#(most of the time......when he's not being abused or.. enhanced.. in some way..)

[omppupiiras]

I drew your son tonight (very badly) and one of my irls recognized him without my having to say anything 🥹💚 your son is famous!

aaaaaaaa rowan i love him!! 💚💛 vatsa on hyvä ja pyöreä 🥰🥰 he looks like he wants a hug <3 hehe thank you for making my son as mr worldwide as his human counterpart 😆

[dimepdf]

★  𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄. + 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that Miguel is the bane of your existence, the way you react during training proves otherwise.

─── ☆ notes. i need fics of miguel being an absolute dick, like a petty bitch just for the hell of it i need more attitude yk? Like if that man isn't calling me a slut it ain't canon! | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 4.3k (33 min read).

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | no spoilers | smut, enemies to lovers, maybe mutual pining, fighting and violence, semi public sex, gym sex, mentions of abuse, size difference, pain kink, strength kink, degradation kink, manhandling, power play(?), begging, rough sex, cervix kissing, choking, fangs, biting, marking, cunnilingus, eye contact, hair pulling, creampie, open ended, not an taiyo fic without a few typos.

IF YOU ASKED any of the other Spider-men what they loved so much about being Spider-Man, their answers would all be the same, ranging from "the suit" to "the enhanced abilities." It was a no-brainer that being a superhero came with a few awesome perks.

Which was why your answer was just a bit confusing, "the combat." You would always smile, despite the many eyebrows raises and looks that convinced you you had to be some type of overcover masochist, especially since you would never really go into true detail about why.

Your reasoning behind putting on the mask was similar to all the others: another traumatized kid being thrown into a whole new reality that you never would have dreamed of being possible.

Sadly, you had been raised with the loss of most of your loved ones, and your family was in shambles from the abuse you would go through from them. It was the reason why it was difficult for you to grow up and make many friends, let alone navigate your abilities on your own accord, which was why it was a whole different ball game when you first joined the spider society.

When you first met Miguel O'Hara, you thought he was an overly intimidating man with an even more scary personality. Your aesthetics and morals would clash in the first few run-ins you would have with him.

In all honesty, you first thought him to be a massive dick who surprisingly needed more therapy than you did. From his bored expression to his unnerving glare, it was clear upon the first introduction that you two just would not get along.

Which was why the universe made him the only spider person willing and with enough free time to train you. It came as a surprise to you both, who are usually butting heads. Miguel was adamant about not wanting to waste his time training some little girl who didn't even know how to throw a punch.

With much shit-talking on your part and a lot of teasing claims of him being afraid that you were going to kick your ass, training had quite literally started in full swing.

It was probably a bad move on your part to push the buttons of the guy who was teaching you how to fight. Miguel was clear with his fight-style techniques. He was nimble with his limbs and swift on his feet. It was hard for anyone to get a hit on him, especially since he wasn't the type to hold back his punches. 

His teaching style was the same: your sessions included throwing you around as if you were some ragdoll and picking you up as if you weighed nothing, just to slam you into the ground with full bruising force.

There would be some very rare occasions when you would manage to get the upper hand on him. Miguel was about a foot taller than you, not to mention how pathetically compressed you looked standing next to him. You learned that the only way you could manage to get the upper hand was by using your size difference to your advantage.

All the sessions you won were hosted by you managing to tangle yourself from his claws and climb his towering figure into a headlock, praying that you had enough strength in your legs to make him tap out.

"How is she not dead yet?" Miles would mutter, looking concerned, as he stood from the sidelines of the training room, watching one of your sessions, as the blonde by his side didn't even wince at the sound of Miguel untangling you from the headlock you had him in.

His arms moved faster than you could process as he managed to loosen your hold enough to slam the air from your lungs as you fell back facing against the mat so hard that even Miles was convinced he could feel the blow in the lower spine.

"I mean, at this point, I'm kind of convinced she’s turned into his personal punching bag." Miles strains to watch Miguel not even wipe a sweat as he sprung back on his feet. He stretched out his full body, towering over you, curled flat against the mat, trying to collect your breathing as well as your broken ego.

Gwen nodded in agreement. "I don't even know how someone could hit someone so...squishy? She’s just so cute." She muttered, watching with her arms crossed. 

