cujo was to his mom now. "Teekl, I think I have a plan. I will convince these Idiots, that shouldn't be a huge problem. Most of them are normale little flesh sacks." Teekl and him stared for some time at each other and after a moment Klarion huffed turning away with crossed arms. "It's a good plan don't be so sceptical, they are heroes right? They will not refuse my request!"

Well maybe Klarion should have planned this a bit better.

The next day Red Robin blinked at the witch boy up from the ground in the living room of what looked like to be an normal apartment. He had just been in Gotham, working on a case and now he was here? Looking to the left he also noticed that Superboy (the older), Impulse and Wonder Girl were also with him. They all looked stunned he observed and partially disoriented. Additionally they hadn't heard from Klarion since the last time they had foiled his plans on raging chaos upon the earth, that had been weeks ago.

"Kla-"

"I have summoned you heroes here. For the moment it is fruitless to try to leave because of the magic barrier." Okay rude to be cut of but that explained why he suddenly wasn't where he remembered to be last anymore. It was now Superboy who opened his mouth first but before he could even make a sound Klarion decided to speak over them again. "I have presents."

Four young heroes collectively blinked, confused, stunned and weirded out. As the which boy before them waved over to wards a table filled with boxes and packages. "I come in peace today, to proof that I brought these are presents, filled with various goods from different dimensions that should be to the liking of you all. Technologie, accessories, snacks, weapons, as well as clothing styles."

Red Robin shared a glance with his friends, a silent communication but before he once again could say anything Impulse was already by the table going through the stuff. They could here his 'oh's and 'ah's, which inevitably made them curious and they wandered over too. Klarion was not acting hostile at all yet but Red Robin did not trust that so he kept the which boy in clear view the entire time.

"Rob! You gotta see this! That actual futuristic Tech!"

"Look at these snacks."

"These accessories don't look to bad..."

His eye twitched when he noticed Klarion was sporting a smug look. Red Robin had to ask now, because this was not normal for the other. "Okay usually you would have started some big shot chaos plan by now. I don't buy this peace offering act and your way to formal talking. So what is going on?"

The other three, thankfully in Red Robins opinion, finally looked away from the tempting gifts and also turned their attention fully on Klarion. Who's smug smile falter as he let out a sigh and stared at them with what they could only describe as a frustrated look.

"My mom is planning to visit me."

"And?" Impulse asked between munching on three different bags of chips that where on the table.

"And he believes I am friends with you idiots."

They stared slack jawed. Impulse was pinching himself like he couldn't believe what they had just heard. Did one of their Villains, just informed them that their mom believes they were friends? Red Robin was starting to think he might be in a sleep deprived Hallucination.

"Why would she?" Wonder Girl questioned next to which Klarion glared at her with fire in his eyes.

"First of, my mom uses the pronouns he/Him. Be rude to my mom and I will find a way to make your life a permanent hell on earth." Wonder Girl blinked lifting her hands as in a sign of peace. "Second, my mom is under the believe that i work with heroes not against them. I do not have the heart to disappoint him after everything that happened in the past. So I embellished the truth a little."

"A little?" Superboy retorted sarcastically, to which they caught a light blush dusting the which boy's cheeks.

"Look my sister threw me under the bus and my mom wants to meet my friends now! So I need you idiots to play nice with me for when he visits!"

"And we will do that because?" Red Robin crossed his arms, watching their villain sceptically still not really buying this entire act. This was to strange of an behaviour change. Something was up, and he was going to get behind it.

Klarion on the other hand was starting to panic internally. His plan was not as he had hoped. The presents he had specifically gotten from other dimensions with what he believed was their interests did not work to make them simply accept his request. This was the last time he would listen to old man Vlad on how to bribe humans, he wasted his entire week on getting all that stuff. His mom was going to show up soon enough he need to have them act as his friends by then so he could remove the magic barrier. Or else his mom would notices he faked everything.

They left him no choice. He would have to throw his pride away for the sole reason to not disappoint his mom.

All four Young Justice Heroes blinked as Klarion suddenly threw himself on the ground before them into a pleading position.

"Please! I beg you, just for the time my mom is here. Please act like my friends!"

"I didn't think Klarion was a mama's boy...." Impulse whispered to the rest of them in pure disbelief as they stared stunned at the kneeling witch boy.

Cut to the heroes that noticed their teens were missing.....

"Where is he?" Batman growled at the Constantine who was sighing tiredly.

"Look mate, the way you and the other Spandex wearing friends explained it, made it sound like they got summoned by a being of the Infinit Realms." The blond man sighed lighting another cigarette eying the four heroes, Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman and Flash. Zatanna was behind him pouring over a book about the realms and trying to find a tracking spell to trace it back and to where they could have been summoned.

"Don't you have something like a tracker on your boy?" Batman only growled something under his breath to which the Brite couldn't help to arch and eyebrow. Constantine was going to say something sarcasting as Deadman suddenly appeared a panicked look on him. "The Ghost King has chosen to come to our dimension."

"Say bloody what now?" All attention that had been on the heroes and their problem of missing teenage heroes turned now to Deadman and the news he brought with him. "The ghost, shades and spirits talked, for the king has decided to visit our Dimension. They are in an uproar, no one knows of why our King is on his way."

"Bloody fucking hell!" Constantine cursed. "We are fucking screwed! Isn't that guy a fucking tyrannical eldrich war maniac?!"

Deadman nodded solemnly and Constantine uttered another hearty and colourful 'fuck'. While the heroes present exchanged worried glances, not only were their kids missing but now a, by the sounds of it, highly dangerous being decided to appear in their dimension? Batman couldn't help but think that there had to be a connection to the missing teens and this.

Meanwhile in the Infinite Realms the Ghost King Castle...

Danny smoothed out his fur trimmed cape and adjusted his crown so it was floating nicely and evenly on his head. Today was the day he would get to meet his sons friends. He needed to make a good first impression. That was why he had chosen to take on his Ghost King form for this. With the wave of his hand he made an ice mirror appear before him, checking how he was looking once again. Once satisfied he nodded to himself looking over towards Fright Knight who was holding the plate of cookies he had baked himself. It was the fifth batch, and the only one that didn't turn out burned. He had needed Jazz help for this one to turn out well. It was only proper if he brought some cookies for the kids. Also he would have loved to bring his families fudge but... the last time he had tried making them had turned into a disaster.

"Thanks Frighty. Do you think Klarion's friends will like these? Wait don't answer! If they don't like them I will just get something else to thank them for taking care of my boy." Danny rambled on as he glanced at the plate of cookies in his hands. Why was he so nervous? He was just going to get to meet his little boy's friends. Sure his boy had dropped some stories about them and his adventures with them here and there. But hearing stories and meeting the kids were two different things.

Shaking his head Danny put on his best smile as he summoned a portal to Klarions apartment in the 43th Dimension of Earth. It was time to visit his boy in the place he had made his second home and thank the people that looked after his kid.

[littlelostmoon]

hi! can i request a luke x reader where reader is a medbay worker in the rebellion who meets luke when he needs an injury treated? (bonus points if he got injured in a really embarrassing way lol)

meeting luke as a med-bay worker a/n this was a really cute idea, hope i did it justice ♡ also i'm so scared of mischaracterizing luke it's not even funny . . . tags gender neutral reader. sfw. blood & injuries. extra fluffy.

you hear a low male voice coming from outside the med-bay. "go on, kid. quit whining and get in there."

"i told you, it's not that bad—"

a boy stumbles into the small main area of the medical base, a hand splayed along his back as if he'd just been shoved. you can practically see the thoughts turning in his head; he's sincerely hoping that the room is too busy to notice him. all hope dwindles from his eyes when you approach him per protocol.

upon seeing him up close, you recognize him from from descriptions that have made their rounds in the little community of two-hundred or so echo base personnel— the blonde-tatooine-farmer-turned heroic-pilot. you were rather new to hoth's medic workforce but didn't mind a popular face. he'd be just like any other (nervous) patient.

"commander skywalker, is that right?" somehow, you had gotten him to cooperate and sit on the small cot in your office; it's a humble space with an even humbler amount of equipment. due to shipments becoming... scattered, all 'advanced' gadgets were rationed out to the more experienced.

"that's me." he shifted in his seat. "but, uhm, you don't have to..."

you eye him and wait.

"just 'luke' is fine."

"okay, luke. are you here by choice?"

"no. a friend of mine, his name's han— made me come in here," he says.

pulling a pair of thin gloves on, you're finally able to eye the patch of dried blood on his forehead. it travels up to his hairline, matting some of the hair there. "i guessed as much. i see what han was concerned about, though."

he tenses up a fraction from the proximity, but you must move in to get a better look. from what you can tell, and with all things considered, the injury is minor.

you wring out a cloth and press it to the injury, lightening your touch when he winces. "that hurt?"

"no, no."

the both of you fall quiet as you clean the blood up— beneath it lies a superficial cut and a decent-sized bruise. he wordlessly allows you to apply some antibacterial solution to it, murmuring something about how happy he is that it doesn't sting. several minutes pass like this. you, lost in concentration. him, the stillest statue.

luke still avoids your gaze when you finish and pluck a small clear-backed bandaid from your drawer, one that wouldn't get stuck in his hair. "how'd this happen, anyhow?"

"is that important?" he asks, ruffling his hair on the unscathed side.

at first, you think he might be rude or secretive, one of those 'i don't need to tell you my business' types that sometimes make their way under your care. but when he glances up at you through his eyelashes, you can tell one thing for sure. he's embarrassed. you lean away from your work on his forehead and fold his chart over, holding it within view. "sorry, protocol. all injuries must be documented."

"oh, well," he flushes. "i was working on my x-wing. one of the other pilots accidentally dropped his wrench on my hand when i was under there."

your gaze drops to his left hand, which he's moved to his knee. the back of his knuckles do look a little purple. this doesn't explain it all, though.

he sighs. "i guess... it startled me, and i tried to sit up. you know, while under the fighter. still."

"okay." you turn a full one-eighty away from him, partially to scribble down what he'd just told you, and partially to hide your smile.

luke sees right through you, somehow. a complete stranger. "what is it?"