"This punching bag needs to learn that in the real world, people aren't going to go as easy on her just because she’s cute." Miguel, despite glaring at the two bystanders, leaned down and yanked you back onto your stumbling feet. 

Your fingers combed through the matted curls now drenched in sweat away from your forehead, using your water break as the perfect excuse to help cover up the reaction to the sudden compliment that came from his lips and the way he had made you feel.

"And her being my personal punching bag is completely at her fault, if you want to learn how to fight, you have to learn how to take a few punches." You couldn't help but roll your eyes and wave your hand out in annoyance at another one of Miguel O’Hara’s famous lectures.

"I’m not a punching bag, did you not see the hold I had on him early?" You huffed, almost choking on your water, trying to protest. Gwen humored your claim, the blonde reaching out and rubbing your shoulder out of support as you continued with your defense. "Any tighter, and I would have easily snapped his neck."

Of course, Miguel only smirked as you continued grasping at straws at the point of trying to prove to your friends your improvement, his eyes flitting back and forth at the exchange, expressionless at the sight of you managing to still joke around as if you weren't about to pass out from fatigue at any second.

"And was that before or after the part where I kicked your ass, little girl?" He shot out, chipping away at the final lock that held back your annoyance, you hadn't even had time to process the insult before he bumped his shoulder into you on his way out of the training room.

His rude exit enticed a round of reactions from Miles and Gwen trying their awkward best to comfort the boiling pot of anger they saw written all over your face, rolling your eyes, you pushed past the two, not without grumbling a string of insults in Miguel’s name to the washrooms.

You blessed the spider lords for somehow having the ability to shower under running water, let alone the unexplainable strange amount of amenities that the spider society dimensions had. 

Like a web shooter's wonderland, you quickly shed the sweating clothes you trained in and stepped foot into the cold cubicle shower booth, letting the water run for a bit until enough steam fogged clouded stepping under the stream. Even with the hot water splashing pressure against your aching muscles, no amount of water could manage to wash away the annoying feeling in your legs. 

It was enough of a jab at your pride to even find Miguel attractive in the first place, and here your body was betraying you once more, begging, throbbing desperately for his every touch in its every form, and having the nerve to grow more intense during your training.

The feeling had yet to fully disappear the next day, even with your session starting off with you fueled from yesterday's comments. You tried pushing the feeling as you were just ready to have Miguel mutter another word insult with the ass kick you were ready to give him. It was the only possible explanation for why you were so jittery about getting to training on time.

"It took you long enough." Was the first thing you heard Miguel announce throughout the empty room.

He wasn’t wearing his suit—neither of you did while training—instead, he was wearing dark gray sweatpants paired with some random dark red graphic shirt that fit him a bit too snuggly to leave room for imagination around his arms.

"Almost thought you were gonna skip out."

You were aware enough to spot this quick observation of your outfit as well. Keeping it casual and opting for better mobility, you shimmied yourself into plain Nike shorts that stopped higher up than you had expected them to on your thighs with a loose tank top that peeked out the straps of your sports bra.

Nothing about your clothes screamed attention grabbing—at least that's what you thought before you caught Miguel’s red-tinted stare on the way your shorts hugged your thighs.

He glanced away, muttering something in Spanish you couldn't quite translate the moment your fingers fidgeted with the bottom hems of the shorts, tugging them slightly more down while deciding to break the tense silence that had managed to sneak up on you. "So what are we doing today?"

"Huh, I’ve been thinking." He answered, followed by the clearing of his throat, "We try something a little different." You could never get used to the roughness of his voice or the way he spoke with so much arrogance that it reminded just about everyone that he thought he was better than just about everyone.

Even now that you stepped towards the middle of the mat, standing rigidly just a few paces away from him, you could tell from that stupid, cocky expression as he stood looking down at you that there was no possible way that he would ever see you as a real threat. "I want you to try to hit me." 

Your brows creased together in confusion. 