"forgive me," you whisper, a little confused by the ordeal. "i don't come across many stories like that."

a pause takes over the moment. he smiles for the first time since he entered the med-bay. it's rather sweet.

to make room for the other patients that are inevitably waiting to be seen (and to tamper down the little tiny tug in your chest when he smiled— you're a medic, for maker's sake), you spend the final minutes carefully bandaging his forehead and sending him on his way.

later, you subtly ask your favorite co-workers to call you in if luke skywalker ever stumbles through the door. you know, a second time.

[beomqu]

Front Row - (smau)

guitarist! mark x fem! reader

💿summary: it is a habit of y/n to attend ENCT's festival every year and this year isn't any different. while enjoying the festival and waiting for her friend's favourite artist to perform they stand in front row of a band they have never seen before.

🎞genre: college au!, fluff, suggestive jokes, angst????, slowburn, everything stands in y/n's way to bag fine shyt

🔄status: on-going

💌notes: ahhhh my first smau everrr!!! im honestly very scared i might not be consistent😭 but if the feedback is positive i'll probably try harder! sorry for any mistakes ahead. also im not an iphone user so if its not 'aesthetic' enough sorryyyy

Slower updates after september bc of SCHOOL (boo)❌

🗒taglist: open!

started: july 12, 2024

ended: tba!

MASTERLIST

y/n's friendgroup mark's friendgroup

1. RYUJIN?!

2. jaemin's stalking skills

3. now we wait...

4. (Don't) let me cook

5. Cat sisters (written)

6. Jonas brothers

7. Thirst trap

8. Supporting a small business

9. Open practice #2 part 1

10. Open practice #2 part 2 (written)

11. Performance secured

12. Roblox buddies

13. Wait... I'm literally goated

14. ons

15. 🏀❌

16. A DATE????

17. discord (😸)

18. FUCK mark lee

19. lame ash

20. not a date

21. drunken night

22. we're NOT fucking

23. $100 is worth the pain

24. L word

25. everyone is homosexual

26. Jaemin's ip adress is 192.158.1.38

27. HE WANTS to get to know ME

28. mark lee getting passed around (not fake)

29. free ice cream free head

30. date w fine shyt (y/n compeletely partially fucks up once again) (written)

31. mark lee look alike contest (gone wrong)

32. no more secret

33. b-b-b-BLOCKED

34.

35.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Can you do one where reader is a 5th lord and also used to be in a relationship with Donna. Their breakup was pretty nasty between them and the tension is always thick at meetings or anywhere else but reader is still in love with Donna. One night reader decides to go Donna to talk but then it turns to makeup/hate sex and they decide to get back together.

P.a thank you for your Donna stories I love your writing so much!

Yesss!!! I'm sorry about the delay!! Thank you for your request and your support!!! I hope you like it, anon! Sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))))

I can't hate you

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, 5th Lord! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Minors DNI, fluff, angst, Donna being Donna

Word count: 6,890

Summary: You knew she hated you, but you still love her...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!!I love you all!!!

“Damn,” you lamented, pushing away from the table and sinking onto the couch. “Great, a meeting is just what I needed.”

The afternoon light streaming through the window was sad, or so it seemed. Everything had seemed sad and empty since that day.

Living in that village couldn't be synonymous with joy and jubilation, but at least you saw some meaning, some harmony in the snow, in the black birds crossing the cloudy sky, in your own existence.

You never asked for mercy, pity, or salvation from the monotonous life you lived. Your family left a long time ago, leaving only the memory of their past. They were nobles, yes, charged with protecting and caring for the forest that kept the village a secret from prying eyes.

You'd heard stories of nobility, of a renowned family name associated with you, but you always knew that it wouldn't guarantee you a better life, at least not in a place like that. Of all that was once your family, only you remained, isolated in what was once a mansion, and now only partially habitable ruins.

You were happy; you didn't need help, but still, you got it.

Mother Miranda saw something in you, something she herself had overlooked for the past 20 years, something that, according to the witch, the Gods whispered to her. Well, you weren't particularly happy in your solitude, and the winter cold would eventually kill you.

How could you have refused the hand she offered you?

As in many fictional stories, it wasn't unconditional help; it was a pact with the devil, a silent agreement that would take much more than your soul. You remembered the pain, the sensation of watching life slip through your fingers… You remembered the Cadou writhing before entering your body.

Then, the light came.

As if it were a religious scripture, you rose from that old stretcher, disoriented but radiant, much stronger, different…

(Y/N) had died, but from her ashes Lady (Y/N) was reborn, a new servant of Mother Miranda, the Fifth Lord. Your family's noble past influenced the priestess's decision to include you in the village's decisions, to add a picture of you to the altar of the old chapel.

If it hadn't been for your family's past… what would have become of you?

You preferred not to answer that question.

A gift from the Gods, or so Miranda called the subtle changes in your appearance. Yes, you would remain 20 for the rest of your life, paying a price: marks on your face that resembled the roots of a tree, which you would make sense of soon after.

Around your dilapidated home, flowers began to bloom and the orchard began to bear fruit long before its time as well as the trees seemed to move, to twist as you passed by them. That was the power your new status gave you, the price of eternal life, and the tireless duty to protect the village and maintain the loyalty to Mother Miranda.

The Fifth Lord, the youngest of all, but not the strangest. Unlike your new “siblings”, you decided to use your gifts to help the poor villagers you had once been part of. Destroyed crops, infertile lands, vermin that fed on the labor of others... These began to be your responsibilities, and thanks to your skill, you managed to make the local inhabitants thank the Gods and Mother Miranda for their survival.

You tried, for a weak moment, to relate to your old friends like before, but nothing was the same, nor would it ever be. The excessive respect and fear towards you were unbearable, and you soon understood that your place in that world of darkness had changed irrevocably.

Of course, the rest of the Lords accepted you without question, teaching you your duties, accompanying you on this new path in your life. But as the years passed, those people you once feared became friends, almost family, as Miranda liked to say.

Everything would have been perfect if you hadn't fallen in love with one of them, with the lady in black who gave you nightmares as a child, the ventriloquist, Donna Beneviento.

The cold felt much more piercing than usual, and part of your young personality reproached you for not having given the priestess an excuse to avoid that meeting.

You knew Donna would be there, faithful, but cold as ever. The villagers bowed and greeted you respectfully, but your head was far from the road, right next to her, remembering everything you had experienced together, everything that had happened between Lady Beneviento and you.

But this wasn't the time to remember, but to act, to pretend that nothing that could alter the status quo in which the five of you lived was happening, nothing that could disturb the peace, the control that Mother Miranda had over you.

“(Y/N), it's been a while,” a seductive voice echoed off the stone walls leading to the underground cathedral. It was Lady Dimitrescu, the most senior Lord, and the one who enjoyed being so the most.

“Alcina,” you greeted politely, earning one of her dark smiles.

You knew she was speaking to you, that she was saying something, but you didn't listen. Your eyes fixed on the figure sitting at the back of the room, the black figure who had once been your beloved, Donna.

Your heart stopped for a moment as you walked to your seat, one next to hers, as if fate were laughing at you.

“Donna,” you sighed in a timid greeting, trying not to tremble, not to remember anything that had happened in the past few months and to appear serious and authoritative, something truly complicated when your senses recognized that scent of lavender, that scent that brought back so many memories.

The lady in black didn't move, although you knew that behind the black veil lay a gaze fixed on you. The fabric danced as she turned away from your gaze, denying you even the slightest greeting.

“Don't talk to us, silly,” the Angie doll, Donna's faithful companion, rested on her lap, directing those harsh words towards you. “You silly, silly…”

“Hi, Angie, you look well,” you said, making an effort to separate the doll from its owner, to make a distinction between doll and woman, believing maybe that way you wouldn't feel so hurt.

“Shut up, tree-hugger,” the doll replied as the lady shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “What part of I don't want to talk to you don't you understand?”

“Ugh, okay,” you said, slumping into your seat and crossing your arms as you vaguely nodded to the rest of your siblings, who seemed very attentive, too attentive.

“Welcome, children,” Mother Miranda said, extending her arms at the altar, giving a silent start to that awkward meeting. “Reports.”

One by one, you gave reports of your work, of your discreet lives to the priestess. Surely she cared about nothing but knowing that no one would betray her. Sometimes you feared her, other times you hated her.

Over all those years, you had felt many things for Miranda: admiration, affection, fear... but it didn't take long for you to know her true heart, to discover that Mother Miranda only cared about Mother Miranda.

Of course, you weren't the only one with that point of view, something that made you befriend Heisenberg, but it was irrelevant. No matter what that woman looked like, she had given you those powers, eternal life… You should be grateful, right?

“Why don't you sit somewhere else? You're making me nervous,” a husky whisper reached your ears as the lady next to you moved.

It had been so long since you'd heard Donna's sweet voice that you jumped, a smile crossing your face before your brain could interpret her hurtful words. You opened your mouth to answer, but shook your head, sighing.

“Sorry, this happens to be my spot,” you said in a sour tone, a tone that was totally different from what you really felt, but that your pride couldn't suppress.

“Sciocchezze, you have much more room on that side,” Donna replied, looking away, as if looking at you was painful for her too.

“I'm not going to get up from my spot because it annoys you,” you whispered, with a haughty look on your face. “You should move instead.”

“No”

“Fine, then don't complain,” you said with a wry smile. “Shut up, you're not letting me listen”

“Are you telling me to shut up?” the lady in black said with a gasp of surprise. “You?”

“I don't know why you're surprised... Oh, of course, you were usually the one who has that right, weren’t you?” you quipped making the lady clench her fists in her lap and the Angie doll giggle discreetly.

“Chuidi il becco, I don't want to hear or see you, you're annoying me,” Donna protested, turning her head away from you again, visibly nervous, just like you.

“You started it,” you said in a satisfied whisper, ending this absurd argument, the last thing you needed. “If I'm annoying you that much, sit down there.”

“I'm not moving from here,” the dollmaker stated. “This has been my seat longer than you've been alive.”

“Well, we have a problem then,” you challenged, raising your eyebrows and crossing your arms, pretending to listen to Miranda again.

“Mannaggia...” the lady hissed, shifting in her seat, cradling Angie so her laughter wouldn't attract attention.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” the doll mocked, reprimanded by her owner, who moved as far away from you as possible.

You groaned and shook your head again, breathing increasingly ragged, nervous, and tense.

“…that's why we must make the villagers...” Miranda's speech entered your ears, but all you could think about was the lavender, Donna, that woman you once loved, and who was now just a stranger to you.

“By the way, stupida,” the brunette whispered again, leaning towards you mockingly. “You left a dress at my house, that pretty dress I made you.”

“Hmm,” you murmured, not paying much attention to her. “I'll go get it.”

“Don't even think about coming near my house,” Donna replied, her knuckles white from the pressure. “Don't bother trying to get it back. I burned it in the fireplace.”

“Great, how mature of you,” you said amused, with a sarcastic smile.

“Ladies... I can't believe it,” Miranda's voice sounded much closer, her tone warning, a warning, like her gaze, directed at you.

You both lowered your heads, realizing that every eye in the room was on you. Your argument hadn't been as discreet as it seemed.

“I'm sorry, Mother,” you whispered, bending down to show regret.

“You're like little girls,” the priestess complained, her gaze piercing and menacing. “If you're done arguing, may I continue with the meeting?”

“It was (Y/N)!” Angie shrieked, pointing at you accusingly with a nasty squeak. “She's bothering my Donna!”

“Gods...” Miranda whispered, resting her fingers on her temples.

“What? That's a lie,” you protested, standing up from your chair. “Mother Miranda, I...”

“Silence! Stop acting like irrational teenagers and pay attention... You're exhausting,” the witch shrieked. “Do I have to act like a mother? You, (Y/N), sit over there,” she ordered, pointing at the bench Alcina was occupying.

Growling and giving Donna one last furious look, you obeyed, ignoring Angie's taunts, who seemed pleased with her absurd victory.

“Mm, dear...” Alcina murmured when the tension dissipated, lighting a cigarette. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

“What? I didn't do anything,” you protested, paying more attention to Miranda to avoid another reprimand. “She's the one who...”

“What a pity,” sighed the lady in white, shaking her head. “You two made such a lovely couple...”

“Yeah,” you said dryly, unable to avoid glancing sideways at the lady in black, who seemed, only seemed, to be doing the same.

“You tarnish the name of love with your childish behavior, my dear. Can't you give each other a second chance?” Alcina whispered, much more discreetly, taking advantage of Miranda's distraction with Moreau. You shrugged, not taking your eyes off that black veil.

“I'd love to, but it's impossible. She... she doesn't want to listen to me,” you confessed, revealing that those feelings you had for Donna were still there, that they had never left.

“Poor Donna, I still don't know what you did to her...”

“I didn't do anything,” you protested immediately, clenching your fists in the same way as your former lover. “It was all because of her stupid jealousy.”

“Um, of course, your lack of patience with someone like her had nothing to do with it, right?” the lady in white chided you, pretending to listen to the priestess.

“Uh, it’s not...” you said, frowning, but falling silent when Miranda's gray eyes fixed on you again.

“Well, there's always a place in my castle for a beauty like you, my dear, but I wouldn't want to take away from Donna what she considers hers; that would be very wrong, wouldn't it?” the lady of the castle suggested, making a blush spread across your cheeks.

“I wish she would still consider me hers,” you murmured in an imperceptible tone, feeling a pang of pain as you looked again at your beloved, who seemed to be ignoring you.

“Then do something about it, my dear, before your stupid arguments upset Mother Miranda any further. I couldn't bear to lose you both.”

After what felt like an eternity, the meeting came to an end. Of course, you didn't hear any of Miranda's words; all you could think about was your feelings. Maybe Alcina was right, and it was time to fix this mess.

You couldn't think of anything else. You dreamed of Donna, you thought of her every moment, of the day you could feel her skin against yours again, the day the whispers of love would once again flow from her lips.

“Donna, wait,” you said, grabbing the lady who passed in front of you, holding her in place.

With a furious gasp, Donna pulled away, scorning your approach, making you swallow your pride and your words sound like a plea.

“Lasciami,” she whispered, turning her back on you while Angie made mocking gestures in your direction.

“Oh, come on, I want to talk to you and...” you insisted with that pathetic, pleading tone, chasing the lady outside.

“I don't want to talk to you, do you hear me?” she said in a cold tone, causing the rest of the Lords to look at you curiously as they walked. “You're lucky you're a Lord, and that my powers don't affect you.”

“Are you threatening me?” you asked incredulously. “Donna, please, I just want to talk.”

“I have nothing to talk to you about,” the lady said, ignoring you again and starting to walk away.

“Donna…” you sighed, exhausted, watching her figure disappear into the snow.

At least she'd talked to you, and that was much more than there had been in the last few weeks, but it wasn't enough.

When you met Lady Beneviento, everything was different. Donna was a strange woman about whom you'd heard terrible rumors, but she was still intriguing, interesting.

Your skill with plants had formed a kind of bond with that strange dollmaker, working together on an experiment, on Mother Miranda's orders. Until that moment, you believed what the villagers said about her was true, but little by little, you discovered that those claims were far from reality.

Donna was sick, yes, her mind had been damaged since birth, and it worsened after losing her family in a terrible way, but… But the word "monster," with which your old friends defined her, differed quite a bit from what you could see.

Intelligent, elegant, sweet… Those were the adjectives your mind formed every time you saw her, spent time with her. Her shy laugh became an addiction for you; her hands were the only thing you could think about when you returned home.

Like a romance book, a movie that spoke of an impossible love, that curious friendship you developed became a need as pressing as breathing. You discovered the true woman hidden behind that black veil, the beautiful woman that was Donna Beneviento, learning about her concerns, her story, her tastes…

Afternoon tea was almost obligatory, and a wide smile spread across your face as her voice seduced you with beautiful words, with a honeyed accent that stirred your whole body. Donna was sick, yes, she had problems, but you were always there to solve them, to calm her madness with words of affection, with love.

And finally, you managed to see her face, the beauty hidden behind that horrible black cloth. The deformity that adorned her skin was a trifle compared to the delicacy of her features, the brilliance of her single eye.

She was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen.

Then, one day, a day you couldn't remember since time ceased to have meaning for someone immortal like you, your lips tasted the softness of hers, melting into a kiss, a first kiss of love.

You thought love wasn't meant for someone like you, but you were completely wrong. No one stopped you from loving each other, no one stopped two Lords from finding solace in eternal kisses, in promises of love, of affection, in nights of passion.

She used the flowers, you made them grow. If it weren't for your sad past, you'd think you were always destined to be by her side. The roots that ran through your face were a reflection of her scar.

Everything was perfect; your life was full of love, affection, lavender... But it didn't last forever. A few months after leaving your old mansion and moving in with her, the problems began.

You knew her madness, her sick mind, but the more time you spent with her, the more evident her problems became.

Your duties as a Lord still existed, and that included visits to the castle and the factory. Being a sociable girl, you always offered to be a sort of messenger for Mother Miranda, and you never paid attention to it. Donna did.

You knew about her jealousy, even before a romantic relationship, but it reached limits that became unbearable. No matter how many times you said nothing had happened at the castle, that the three Dimitrescu sisters were just playing at seducing you.

Donna never believed you, and that began to take its toll. It was the beginning of the end.

An argument, an absurd argument, led to the end of the love of your life. You tried to reason with her, but you couldn't, and that drove you to despair, forcing you to do something crazy: to leave the Beneviento estate forever.

Your breakup was widely reported in the village and among the rest of the Lords. No one said anything at first, but you could feel their glances, their accusations that you were the one to blame. Donna never spoke about it, but as time passed, the tension seemed to grow even more intense.

That meeting wasn't the only one in which Mother Miranda had to reprimand you; there were many more, many Masses cut short because of the lady in black's irrational hatred for you. It was an increasingly untenable situation, and the worst part was that you had always, always loved her, and you continued to do so.

“I don't know how to dance; I'll be terrible at it,” you said nervously, taking the hand she offered you.

“Relax, tesoro, I'll show you," she whispered, gently grabbing your waist, moving you to the rhythm of a beautiful song.

The memories continued to haunt your mind when you got home; the flowers that adorned your old mansion were beginning to wither. All of nature seemed to take pity on you, and you couldn't, and wouldn't, do anything about it.

“Hey!” you protested, wiping the flour from your face. “I thought you were going to teach me how to cook!”

“It was Angie,” Donna said amused, starting a flour fight full of kisses, laughter, love, passion...

“Shit, Donna,” you complained, clutching one of her many love letters that she sent you through her doll, one of those small joys that always waited under your door.

Your thumb ran over the ink, the elegant handwriting of those old-fashioned letters in a language you didn't know. Sadness affected the trees, the plants; your heartbeat seemed like echoes of a better time, one where her lips could soothe any sorrow.

“Alcina's right,” you murmured to yourself, folding the note and putting it in a small box filled with all those painful memories. “I can't forget her, I have to do something.”

It was risky, but you had to try.

The dark forest shuddered with every step you took toward the path, as if aware of your intentions, of the love you hoped to feel again. You had to talk to her, try to reason with her sick mind so she'd understand that you loved her long before you met her, before you kissed her, and that you would always do.

“Okay, let's see...” you said to yourself when you arrived at the waterfall mansion, wondering what you would say, what words you would use in your defense. “No, not that...” you denied, going down the front steps, unable to concentrate.

The sound of the water brought new memories to your mind, clouding your judgment even more, making the idea of ​​returning home sound better and better in your head.

“I don't know what I'm doing. She'll never forgive me,” you whispered, rubbing your eyes, going back down the steps. Maybe the next day you would try again.

A beam of light stopped your steps, along with a creaking sound you knew too well. The mansion door opened slowly, forming a dark figure in the snow, a terrifyingly recognizable one.

“(Y/N)” Donna's voice reached your ears, causing you to turn around, going completely blank.

“Donna...” Was the only thing you could say, nerves preventing your voice from coming out naturally. “Donna, I... How did you know I was here?”

“Fiori...” she whispered, crossing her arms and turning around.

“Flowers?” you asked confused, to which Donna stopped, turning her veiled head and making an unexpected gesture for you, one that seemed to indicate that you should follow her. “What...?”

“Are you just going to stand there? Vieni,” she demanded when you didn't respond.

“Fine,” you said, shaking your head and following your former lover into the mansion.