"What?" was all you asked, which seemed to be the wrong question to ask as Miguel stretched out a sigh from his mouth, his hands coming close to his to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

"I said hit me." He speaks more slowly, making sure to mockingly over pronounce every symbol in every word as if you were a child. "Preferably soon and as hard as you can." A grimace finds itself twisting on your lips before you can even process your bubbling annoyance. Your body moved on autopilot because of your keen senses, jumping over the swing of his left leg with ease.

You couldn't say that swift grace stuck with your attempt at a counterattack. Bending your knee just enough to reach out and kick, you were only met with the bottom of your foot stomping flat against the floor mat and Miguel dodging your kick, standing just a few paces away. "Too predictable," he scolded in that annoyingly deep voice you hated oh so much and totally did not turn on you at all. You sprung yourself up by the heels of your feet and charged at him with full determination to land at least one punch on his stupidly chiseled, handsome face.

It had been your second mistake, giving him too much time to brace himself. Already regretting your emotionally impulsive start, resulting in the punch you swung being easily deflected by Miguel.

His hand wrapped entirely around your wrist, bending your arm almost out of your socket and kicking the back of your knee to the mat with his heel. You feel down to a kneel with a hissing pain in your arm threatening to get worse at any wrong twist.

"Lose that fucking attitude, or you’ll get sloppy." As if your body could radiate any more anger, you knew he was just trying to push your buttons, trying to throw you off your game with smack talk that was not working on you or anything.

"Again," he prompted, letting your arm go and stepping back, egging on another attack from you.

"Give me a damn minute." No matter how much you wanted to snap back at him with something snarky, you knew it would only prove his point entirely—not only that but also the fact that he was mentally hitting you in all the places that he knew counted the most to throw you off your game. 

Biting back the insult you already had threatened to slip from your tongue instead of making a point by rolling your eyes as you stumbled back to your feet. Rolling your sore shoulder back as your eyes scan over his stance, trying to find the best opening for a better attack, you steady your breath and cloud your mind in thought. "You aren't going to get anywhere but dead standing around like that, you know."

So much for wanting to consider your options. Miguel took the first swing at you and was on the verge of kicking you on your ass if it weren't for your shoddy dodge.

"Didn't you just say I had to be less fucking predictable?" You snarled, lifting your foot with most of your weight pointed in the direction of his jaw. Surprisingly, the kick landed just not in the place you wanted it to; instead, Miguel’s arm blocked the blow, much to your annoyance.

"I also said—" All he was doing was using dodging moves on you, swiping your other foot from under you as he held the other one that you kicked up in his arm, resulting in you landing once again flat on your ass. "to lose that fucking attitude."

You had not gone down without a fight, twisting and kicking, trying to wrestle your limbs free by any means. Miguel had almost embarrassingly quickly ceased your squirming, his palm cuffing your arms and pressing hard against your chest as his other hand pressed tightly into your thighs, folding your legs in place under his hips.

The position was interesting, to say the least, but you still had some fight in you, wiggling against his grip with any strength you had left to break free. It was a useless battle, but the man had his grip around you tight as well as an overpowering size difference that blanketed your entire figure like one big rock.

And that's how you caught yourself in another web of misfortune. Your nerves are surging at the feeling of something—him brushing against your calf. Maybe it was all the adrenaline pumping through your veins or the fact that you were practically being manhandled so easily that did another thing to your body, or maybe it was just pure horny instability that your brain couldn't even process the lewd whine that tugged from your throat after the fact that it had happened.

Watching in pure horror as Miguel loomed on top of you, his mouth slightly agape as his chest heaved and his brows pulled together, the embarrassment from his confused, almost offended looking expression hit you fast. Here your body was betraying you once more, this time going absolutely haywire and melting like a stupid pile of putty at the fact that you were being body pressed against some mat with some guy's hard junk pressed into your leg.

You couldn't bear to even look him in the eye anymore, your head tilting to the side, pressing your cheek into the mat, and squeezing your eyes closed, not suddenly envying the spidermen with teleportation powers. "Fucking Christ, can you get off now?"

A beat of silence hovered between the small distance between you two, neither moving nor talking. It was starting to become unbearable how tightly Miguel had folded your legs against him, in the sense that you could already feel his body heat radiating. The close proximity did not help with how unbearably your heart was beating against your chest. "How do you manage after all of that to still have that shameless fucking attitude?"