Everything was just as you remembered. The musty smell brought memories back to your mind and the portrait on the stairs stirred your nerves, sending a familiar warmth over your skin. You felt at home, but the most painful thing was that it never would be again.

“There,” the lady murmured, pointing to a vase in the entryway, one with flowers that shone brightly, as if they had just sprouted. “Those flowers were dried, and their revival could only mean one thing: that you were nearby.”

“Oh,” you nodded, rubbing your hands together. “I guess knowing I was coming kept you from kicking me off your property, huh?”

“Hmm, I've had a few minutes to get ready,” Donna replied, crossing her arms. “I guess you're here for your dress.”

“I thought you burned it,” you whispered cautiously, studying the posture of the woman in black, approaching slowly.

“No,” she said, her voice cold and dry.

“Um, okay... erm...” you stammered, scratching the back of your neck, unsure of what to say, how to bring love back into those walls. “Donna, that's not necessary,” you said, approaching her, ready to remove the black veil, something she rejected by moving away from you.

“Don't touch me,” she growled, making you grit your teeth.

“Oh, come on, you're a beautiful woman, Donna. I've told you a hundred times. Do you really have to put on that hideous thing to talk to me?” you said, trying unsuccessfully to push the black fabric away.

“You also told me you'd never leave me,” the woman replied, moving further away from you, her tone spiteful. “You lied to me, (Y/N).”

“Ugh,” you gasped, opening your mouth but unable to find the words. “I wish I could talk to you like two normal people. Do you think you can do that?” you demanded, insisting, finally managing to pull back the black fabric and see her beauty once more.

“Lasciami!” Donna squealed, her one eye shining, red from crying. “Have you come to humiliate me?”

“No!” you squealed back, pushing the veil out of her reach. “I came to talk to you, Donna.”

“Parlare? What do you want to talk about, (Y/N)? I have nothing to talk to you about, I told you... give it back to me,” she demanded, reaching out her hand, starting a pointless fight over the veil.

Patience...

The lady of the castle's words, those accusatory ones, made you give up, returning the veil to Donna just as the situation was starting to get out of hand.

“Ugh, you're insufferable,” you protested, shaking your head as she pondered putting her veil back on. Finally, she decided to leave it, even though her gaze hurt you, the hatred in her eye piercing you mercilessly.

“So, why did you come to my house? To tell me how insufferable I am?” she asked ironically, dropping the fabric to the floor and kicking it nervously.

“Ugh, can't you forget your stupid pride for a moment? I'm the one who's come to talk to you,” you complained again, chasing the lady, who seemed to be comically running away from you, around the mansion. “Unbelievable, now you're running away from me?”

“Do you think I would run away from someone like you?” the lady said, a sinister smile on her face, leaning against the dining room table. “I could have you throw off the cliff, (Y/N)”

“That's funny,” you said haughtily, walking toward her in a petulant manner. “I'm not some villager you can manipulate at will, Donna. We're on the same level, remember?”

“Hm, I don't know what Mother Miranda saw to name you a Lord,” Donna murmured in a low but arrogant tone. “You would have been better off as a concubine of the castle.”

“And you would have been better off as the lunatic dollmaker you were before Miranda took pity on you,” you replied, hurt by her words, slightly regretting it, but standing your ground, taking a breath. “It's absurd, Donna, it's absurd that we continue arguing like this.”

“No, (Y/N), or rather, Lady (Y/N),” Donna said, raising her eyebrow. “You are Lady (Y/N), I am Lady Beneviento. You better respect me.”

“Yes, of course,” you said in a mocking tone. “Excuse me, Lady Beneviento, but you didn't call me that way when we were making love, remember?”

“Oh, you mean before you betrayed me? Stupida...” the lady hissed, clearly offended by your comment.

“I never betrayed you,” you whispered in a dark tone, glancing sideways at some plants that seemed to be ruffled by your nerves, making you take a deep breath and try to relax. “I've told you every way I could, but you never listened.”

“You mean you lied to me every way you could,” Donna corrected.

“Ugh, you're...”

“Hey, you two!” Angie interrupted the argument, comically walking over to the dining room table. “Will you all just shut up? You're annoying!”

“Get out, Angie!” you shrieked in unison, causing the doll to flee in terror.

“How dare you address Angie in that tone?” Donna snarled, approaching you and grabbing the collar of your dress. “Show more respect. You may be a Lord, but you don't want to make me angry.”

“Mm, I know,” you said, removing her hand from your clothes with a gasp, but remaining calm. “I know you, Donna, better than you think.”

“Congratulazioni, (Y/N)...” she hissed, pulling away slightly, but maintaining a furious glare.

“Yeah, whatever,” you sneered, straightening your clothes. “Oh, where did that Lady (Y/N) go?  Who's disrespecting me now?”

“You don't deserve my respect, stupida; you betrayed me, you cheated on me!” the lady shrieked, stamping her foot again, echoing off the mansion walls.

“I never cheated on you! You were the one who imagined it all! You and your stupid paranoia!”

Donna fell silent, but soon after, she laughed mockingly, nervously, shaking her head.

“You still have the nerve to deny what happened at the castle. You're bold, I'll give you that,” she murmured, turning her back on you with a tired sigh.

“Nothing happened at the castle,” you said, lowering your tone as well, approaching the lady slowly. “Nothing happened between Daniela and me.”

“I saw the way she looked at you! How she tried to seduce you!” the lady in black exclaimed, turning around, making you back away again. “I may be sick, but I'm not blind, (Y/N).”

“You only saw what you wanted to see, Donna,” you said, trying to calm down, trying not to get intoxicated by the lavender. “You know exactly what those girls are like. I'd never...”

“You'd never what?” she interrupted, without moving away from you, facing you directly. “You'd never leave me?”

“If I left, it was because you didn’t listen to me,” you defended yourself, easing the argument a bit, but maintaining the same tension. “It was impossible to reason with you.”

“You broke my heart. I guess I should have made you a hot bath to clean your filthy body, filthy with your betrayal, vero?” she said in a sour tone, leaning closer and pointing at you.

“You still think I cheated on you,” you said, unsure if it was for Donna, or for yourself. “You never trusted me, Donna.”

“How can I trust you?” the lady asked, waving her arms wildly. “You're... you're a beautiful girl. Everyone wants you. I-I can't stand the way they looked at you, wanting to taste you, to steal your warmth from my body.”

“You're beautiful too,” you said, bringing your hand to her cheek, a gesture she, of course, rejected with a sad moan, looking at you with a moist eye. “And that doesn't mean I think every person who comes near you wants to sleep with you, Donna. Your jealousy was completely irrational.”

“Irrational... che divertente...” she whispered, frowning, unable to meet your gaze. “That stupid girl tried to kiss you. Do you really think that's irrational?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, seeing some light in that dark argument.

“I'm not one of your dolls, Donna. I can act on my own, you know?” you stated, your voice confident. “Did you not think for a moment I'd pull away?”

The lady in black hesitated, speechless, and quickly approached, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you into a passionate, unpredictable kiss, but one that gave you the warmth you were missing.

“Donna...” you sighed, placing your hand on your assaulted lips.

“See? You haven't pulled away,” she said with a satisfied smile, leaning back on the table.

“Sure I haven’t,” you said, moving closer again. “I haven't pulled away because... because I wanted you to kiss me.”

“I don't believe you,” Donna whispered, your lips very close to hers again, her eye closed and a tear running down her cheek.

“I don't need you to believe me, just for you to kiss me again,” you sighed, now attacking her lips, kissing her passionately, letting yourself be carried away by that spark her accusatory kiss ignited in your heart.

“You just want to... tempt me,” she said among kisses, grabbing your waist, your dress, your face... running her fingers along the roots of your cheeks while your tongues played tirelessly, reaffirming how much you had missed each other.

“Did I succeed?” you asked, amused, moving your hands to her black hair as your bodies danced, wanting to mingle.

“No,” she said, pulling away so she could unbutton your dress, gasping at the effect of her teeth on your neck, her hands beneath your clothes.

“Whatever you say,” you said, shaking your head as your fingers played with the buttons of her black blouse and your leg was manipulated by her nails digging into your skin.

There were no more words, just kisses, just hands roaming over a body they thought they'd lost. The caresses of her soft hands on your skin made you moan, deepening your work on her lips as your legs unconsciously moved toward the sofa.

“You're disrespecting me,” Donna accused you among gasps as your playful hand pushed her onto the sofa, while hers pulled your body to rest on top of hers, your legs on either side of her hips.

“Good,” you said contentedly, cupping her partially exposed breasts, pushing the black fabric of her blouse away from the perfect view of her skin.

She looked at you, but couldn't suppress the instinct to devour you again, to move her hips with yours in a hot, tense dance filled with hate, love, and passion.

“Y-You've always been the weakest Lord, (Y/N),” Donna said, pushing you down from her body as she ripped off your bra with her hand, positioning herself on top of you, dominating you.

“That's not what I think,” you whispered, biting her ear, causing her to protest with a moan as you squeezed one of her now-exposed breasts, throwing the fabric that protected them across the room. “I bet you're dying for me to do it.”

“You're dying,” she accused you, hitting the couch as your hand slid up her skirt, touching the soft skin of her legs, making her even more nervous. “You tricked me into being at your mercy, and it's the opposite, (Y/N).”

“Mm, I suppose you're saying that because you're on top, right? I know it's not what you like, Donna,” you challenged, placing one of your legs between her thighs, making the lady in black falter, shivering at the contact. “I think you like being at my mercy...”

“Maybe in your dreams,” Donna said, moving quickly to remove the friction and tearing off your underwear with a sharp tug, sinking her hand into your already damp folds. “But they're just dreams, (Y/N)”

“Donna...” you moaned helplessly as her slender fingers skillfully ran over your body, circling your clit, making you lose your composure, forcing you to moan.

“Così bagnata...” the dollmaker whispered, sinking two fingers into your entrance without warning, still looking at you, letting you know she was in charge. “Now you realize what you lost.”

“Oh,” you moaned, fighting to keep your legs from moving too much from the contact, pulling the brunette into a sloppy kiss as she worked her fingers inside you, caressing your walls, curling when she knew you needed it.

“Are you enjoying this, stupida?” she asked, pulling your hair angrily, but not hurting you, forcing you to nod, to focus on her when in reality, you were too immersed in the pleasure you were receiving.