You stilled at how his voice had managed to cut through your own thick cloud of betraying thoughts as well as the ringing in your eardrums. "Shameless? As if you don't have your dick pressed against me right now."

"By the sounds of it, you don't seem that bothered at all." Miguel taunted, You thought you were bound to die of embarrassment.

Yeah, this is how you went out—by dying from the sheer effect of your own extremely horny though—not some overpowered supervillain with a vendetta against you but Miguel O'Hara and his dick print.

You could already hear the new taunts that he would use against you, "Not even in your fucking dreams." being the only comeback that you could muster, your limbs tingling with slight pins and needles, threatening to go stiff under his unbound grasp. 

"Oh, like you wouldn't love to," he sneered, shifting the weight from his hips flat against your thighs. "Probably thinking about me taking off these tight fucking shorts and having my way with you?" Your body reacted first to the accusation, cursing under your breath as you felt your second heartbeat flutter in between your legs.

His lingering stare hadn't helped one bit, and you watched from the sidelines as his eyes raked over your body with interest.

"I bet this was your plan the entire fucking time, huh?" He asked, leaning in as the distance dwindled until you could feel the brush of his breath against your face. "Put on some sweet naive act in front of everyone, knowing that you're getting yourself off on me throwing you around, touching yourself like some bitch in heat."

You hadn't bothered covering the whine that parted from your lips at the feeling of his erection slowly rutting against your thigh, the cocky smirk on his lips wanting you to melt away against the mat.

Miguel practically growled at the pathetic sounds that parted from your lips, tugging your legs apart to rut his hips down against your core. You shivered at the intrusion of his bulge pressed against your eagerness, the foreign feeling of him grinding against you left your thoughts in a dizzy fog.

"What? Can’t fucking speak now," he said as if he were dangling your most prized possession in front of your face, his fingers creeping into dangerous territory, making it a point for his fingertips to drag down your lower torso only to halt right above the elastic waistband of your shorts. "Go on, use your words."

"...fuck you."

The small amount of distance made the space between you two fall tensely thick, and the words spoken from your lips were different from the feelings that made your heart thud against your ribs. You weren't stupid, you knew Miguel could sense it, he could sense just about everything about your body from how close he kneeled on top of you.

Maybe that was why he had closed the distance so quickly after, letting the tight grip around your wrists give way to his hand finding a new objective, wrapping his fingers around your neck, not bothering to be gentle as he guided your lips towards his. The kiss was as rough as you had dreamed it to be. Eager for each other's kiss, you couldn't even process the noise that vibrated sharply from your throat before Miguel could pull away first, leaving you panting for more of his touch.

"First time I've ever seen you so quiet," his deep taunts were starting to grow unbearable, shifting your hips at the brush of his fangs against the jugular of your neck with every word, "who knew all you needed was some dick?" The harsh kisses he left trailing down to your collarbone made you feel like a hot, needy mess of putty. If it weren't for the tight grasp he had on your body, you were convinced that you would feel like you'd melt into some type of puddle. The growing frustration had only started to build up more as Miguel let go of your thighs, his hand trailing between your legs ruthlessly as the bud of his fingers rubbed against your clothed pussy. 

As for why you shifted your hips up and let him impatiently tug and yank at the bow knotted around the waist of your shorts, breaking away from the red splotching light bruises already forming against your brown skin and wiggling you out of your shorts, Miguel thought it was quite the image, his eyes were fixated on the drooling sight of you under him, so vulnerable with your thighs hugging to your chest, spread open, revealing yourself in your pants.

All sanity was thrown out the window the moment he tugged you closer by your knees, your lower half lifted in his arms just enough for him to sit face to face with your cunt. His eyes darkened, his pupils blown as his tongue lapped over his lips, leaving you feeling restless. It was a slow and almost painful battle of trying to reach down and shove his face closer or buck your hips as his fingers sheathed and explored themselves against the fabric of your underwear.

As if Miguel could read your mind, his fingers hooked the fabric under the bend of his finger, followed by a quick tearing sound. "I’ll get you new ones," the comfort emitting a whine from your throat as you couldn't even scowl at him for ruining your underwear because you were too busy admiring the work his fingers were doing. Without warning, Miguel leans in closer, the warmth of his mouth almost sending you into a frenzy as his fingers spread open your lips, his lips sucking at your clitoral area, prompting you to let out a very lewd moan.

"Too loud," Miguel mumbled against your pussy, too busy webbed up in your own pleasure to even notice how every embarrassedly sloppy wet noise had seemed to perfectly echo throughout the empty room. You couldn't even explain the number of emotions that were flowing through you, from shame from being tongue fucked and fingered against the floor about the one man you hated so much to bashfulness from holding eye contact with him as he lay between your legs and ate your pussy like he was starving for you.

"I can't help it," you whined, shivering at the string of spit that contacted Miguel as he lifted his head in an idea. It took a second to process Miguel picking you up and turning you on your stomach, his hands guiding your hips up and stripping your torn panties down your legs to stuff them in your mouth.

Without a word, Miguel grabbed your ass with another hand, guiding your lower back into an arch as the other made small indents from his nail bearing into your cheeks as he spread them apart.

Before you could even feel embarrassed at the new position, he shoved his face between them, your moan being muffled by your makeshift cloth gag that worked a bit too well in lowering your whines as Miguel’s mouth sought his tongue out for your pussy once more.

"You're close I can smell it," you almost missed Miguel's groan over your building ecstasy, "just let it go, baby, let me take care of you. That's what you want, right?" His voice is drastically different from his usual rough, rude tone, softened to something of a coo that has managed to unknot your pleasure with his tongue. Your body tensed against his mouth for a moment as he had the nerve to suck his fingers clean. No grace period was given before he could lift you once more with a grunt, laying you flat on your back.

Slotting himself back between his legs, Miguel chuckled at the dazed look on your face. "It's alright, baby, I can take it from here." taking the balled up drool covered panties from your mouth and instead replaced them with his lips. The sensual change of pace wasn't enough to stop the shiver that rid your nerves of the feeling of his bare cock rutting against your slit, using his thumb to spread your lips apart to sink his tip inside of you with a low hiss against your mouth.

A gasp left yours as his girthy length intruded deeper inside of you, the burying stretch of his dick having your nails roughly grasping at the nape neck of his hair tugging a handful as his pace hadn't bothered to even get familiar already. Miguel’s hips weren't letting out as he fucked you almost animalistic against the floor. You were convinced he was trying to fuck you into the mat, to be one with the floor, which would perfectly explain the rough pace that left you breathless with each piston of his hips. 

The graphically lewd sounds of your weak groans were nothing compared to the pornographic sound of your skin meeting his, your brain empty with nothing but greed, wanting to take everything and more of what Miguel was giving you. His fingers reach to unwrap your fingers tangled in his hair to intertwine them in his. "That's it, mama, that's it," he whispers against the shell of your ear, earning a whimpering reply from you, almost close to spilling the tears clouding your waterline.

Your mind couldn't process anything other than how good Miguel’s dick felt being shoved inside of you, his cock dragging against your tight, flustering walls with each shaky breath brushed against your ear. Your cunt seemed to react to Miguel’s lashes tickling against your neck as his eyes screwed tightly shut, muttering a string of compliments in his mother tongue.

You weren't lucky enough to be more stable, surprised that your throat hasn't gone horse with how ruined your vocal cords sounded in the pace of his pistoning hips. Only going up an octave higher as one of Miguel’s hands reaches down to pay attention to your clit, he doesn't stop even when your limbs start to tremble from your climax. 

With one last hard thrust, he finally stills, your name being the only thing you could make out through his mumbling as his unfamiliar warm sensation welcomed itself inside of you. 

Groaning right in your ear, he cums inside of you with his entire dead weight pressed against you, caging you against the floor. "Alright," Miguel sighs, settling on top of you once more with his arms holding himself just a few inches away from your face. "Again."