“Shut up,” you said after a deep moan, forcing your body to calm down, making Donna giggle with satisfaction, speeding up her work between your legs. “Have you been practicing since I've been gone?”

“Stupida...” she hissed, tugging at your hair again, sinking her teeth into one of your nipples, making you cry out in pleasurable pain coupled with her almost perfect movements. “I can feel you, (Y/N). I know you're close…”

You shook your head, but your face and your moans were unable to deny her words. Your hips bucked with every movement Donna made, and your lips claimed hers wildly, biting, licking, devouring everything within reach.

Sooner than you would have liked, ecstasy hit you, making your entire body tense, wrapping your walls around her fingers as you cried out in pleasure, squeezing your body against hers, kissing that wonderful lover you had.

“Just like I said, weak,” Donna whispered, sitting up and removing her fingers, forcing you to taste your orgasm, your pleasure.

“Do you think this is over?” you threatened, crawling across the couch before pushing the lady in black back and pinning her with your legs. “No, Donna, this has only just begun.”

“Dare to lay a hand on me...” the lady hissed, as your lips began to caress her skin, your nails scratching her legs, and your ears ignoring her words.

“I won't lay a hand on you,” you said, amused, tugging her panties down her ankles, keeping a firm hand on her chest, making her eye flutter closed.

Your teeth scraped the skin of her thighs, and her hands seemed erratic, tugging at your hair with barely any strength. Your mouth moved up and up until it reached its destination, her wet, intoxicating scent you soon tasted.

“Cazzo...” Donna protested as your lips brushed her skin, as your tongue mercilessly traced her folds, circling her clit, absorbing, enjoying every shy sound her mouth made.

“You're so wet... you're delicious, Donna,” you said in a moment of lucidity, leaving hatred and anger aside, remembering how you enjoyed her body, how you enjoyed nights of passion with her.

“Bugiarda...” the lady accused, pushing your head towards her again, forcing you to continue savoring her essence.

“Am I a liar? Well, then you won't want me to finish you,” you said amusedly, switching your mouth for your hand, stimulating the brunette in a way you knew was irresistible to her.

“If you stop, I'll kill you,” she said in a dark tone, pulling at your hair with a furious look, embarrassed by the pleasure your lips were giving to her.

You pretended not to want to kiss her again, to make her taste herself, to realize there was still something very strong between you. You doubted if it would have served any purpose.

“You can't kill me,” you said, stimulating her clit again, looking over her body, analyzing her expressions of pleasure.

“I advise you to use your mouth for more than just talking, stupida... it's not good for you to defy me,” she told you, pulling at your hair, burying your head between her legs.

“You can't kill me because...” you said, stopping again, caressing her delicious wetness with your fingers, inserting them slowly in her eager walls, making her moan shamefully. “… Because I know you still love me.”

Without waiting for a reply, your tongue ran over her wetness again, forming a subtle rhythm with your fingers, making the lady in black lose control of her language, whisper words you didn't understand, and moan uncontrollably.

“Sto...Sto per...” she said, pushing you away before her back tensed and her thighs squeezed your head tightly, feeling the embrace of her insides, the explosion of pleasure you could feel on your lips.

Neither of you said anything after that. There weren't a word of love, just silence as the two of you dressed slowly, unsure of what had really happened, how that involuntary act of passion had occurred.

“You've got what you wanted, you can go,” Donna said, buttoning her blouse and tucking her skirt into place, without looking at your face.

“You don't understand, Donna, this isn't what I came for,” you said, covering yourself in the same way, walking behind her.

“Oh, you came to talk, didn't you? And get fucked... that's what I've always been to you,” she said in a bitter tone, pushing your lost bra against your chest. “Go, per favore...”

“Donna, please, don't... don't make it so difficult,” you protested, chasing after your elusive lover again. “If you think I'm that way, you don't know me.”

“I thought I knew you... I thought I knew you, tesoro," Donna murmured, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I-It's of no use pretending to hate you. I'd like to hate you, but I can't.”

“Then don't hate me, my love...” you sighed, cupping her face in your hands. “We were both wrong, but...”

“I was wrong about you.”

“Ugh, Donna, please… Stop being so stubborn and listen to me,” you insisted, wiping away your tears as well. “I never, ever cheated on you. I rejected Daniela as soon as I could. That day I just wanted to be back with you. Every time I left, I wanted to be back with you, with the woman I loved and... and still love.”

“You... do you still love me?” she asked, with a different look, gently grabbing your wrists.

“Every day that passes without you is hell, Donna. Eternal life isn't worth it without you,” you confessed, making Donna lower her head. “And I know you feel the same.”

“Io... Io..." she stammered, blinking erratically. “Th-those things I said while we were making love, I'm not… I'm not like that.”

“I know…” you sighed, very close to her lips. “I would have preferred for you to love me like before, to hear you whisper in my ear while you take me…”

“Sono d’accordo,” she sighed, caressing your face, the roots of your cheeks, brushing back your hair, sticky with sweat.

“You agree? Do you mean about sex?” you joked, making her smile as she shook her head.

“No, tesoro… Eternal life is hell without you,” she whispered, before placing her lips on yours, in a different way, salty with tears.

“Let's try again, Donna… I love you.”

“Please, amore mio…”

[artsekey]

Disney's Wish

Look, Disney's Wish has been universally panned across the internet, and for good reason.

It’s just…kind of okay.

 When we sit down to watch a Disney film—you know, from the company that dominated the animation industry from 1989 to (arguably) the mid 2010’s and defined the medium of animation for decades—we expect something magnificent. Now, I could sit here and tell you everything that I thought was wrong with Wish, but if you’re reading this review, then I imagine that you’ve already heard the most popular gripes from other users across the web. So, let me focus in:

The biggest problem with Wish—in fact, the only problem with Wish—is Magnifico.

Whoa, that’s crazy! There’re so many things about Wish that could’ve been better! The original concept was stronger! The music was bad--

I hear you, I do. But stay with me here, okay? Take my hand. I studied under artists from the Disney renaissance. I teach an adapted model of Disney’s story pipeline at a University level. I spent a ridiculous amount of time getting degrees in this, and I am about to dissect this character and the narrative to a stupid degree.

First, we need to understand that a good story doesn’t start and end with what we see on the screen. Characters aren’t just fictional people; when used well, characters are tools the author uses (or in this case, the director) to convey their message to the audience. Each character’s struggle should in some way engage with the story’s message, and consequently, the story’s theme. Similarly, when we look at our protagonist and our antagonist, we should see their characters and their journeys reflected in one-another.

So, what went wrong between Asha & Magnifico in terms of narrative structure?

Act I

In Wish, we’re introduced to our hero not long into the runtime—Asha. She’s ambitious, caring, and community-oriented; in fact, Asha is truly introduced to the audience through her love of Rosas (in “Welcome to Rosas”).  She’s surrounded by a colorful cast of friends who act as servants in the palace, furthering her connection with the idea of community but also telling us that she’s not of status, and then she makes her way to meet Magnifico for her chance to become his next apprentice.

Quick aside: I'm not going to harp on Asha as a character in the context of Disney's overall canon. Almost every review I've seen covers her as a new addition to Disney's ever-growing repertoire of "Cute Quirky Heroines", and I think to be fair to Asha as an actor in the narrative, it serves her best to be weighed within the context of the story she's part of.

As Asha heads upstairs for her interview, we're introduced to the man of the hour: Magnifico. He lives in a tower high above the population of Rosas, immediately showing us how he differs from Asha; he’s disconnected from his community. He lives above them. He has status. While the broader context of the narrative wants us to believe that this also represents a sense of superiority, I would argue that isn’t what Magnifico’s introduction conveys; he's isolated.

Despite this distance, he does connect with Asha in “At All Costs”. For a moment, their goals and values align. In fact, they align so well that Magnifico sees Asha as someone who cares as much about Rosas as he does, and almost offers her the position.

… Until she asks him to grant Saba’s wish.

This is framed by the narrative as a misstep. The resonance between their ideals snaps immediately, and Magnifico says something along the line of “Wow. Most people wait at least a year before asking for something.”

This disappointment isn't played as coming from a place of power or superiority. He was excited by the idea of working with someone who had the same values as he did, who viewed Rosas in the same way he does, and then learns that Asha’s motivations at least partially stem from a place of personal gain.

Well, wait, is that really Asha's goal?

While it's not wholistically her goal, it's very explicitly stated & implied that getting Saba's wish granted is at least a part of it. The audience learns (through Asha's conversation with her friends before the interview) that every apprentice Magnifico has ever had gets not only their wish granted, but the wishes of their family, too!  Asha doesn’t deny that this is a perk that she’s interested in, and I don't think this is a bad thing.

So, Is Asha’s commitment to Saba selfless, or selfish? I’m sure the director wanted it to seem selfless, wherein she believes her family member has waited long enough and deserves his wish granted, but we can’t ignore the broader context of Asha essentially trying to… skip the line.

Then, we get our first point of tension. Magnifico reveals his “true colors” in snapping at Asha, telling her that he “decides what people deserve”. This is supposed to be the great motivator, it’s meant to incite anger in the audience—after all, no one gets to decide what you deserve, right? But unfortunately for the integrity of the film and the audience's suspension of disbelief, at least part of Magnifico’s argument is a little too sound to ignore:

Some wishes are too vague and dangerous to grant. Now, there’s visual irony here; he says this after looking at a 100 old man playing the lute. The idea that something so innocuous could be dangerous is absurd, and the audience is meant to agree.

... But we’ve also seen plenty of other wishes that might be chaotic—flying on a rocket to space, anyone? The use of the word vague is important, too—this implies wording matters, and that a wish can be misinterpreted or evolve into something that is dangerous even if the original intent was innocuous. His reasoning for people forgetting their wish (protecting them from the sadness of being unable to attain their dreams) is much weaker, but still justifiable (in the way an antagonist’s flawed views can be justified). The film even introduces a facet of Magnifico’s backstory that implies he has personal experience with the grief of losing a dream (in the destruction of his home), but that thread is never touched on again.

              What is the audience supposed to take from this encounter? If we’re looking at the director’s intent, I’d argue that we’ve been introduced to a well-meaning young girl and a king who’s locked away everyone’s greatest aspiration because he believes he deserves to have the power to decide who gets to be happy.

              But what are we shown? Our heroine, backed by her friends, strives to be Magnifico’s apprentice because she loves the city but also would really like to see her family's wishes granted. When this request is denied and she loses the opportunity to be his apprentice, she deems Magnifico’s judgement unfair & thus begins her journey to free the dreams of Rosas’ people.

              In fairness, Magnifico doesn’t exhibit sound judgement or kindness through this act of the film. He’s shown to be fickle, and once his composure cracks, he can be vindictive and sharp. He's not a good guy, but I'd argue he's not outright evil. He's just got the makings of a good villain, and those spikes of volatility do give us a foundation to work off of as he spirals, but as we’ll discuss in a bit, the foreshadowing established here isn’t used to the ends it implies.

              While I was watching this film, I was sure Magnifico was going to be a redeemable villain. He can’t connect with people because he's sure they value what he provides more than they value him (as seen in “At All Costs” and the aftermath), and Asha’s asking for more was going to be framed as a mistake. His flaw was keeping his people too safe and never giving them the chance to sink or swim, and he's too far removed from his citizens to see that he is appreciated. Asha does identify this, and the culmination of her journey is giving people the right to choose their path, but the way Magnifico becomes the “true” villain and his motivations for doing so are strangely divorced from what we’re shown in Act I.  

Act II:

His song, “This is the Thanks I Get!?” furthers the idea that Magnifico’s ire—and tipping point—is the fact that he thinks the people he’s built a kingdom for still want more. Over the course of this 3:14 song, we suddenly learn that Magnifico sends other people to help his community and doesn’t personally get involved (we never see this outside of this song), and that he’s incredibly vain/narcissistic (he's definitely a narcissist). I think feeling under-appreciated is actually a very strong motivation for Magnifico as a character-turning-villain, and it works very well. It’s justified based on what we’ve seen on screen so far: he feels under-appreciated (even though he’s decidedly not—the town adores him), he snaps and acts irrationally under stress (as seen with his outburst with Asha), and he’s frustrated that people seem to want more from him (again, as seen with his conversation with Asha in Act I).

              But then… he opens the book.

Ah, the book. As an object on screen, we know that it's filled with ancient and evil magic, well-known to be cursed by every relevant character in the film, and kept well-secured under lock and key. But what does it stand for in the context of the narrative's structure? A quick path to power? We're never told that it has any redeeming qualities; Magnifico himself doesn't seem to know what he's looking for when he opens it. It feels... convenient.

I think it's also worth noting that he only turns to the book when he's alone; once again, the idea of connection and community rears it's ugly head! Earlier in the film, Amaya-- his wife-- is present and turns him away from taking that path. In her absence, he makes the wrong choice.

This decision could make sense; it contains powerful magic, and if it were framed in such a way that the people of Rosas were losing faith in Magnifico’s magic, as if what he can do might not be enough anymore after what they felt from Star, going for the book that we know contains spells that go above and beyond what he can already do would be logical. Along the lines of, “If they’re not happy with what I do for them, fine. I, ever the “martyr”, will do the unthinkable for you, because you want more.”

            It would keeps with the idea that Magnifico believes he's still trying to help people, but his motivation has taken his self-imposed pity party and turned it into resentment and spite.

 But, that’s not the case. Instead he talks about reversing that “light”, which has had no real negative or tangible consequences on Rosas. Everyone had a warm feeling for a few seconds. Again, it’s meant to paint him as a vain control freak, but… he hasn’t lost any power. The citizens of Rosas even assume the great showing of magic was Magnifico.

Act III

              Then, we get to the consequences of opening the book (and perhaps my biggest qualm with this film). The book is established as being cursed. Magnifico knows it, Asha knows it, and Amaya—who is introduced as loyal-- knows it. The characters understand his behavior is a direct result of the book, and search for a way to save him. This is only the focus of the film for a few seconds, but if you think about it, the fact that his own wife cannot find a way to free him of the curse he’s been put under is unbelievably tragic. Worse still, upon discovering there is no way to reverse the curse, Magnifico—the king who built the city & “protected it” in his own flawed way for what seems to be centuries—is thrown out by his wife. You know, the wife who's stood loyal at his side for years?

              It’s played for laughs, but there’s something unsettling about a character who’s clearly and explicitly under the influence of a malevolent entity being left… unsaved. If you follow the idea of Magnifico being disconnected from community being a driving force behind his arc, the end of the film sees him in a worse situation he was in at the start: truly, fully alone.

              They bring in so many opportunities for Magnifico to be sympathetic and act as a foil for Asha; he’s jaded, she’s not. He’s overly cautious (even paranoid), she’s a risk-taker. He turns to power/magic at his lowest point, Asha turns to her friends at her lowest point. Because this dichotomy isn’t present, and Magnifico—who should be redeemable—isn’t, the film is so much weaker than it could’ve been. The lack of a strong core dynamic between the protagonist and antagonist echoes through every facet of the film from the music to the characterization to the pacing, and I believe if Magnifico had been more consistent, the film would’ve greatly improved across the board.

I mean, come on! Imagine if at the end of the film, Asha—who, if you remember, did resonate with Magnifico’s values at the start of the film—recognizes that he's twisted his original ideals and urges him to see the value in the people he’s helped, in their ingenuity, in their gratitude, & that what he was able to do before was enough. Going further, asking what his wish is or was—likely something he’s never been asked— and showing empathy! We’d come full circle to the start of the film where Asha asks him to grant her wish.

Pushing that further, if Magnifico’s wish is to see Rosas flourish or to be a good/beloved king, he'd have the the opportunity to see the value in failing and how pursuing the dream is its own complex and valuable journey, and how not even he is perfect.

 The curse and the book (which, for the purposes of this adjustment, would need to be established as representing the idea of stepping on others to further your own goals/the fast way to success), then serve as the final antagonist, that same curse taking root in the people of Rosas who’ve had their dreams destroyed, and Asha works with the community to quell it. Asha’s learned her lesson, so has Magnifico, and the true source of evil in the film—the book—is handled independently. Magnifico steps back from his role as King, Amaya still ends up as Queen, and Asha takes her place as the new wish-granter.

This route could even give us the true “Disney villain” everyone’s craving; giving the book sentience and having it lure Magnifico in during “This is the Thanks I Get!?” leaves it as its own chaotic evil entity.

All in all, Magnifico's introduction paved a road to redemption that the rest of the film aggressively refused to deliver on, instead doubling down on weaker motivations that seem to appear out of thin air. Once the audience thinks, hey, that bad guy might have a point, the protagonist has to do a little more heavy lifting to convince us they're wrong.

Look at the big-bad-greats from Disney's library. There isn't a point in the Lion King where we pause and think, "Wait a second, maybe Scar should be the guy who rules the Pridelands." Ursula from the Little Mermaid, though motivated by her banishment from King Triton's Seas, never seems to be the right gal for the throne. Maybe Maleficent doesn't get invited to the princess's birthday party, but we don't watch her curse a baby and think, Yeah, go curse that baby, that's a reasonable response to getting left out.

What do they all have in common? Their motivation is simple, their goal is clear, and they don't care who they hurt in pursuit of what they want.

Magnifico simply doesn't fall into that category. He's motivated by the idea of losing power, which is never a clear or impactful threat. His goal at the start seems to be to protect Rosas, then it turns into protecting his own power, and then-- once he's corrupted-- he wants to capture Star. The problem is, there's no objective to put this power toward. Power for power's sake is useless. Scar craves power because he feels robbed of status. Ursula believes the throne is rightfully hers. Maleficent wanted to make a statement. Magnifico... well, I'm not really sure.

[saintsylestine]

Built to Worship

gn!reader x astartes

Part 2 here

Authors note: heard yall wanna read some space marine husbandry (人´∀`)♪ - also dumb question do we mean husbandry as in husband-like or as in... the cultivation of stock? (edit: i did not understand)... anyways here's my take on a reverent boy.

Tags: sfw!! (I think- pls correct me if I'm wrong), being held, worship kink but soft, he treats you like you're holy, kissing, caressing

The cold of the ship always found your skin first. No matter how many layers you wore, the cathedral walls of the Lament of Icarion breathed chill air from vents carved like reliquaries. Silence stretched for hours, pierced only by the sound of hymnal engine-hum and your own thoughts.

But when he was near, that cold never touched you.

Brother-Seraph Decimus towered above the mortal crew—an Ultramar giant with skin the color of burnished ivory and eyes like burning cobalt. Eight feet tall, encased in partial armor even at rest, he was both sentinel and sanctuary. You'd first seen him kneeling before the altar of the Omnissiah, his bare arms glinting with the scars of a hundred battles—each mark like a story written in calligraphy you ached to read.

Tonight, the war was far away. The halls were still. And Decimus came to you like a tidal wave, quiet but unstoppable.

“I have... missed the warmth of your pulse,” he said, voice like rumbling grav-engines. His hand engulfed your shoulder, then your back, until you felt scooped into him like a cherished relic. You barely reached his sternum, even standing tiptoe. But he made no mockery of your scale—he held you reverently, a contrast to the slaughter he dealt elsewhere.

With one arm, he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you into the naked plane of his chest. His armor lay discarded in pieces—ceramite and adamantine scattered like the shed skin of a god. The warmth of his body burned through your clothes. He lay back on the narrow bunk, and you followed, cradled in the crook of his arm. It was like being tucked into a throne of living marble, his breath a slow and thunderous lullaby against your ear.

You shifted, and his fingers spread across your back, longer than your entire torso, calloused and careful.

“You are... so small,” he murmured, almost awed. “I could close my hand and hide you... yet you hold me tighter than any war-oath.”

You nuzzled closer. He allowed it. Encouraged it. The swell of his pectoral muscle rose beneath your cheek, and you felt the subtle twitch of a restrained need echo in his breathing.

"Does it frighten you?” he asked softly. “To be held by a monster?”

You shook your head, barely able to speak. You were trembling—but not from fear. From need. From the sense that you could lose yourself in the breadth of him and never be found again. You wanted to drown in that warmth. That scent of incense, gunmetal, and the deep ozone of a man bred to kill but now content to hold.