🔖 @adonis-is-dead-lmaoo @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @inumakiiz @iheartlinds @creamyarishi @marzipaanz

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[alisaint]

guys, i have good news for once. i've found proof of intelligent life out here in these wastelands:

my favorite excerpts:

Will, Jonathan, and Joyce Formed a Special Trio

If Eleven is the main character in Stranger Things, the Byers family is the conduit through which she flickers. Will’s disappearance in the first season spurred the Hawkins community to rush to his aid. The tight-knit camaraderie between Will, Jonathan, and Joyce juxtaposes the stereotypical family composed of kids and teenagers. Parents and children are supposed to fight and bicker in television and other media, often to build the main conflict of the story, but the Byers family already underwent that trauma offscreen.  Lonnie Byers (Ross Partridge) makes a brief cameo in the first season, flexing his standoffish demeanor and abusive nature. It’s clear that the Byers patriarch doesn’t possess much empathy for his ex-wife or his sons. Jonathan valiantly steps into the father, husband, and big brother role, amalgamating into a combination of responsibilities that no other character on the show could dream of emulating. 

Jonathan Binds the Byers Family Together

Jonathan’s multifaceted arc in the first two seasons made him one of the series’ most easily dissectable characters. Stranger Things often differentiates itself from other shows by keeping the antagonists separate from the main characters. There are no Walter White or Tony Soprano-style antiheroes in which fans must compromise one part of their moral compass to appreciate the character. One might think this makes the series boring, but it’s the opposite. Jonathan was proof that a nearly perfect brother and son can still be fascinating to watch. After Will was found in season 1’s climax, he was taken over by the Mind Flayer in season 2. Jonathan again stood by Will’s side as his little brother felt outcasted by friends and society at large. Schnapp and Heaton’s chemistry often leads to tender, humorous exchanges like this one in which the boys remind the audience that being weird can be a human superpower in its own right.  These moments became few and far between in seasons 3 and 4. Will and Jonathan were relegated to minor supporting characters as the aforementioned new additions took center stage. Will at least gets to tag along with Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and the other younger friends. Jonathan often only appears in a few small scenes with his girlfriend Nancy (Natalia Dyer), and the writers even flirted with pushing Nancy back into Steve’s arms in the most recent season. Jonathan spent the majority of season 4 high on marijuana and frolicking around in a faux buddy-comedy routine with the one-off character Argyle (Eduardo Franco).  The decision to waste Heaton’s work from the first two seasons with a 180-degree personality change made no sense. Jonathan suddenly seemed careless, distant, and uninspired, but not in a dense way that could be unlocked by further character development. Little-to-no time was spent on him. While some fans might concur it is a necessary evil to take screen time away from older characters when expanding the world of Hawkins, it certainly transforms Stranger Things from a show about family into a show just about monsters and romances. 

Jonathan’s Enhanced Role in Season 5?

Many theories point to Will being one of the critical pieces to defeating Vecna (Jamie Campbell Bower) in the fifth and final season. His connection to the Upside Down and the evils underneath the surface should open up opportunities for Jonathan to lend his ears and counseling once again. Jonathan grows on an individual level when he aids others. When locked out of his family’s life, it stunts his ability to shine as a listener and an empathizer.  Jonathan’s best scene from season 4 again features a tear-jerking moment with Will. On the cusp of coming out of the closet, Will needs Jonathan more than ever before, and his brother responds supremely to the task at hand. The poignant conversation validates that the Duffers haven’t completely forgotten how to flesh out the Byers family. When the world gets too enormous for the characters and the audience, Jonathan serves as a connector to the most human elements of the series’ thematic thesis. He may not be as funny as Steve or as neurotic as Robin, but Jonathan symbolizes the good in all of us. In a show shrouded in darkness, Jonathan’s presence will be instrumental to forming a satisfying, optimistic conclusion in Hawkins, Indiana.

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Angel - Part 5

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Enhanced Omega Reader x Alpha Bucky Barnes

Theme: A/B/O / True Mates

Summary: It's different when you're enhanced. Everything is different, every smell, every sound, touch, feelings. The way it's different doesn't make sense unless you are enhanced. Throw in what comes with Alpha and Omega instincts, and the intensity of your presentation is even more than any other. When you find yourself in need of help you can call on the alpha you trust the most, Natasha Romanoff. You just don't expect to find your alphas at the same time. Are you really enough for them? And can you really be the Luna to the Avengers?

"To be loved, to be loved by your mate is everything." - Wanda Maximoff

Reader is enhanced, has wings and has powers connected to electricity.