Decimus exhaled, pleased. The hand stroking your back slid lower, fingers spanning your entire spine. With a slow, seismic shift of his hips, he brought your bodies into closer alignment, the scale difference becoming impossible to ignore. The edge of heat between your thighs met the impossible girth of something still mostly restrained by control—and perhaps modesty, for now.

He tilted your chin up with a knuckle.

“I will not break you,” he promised. “But I will claim you, when you ask it. When you beg for it.”

He smiled then—a rare thing—and it made your chest ache.

“Sleep for now. And dream of being taken apart by hands that will always put you back together.”

---

The ship hummed around you like the breath of a sleeping god, deep and constant. Decimus didn’t sleep—Astartes rarely did—but he rested in vigil, still as a statue carved for war. You lay within the curve of his body, his hand resting at your hip, each finger thick as a torch handle and twice as warm.

The rise and fall of his chest beneath you lulled your mind into a strange twilight. You drifted—not quite dreaming, not quite waking—and in that space between, something opened.

Your breath caught. You were… somewhere else.

No longer the ship, no longer steel and incense and the far-off rumble of plasma vents. You stood barefoot in a hall of living stone, lit by violet fire that licked the edges of reality. The air was thick with the scent of myrrh, ozone, and Decimus.

He was there—closer than shadow, more vast than before. Nine feet now, perhaps ten. His armor was gone entirely, and he wore a robe of deep midnight blue, open at the chest. Pale skin marbled with veins like silver threads. He loomed, but not to frighten. To encompass.

You stepped toward him. The stone floor was warm beneath your feet. “Decimus?” you whispered, unsure if it was truly him or a dream echo.

His eyes flared—two suns behind a storm. “You came,” he said, with a voice that curled in your gut like smoke. “You called for me.”

He reached out, and the robe fell from his shoulders as if it feared to obstruct his touch. Hands like sculptor’s tools, terrible and gentle, swept down your arms, around your waist. He turned you slowly, reverently. Like he was reading a litany written across your skin. “So fragile,” he murmured, “and yet... perfectly made.”

You let your weight fall into him. He caught you easily, hoisting you up into his arms until you wrapped your legs around his waist, your face buried in the junction of his neck and shoulder. He carried you through the endless hall, murmuring promises in a language too old for the tongue, too intimate for translation.

“Do you know what I would do to keep you?” he growled low, voice vibrating through your bones. “I would hollow out ships with my hands. I would drown planets in silence. But here… here, I only want to unmake you.”

Your breath hitched. “Unmake me?”

“To rebuild you. From pulse to soul. Until your name is written in my mouth like prayer.”

He lowered you onto a great stone bed, soft with silks and the scent of him. Towering above, he braced one hand beside your head, the other curling around your jaw.

“Let me take you apart,” he whispered, eyes burning. “Let me worship each trembling piece before I put you back together.”

----warning: slightly spicy caressing/kissing---

He knelt above you like a cathedral built of flesh and fury, eyes molten and ancient, expression stricken with awe—as though he’d stumbled upon a relic too holy to touch.

But he did touch you. Gods, he did.

One hand spanned your ribs, spreading wide, fingers arching around your side like the bones of a gilded cage. The other swept up the curve of your thigh, not grasping—mapping. His fingertips found the inner line of your leg and followed it upward with aching slowness, the way a scholar traces the edge of a forbidden manuscript.

“You are not made for war,” he murmured, voice barely breath. “And yet your body is the fiercest thing I have ever beheld. How it trembles… how it receives me.”

He kissed you—finally—but not on the mouth. That was too expected. Instead, he bowed his great head to your sternum and pressed his lips over your heartbeat. A slow inhale. Then another. Like he was memorizing the rhythm. As though your pulse was the only sound in the void worth hearing.

“Each part of you,” he whispered, kissing lower, “is a verse.”

His mouth mapped you with maddening patience. Your abdomen, the soft flare of your hips, the inside of your wrist—all tasted, claimed, blessed. Between each kiss, he murmured something in High Gothic, the words old and full of weight, like binding spells. Prayers not to the Emperor, but to you.

You ran your hands over his shoulders, wide as a wall, feeling the subtle shifts of muscle beneath his skin. He shivered—shivered, this leviathan of steel and death—beneath your touch. It made you ache.

“I have crushed skulls with these hands,” he said, lifting them to show the battle-worn calluses, the scars. “But tonight… they learn gentleness again. Because of you.”

He bent, his face level with your navel, and breathed you in. His nostrils flared, eyes fluttering closed.

“I could hold you here,” he murmured, “between my palms like a breath. I could cover your whole body with just my mouth.”

He kissed you again—lower still—then paused. “Not yet,” he said, as if fighting himself. “You are not to be taken in haste. You are not prey. You are… ritual.”

And so, he rose again, stretched full above you, and curled around your body like a storm come home to roost. Your head tucked beneath his chin, his hand splayed across your belly, thumb brushing the edge of your navel.

“I will not touch you again until you ask,” he vowed, voice like distant thunder. “Not until your soul aches with the need to be broken open… and remade in me.”

------------ NSFW continuation coming-----------

Ty for reading (〃￣ー￣〃) hope you enjoyed. Will post the NSFW soon... somwhere... do people have a preference between here and AO3? Lmk.

[fancyfade]

Difference between Bruce and Dick as Batman.

So I know that there's a lot of temptation to compare Bruce as Batman to Dick or Damian, and Dick as Batman to Damian, often with a "oh well obviously Bruce was meaner/Dick was nicer", but I do think they have a neat contrast that fandom often overlooks (as well as some parallels).

Robin: Year One #3

Batmatn #408

Batman and Robin #6

Dick and Bruce both will deal with whatever current threat exists, before fully helping wounded Robin, getting a verbal "I'm fine" confirmation. They clearly do care about Robin. But they also have an obligation to protect people Bruce tries to physically stop joker. Jason's not fighting Dick, but he is trying to talk him down and talk him into getting help, like he did in Battle for the Cowl. The characters also generally avoid a wounded Robin -- it's just easier to see for Bruce, because Leslie calls Bruce out on it "you're leaving (to go deal with this?)" whereas no one questions Dick leaving Damian once he's got medical care and doing his own mission to revive zombie bruce. I imagine this is partially from guilt (we do see Bruce blaming himself for Dick's close call, and Dick framing Damian as his responsibility in Battle for the Cowl) and also possible due to the whole 'batman has a job, robin's physically OK now so time to help protect people' thing.

A strong difference is after the character's get injured and treated. Bruce becomes overprotective, and continues being emotionally distant, which understandably upsets Dick. He is so overprotective he benches Dick each time he is wounded seriously, and that creates friction between them.

Robin: Year One

Batman #408

Contrast this to Dick's general lack of protectiveness. Nothing changes when Damian gets wounded as Robin. Which works well (emotionally) for Damian and it works for the conventions of the genre.

Dick is generally not portrayed as very emotionally overprotective when Damian is injured, and when Damian is captured, he often expresses more verbal concern for the people who captured Damian than Damian himself.

Batman and Robin #9 - Damian, with a new metal spine, got thrown off a building by the zombie batman dick accidentally revived.

Batman and Robin #13

Detective comics annual #11

I should note: I think it would be uncharitable to assume that Dick expressing more verbal concern that Damian will hurt the supervillains who have him kidnapped means Dick doesn't care about Damian. We see in Batman and Robin some of Dick being worried when Damian is shot, and we see Dick telling Azrael they need to find a quicker way to get to Damian when Azrael is talking about how to find the guys who took him. And also, you know. I just don't think Dick would care more about the supervillains that Damian. But Damian is regarded as a tough kid, he'll be fine no matter what, and he represents a threat to other people (interestingly, something I've seen fans accuse... Bruce of doing to damian? Even though Bruce was much more protective and wasn't worried about Damian killing Nobody when Damian was going with Nobody, or Damian killing the Saturn Club guys when Damian let himself by kidnapped by the Saturn club guys to find civilians to rescue)

But I am analyzing here the actions he does and the words that he says, and what the writer dedicates panel time to. I think it's interesting that Bruce and Dick's similarities with regards to Robin getting injured involve emotionally removing themselves from the situation and focusing on cases, and then their differences are in the follow up. Dick often maintains a status quo, which is satisfying to the Robin character (he does not feel like he's being fired or judged) and fits with the conventions of the genre. Bruce often becomes overprotective to a degree where the Robin character feels estranged from him, and is excluded, resulting in alienation from robin and coming across as the "bad guy".

I find it very interesting that Dick avoids repeating mistakes of the past that Bruce made (becoming overprotective of Robin to an alienating degree and firing him) by doing things that would be read as callous or uncaring to the reader if he wasn't Dick, I guess.

P.S. I know some people say this is why they regard Morrison's Dick as OOC, but I didn't have any place to fit that acknowledgement in the above paragraphs, but I think it's important to note that this was not just Morrison's Dick. In general Dick as Batman era was way different than Nightwing Rebirth era Dick or even post 2011 Dick.

[elysiansparadise]

Astrology Paid Readings

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After a couple of years of blogging and continuing to study astrology, I'm pleased to announce that I will finally be offering astrology readings.

🔒 By requesting a reading with me, you agree to the following terms:

You'll first contact me via email (elysiansparadise27@gmail.com) and tell me which reading you're interested in. Once I send you confirmation of the service, you'll send me your information along with a screenshot of the payment made to my PayPal account. (No reading will be done if payment has been made before my confirmation!)

Readings are delivered within 2 to 10 days after receiving payment and all requested information. If there is any delay, you will be notified in advance.

No refunds are offered once the reading has been started or delivered. Only in exceptional cases (such as my inability to deliver the reading) may a partial or full refund be issued.

To write the reading, I need: Date of birth; exact time of birth; city and country of birth; [And depending on the service: name and gender of partner; date, time and city of birth of the other person.]

Astrology is a tool for self-knowledge, not a substitute for therapy, legal advice, or medical advice. The service offered is informative and advisory.

Your personal information and your reading are completely confidential. I don't share your data with anyone.

Feedback is not mandatory, but it will be greatly appreciated. You can choose to keep it anonymous!

Basic Analysis → $30.00 USD (7-9 pages)

An analysis of your Big 6 (Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars and Rising) including sign, house, and aspects.

An analysis about your Retrograde Planets (if you have).

Major Aspects (Conjunctions, Oppositions, Squares, Trines & Sextiles).

Natal Chart Reading → $40.00 USD (10-12 pages)

Modalities, Elements, and Ruling Planets. It also includes an observation about the least present element and how it influences your personality.

An analysis about your Retrograde Planets.

Planets in Signs and Houses.

Major Aspects (Conjunctions, Oppositions, Squares, Trines & Sextiles).

Astrological Signature Sign.

Extensive Natal Chart Reading → $50.00 USD (15-17 pages)

Includes the same points previously mentioned.

Asteroids analysis (Ceres, Pallas, Juno, Vesta, Chiron).

North Node and Lilith analysis.

Solar or Lunar Return Chart → $40.00 USD (10-12 pages)

A detailed reading of the chosen return chart, including planetary positions, Chart ruler, and Part of Fortune.

(For any of these I will need you to tell me the city in which you will spend this return, just in case you spend it outside of your place of birth.)

Synastry Reading → $40.00 USD (10-12 pages)

Aspects between planets.

Overlays (your big 6 falling in each other's houses).

Practical solutions that can soften squares or oppositions.

Composite Chart reading → $30.00 USD (8-10 pages)

A look through the planets in the signs and houses.

Analysis of the twelve houses and its rulers.

North Node and Juno in the composite chart.

Rulers of the houses in the houses → $30.00 USD (12 pages)

The state of the ruler (sign & aspects).

The meaning of its position in other house.

Future Spouse Reading → $20.00 USD (4-6 pages)

Deep analysis of the 7th house (sign, planets there and ruler)

Juno reading (placement and aspects)

Derivative house system & the future spouse → $20.00 USD (6-8 pages)

Using the derivative house system, I will explore different aspects of your future spouse (positioning the 1st house in the 7th; I explain this better here).

I deeply appreciate your support over the years. Thank you so much for your love, for sharing, and for learning alongside me. I wish you all a wonderful day.

[bloodstainedsapphic]

really want to be the witchy wife to ellie’s skeptical ass. make her the guinea pig for faulty, clumsy attempts at random divination methods in the name of practicing predictions. this, of course, includes chaotic tarot readings that drag on for ages. so much so, that after plenty of ungraceful card shuffling and a string of contradictory points, you finally flip over a random card. ellie, sitting across from you, tight-lipped as you took your sweet time, looks bemused as you proclaim that the cards declare you two to be soulmates. ellie wanted to say that other things probably make that obvious, but she decides to let you have this. because it's cute. ellie is far more interested in palm reading-- partially because it guarantees a transition into more touching. you take your time tracing the life and heart lines of her palms, telling her that her palm also says, would you look at that, you’re soulmates! your hand glides up and along ellie’s arm, admiring her inked skin. ellie feels the blush creep up her neck as your touch lingers and grows more explorative. she doesn’t stop you, maybe even getting cheeky about it by exchanging needy glances, wanting for more. she even tries tea leaf reading (what have you gotten her into?) because it makes for a cute date and at least you’re not making her try coffee. again. you reveal that the blobs, err, shapes, mean you’re soulmates! how revolutionary! ellie doesn't let you catch her sending mushy, lovesick eyes in your direction as you yap about how every divination method, the stars, the universe truly are perfectly aligned for your relationship. bonus: when on museum dates, you love to watch ellie dive into every exhibit with infectious glee, listening to her teach you more than the displays ever could. she gets you back by nudging you and pointing at every pair of statues, skeletons, or artwork, saying it’s the two of you: soulmates. don't eat me for innacuracies i'm as klutzy at witchy things as reader! pic creds @/elliesgalaxy on pinterest

[mistresscitrusslice]

The Season 2 Opening. We Must Discuss.

First of all, small beans. Instead of static, lifeless statues, this time we get moving humans. Mel features significantly more than I expected, so she'll probably be a much more major character than I expected for a non-champion character and I'm so happy for her. I believe the use of moving people instead of statues signifies that immense change will be happening. What we thought was literally set in stone in Season 1 will be turned on its head in Season 2.

Okay, on to the really concerning matters.

Yuhuh. Jinx moves too fast for me to get a good screenshot, but she gestures like this around her face a lot. I think we all already know about the Caitlyn-Jinx parallels, but my sister suggests it could be a red herring for the actual resemblances she has to Silco.

Sis gets credit for the following observation, but Caitlyn's daydream sequences about shooting Jinx are controlled and clearly separated from reality unlike Jinx's.

However, sis has not seen ep 2 yet, where Caitlyn does have that moment in the arcade where she shoots her vision of Jinx among the wooden dummies. Not only does this more closely resemble Jinx's hallucinations, it also parallels Jinx shooting the harmless crow in s1 e5. By the time the strike squad are about to leave, she can clearly tell that what she thought might be Jinx was really just a harmless wooden standee. Startling, but harmless. She shoots it anyway.

Caitlyn is totally gonna spiral more, and maybe she'll start losing her grip on reality too, but for now, she has more in common with Silco than she does with Jinx. Did anyone else get reminded of Silco's coat when Ambessa put the supervillain cape on Caitlyn? The collars don't look similar but they still eerily resemble each other, you get me?

Ok back to intro stuff

Vi wipes off her name from her face. That's two tattoos that are rendered impermanent in this opening theme. In the Fenty x Arcane video, they mention that Mel's golden freckles are tattoos. Later in the intro song, we also see her golden freckles gone. Change, impermanence. That seems to be a theme here.

Vi is literally erasing her name from her face. In any normal circumstance, I'd say that means she wants a change of identity, a desire to start over. However, I know that Vi's League lore involves amnesia. Does she really drink herself into that bad of a stupor? Jkjk. I assumed that her amnesia was replaced by the Stillwater imprisonment to explain how she got topside and with the enforcers, but perhaps I was wrong. Maybe they do still intend to go the amnesia or partial amnesia route with her.

The teasers implied that Vi shares the genetic trait that has Jinx predisposed to hallucinations. It's possible that this eventually contributes to her loss of memory, but I wouldn't call it quite yet. However, if this happens during her emo era when I'm assuming she has no support system, she'll be very vulnerable, unlike if it were to happen while she was still partnered with Caitlyn, in which case they could easily fill in most blanks in her memory.

I have no idea what to make of this. It's clear as day what they're paralleling, but why? Why the flashlight scene? My best guess is that they're trying to draw on déjà vu, implying a repetition of history, but why this particular moment? They could've easily chosen anything else in Jayce's s1 arc. He has many more memorable moments than this. Let's see, I'm literally making this up as I go.

This meeting was a pivotal moment for Jayce. Both his meeting with Viktor and his meeting with Mel changed his fate. The Viktor one is pretty self-explanatory, but without meeting Mel, they would've both just gotten exiled or locked up again. With Mel, they had someone in power who could vouch for them.

That begs the question, is Jayce meeting someone new? Or is this a reintroduction to someone he's already known before, a new meeting after a long time apart or after a significant change, maybe a change in them both. I believe it must be someone who was involved in the original hallway scene.

Jayce is either looking at Mel again or at Viktor. Given the amount of Viktor/Mel parallels in Season 1, I believe Jayce is looking at Viktor after he's undergone his likely final evolution. That'll obviously be another pivotal moment for him... but will it be a good one like it was with Mel? Viktor has power now. He's performing miracles. He's, like, two steps away from parting the Pilt River like it's the Red Sea. He seems to hold a grudge against Jayce, though, for *checks notes* saving his life? Jk I know he feels like he's losing autonomy and like Jayce didn't respect his wishes with the Hexcore and Jayce obviously couldn't let Viktor die when he'd fought so hard to stay alive before.

Anyway, I feel like this could easily be both a good omen and a bad omen for Jayce. More than anything, I feel like it'll be an epiphany. He is quite literally seeing the light. The light at the end of the dark tunnel? The light of the heavens at the end of his life? The light of a revelation sent by a god he once knew as a man?

Seeing Mel screaming bloody murder during the opening, this was the first place my mind went to. The pose doesn't match up exactly, and Jinx/Powder's screams are definitely wilder, but I feel like there's definitely something here. Is there anyone else who screams like this, thrusting their head forward and keeping their arms back?

We also see the shadow hands from this earlier shot:

I'm thinking of the Black Rose (is that their name?) kidnapping her in thin air, incorporeal hands reaching at her and snatching my joy the love of my life Mel away. It could also represent people grasping at the power Mel wields, both as the wealthiest Council member and as a Noxian princess, one of the closest people to Ambessa, the one wielding the most power right now.

Mel is really out of her depth right now. Her power and influence is up for grabs if she dares to blink and let her guard down. I'm also surprised that we don't see her fight back at all when there's danger around. I thought she might have more battle experience as she was raised by Ambessa. For those people wondering about her magical powers, I think she would've used them by now if she had them. Council attack aside, which could've been Viktor's magic, she wasn't able to do anything about the memorial attack or her own kidnapping. I think they're trying to show us that Mel is not as untouchable as she presents herself. Under the right circumstances, she's just as vulnerable as any civilian.

The sliver of light? My sister pointed out that it looks just like the crack of light between two double doors. Almost closed... or barely open? It appears in pretty much everyone's shot in the opening, but it's right down the center of Mel's face here. Is she torn between two sides? Is this about an impossible choice she has to make?

The spotlight is also on her. That's two sources of light. It looks like a red sun. All eyes on her as the surviving voice of the Council?

And her expression... shock, fear, horror. The heavy breathing, the look on her face... I feel eerily like I've seen it on someone else before. I can't place who, but I'm getting déjà vu from this. Does anyone else recognize this expression and these mannerisms?

[doodler16]

After this, I do not want ANYONE saying Hellaverse is indie. Hellaverse got rid of it's indie roots long ago. Viv clearly already had the mind of corporate greed, even before Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss got picked up by either studio. Like, for awhile, we could at least say Helluva Boss was indie, but not Hazbin Hotel. Also I'm guessing we're gonna get some Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss crossover. Loord, if we do, that's gonna be a bumpy episode.

Once you are funded by a millionaire dollar company even if it’s partial, you automatically lose indie status 🤣. But sadly Vivziepop and her stans will ignore that (then again technically Helluva Boss lost their indie privileges ages ago). Yeah, there’s going to be an upcoming crossover.