Chapter Summary: The reader takes the rescue mission in hand but will Bucky's self loathing lead to problems?

Chapter Warning: Mentions of an abusive childhood, injuries, blood, drowning.

Being enhanced made you different, but how it made you different was also interchangeable from person to person. Jean Gray had once tried to explain it to you, but science and DNA was never your strong point. The one part you did understand was that for some that the DNA activation that made you mutant (or enhanced to be politically correct) was caused by a crisis and your body reacting. Yours was the need to protect yourself as a child. It had started with the flickering of lights when you were upset. With parents like yours that was often. One violent outburst from your stepfather gifted you with static shocks. The next time electricity waved through your fingers. He kept his distance for a few months until your mother heard of undesirables hunting out mutants. Some parents hid their children and others, those like your mother, offered you to them.

You jumped from your bedroom window in a bid to escape, hoping for a soft landing. But the landing never came and you found yourself in the air, your hoodie ripped from your back, and the bralette you were wearing underneath barely hanging on. Your mother had gasped as she rushed to the window to grab you.

At fourteen you had literally ‘flown the coop’. Eventually you found yourself at Xavier’s door. He and the X-Men had taught you to hone your skills but the damage of your life back home had always lingered and you didn’t stay anywhere long. Trust and fear fuelling your worries.

Your work as an AFH, Agent For Hire, led you to Barton and Romanoff, and in turn now, as you dipped through the storm it led you to your alphas. Now though, that wasn’t the priority. Getting them and Sam off the roof of the jet and out the water was. Your enhanced senses confirmed that Bruce was right, Sam was the worst injured. A broken wrist and ribs, a punctured lung, shrapnel to his leg, that although torqued was bleeding heavily. You were sure from his slowing heartbeat he was probably bleeding internally too.

Both Steve and Bucky were holding on to him, the latter yelling at him to stay awake. Each had an arm across him as they used their free hand to grip the jet. Steve’s head was bleeding heavily from where the emergency line cradle had hit him in the head and his breathing was laboured.

Bucky spotted you incoming. His brow furrowed with confusion. He’d seen a shadow fall from the jet and had thought he was hallucinating when he didn’t see any of the others or the emergency line. Now he realised that shadow was very much real, had wings and was about to land on him. You also smelt very familiar.

You gestured as you neared for him to move and he rolled his body away slightly allowing you space to slot him between him and Sam. You tapped his arm and then Steve’s for them to release him, as you slipped one arm under Sam’s shoulder blades and another under his legs. Steve failed to move and his grip tightened. Bucky yelled at him to let go. Steve looked up confused, face bloody, struggling to see you through the storm and the blood that trickled down his face. He loosened his grip slightly as he tried to focus and you used the moment to  shoot upwards into the sky. You were in the jet quickly after and placing Sam onto one of the beds that Bruce had set up.

You signed to Clint.

“Rogers next. Head injury.”

He relayed to Bruce as you jumped from the jet again. The sky lit up with lightning and your hair stood on end reacting as your body responded to the storm around and the static electricity around it. The waves grew higher and more violent as you neared.

Steve and Bucky were battered by the waves and the jet had now tilted slightly causing them to be further into the water than before . Bucky now seemed to be half on top of his Steve and you realised that he was now unconscious, his body going limp as you approached. Bucky was trying his best to keep them both on the roof of the jet and stop Steve falling into the depths of whatever ocean or sea they were currently being thrown around.

You stopped short of landing on the roof of the jet and hovered above them both, wings keeping you in the air. You tapped Bucky’s arm as you gripped the harnesses that usually carried Steve’s shield. He released him as you flew upwards and you caught Bucky’s voice on the wind, you made out the word ‘careful’ and you weren’t sure if he meant with Steve or yourself. You were sure he meant the first. Moments later you manhandled him onto another of the beds. Clint and Nat were quickly by his side as Bruce worked on Sam.

You started to run towards the back of the jet, ready to grab Bucky. You leapt as you had before, your wings having stayed outwards since the first rescue. Your eyes went wide as they locked onto the sergeant below. A huge wave had formed and as it dipped and turned, it pulled Bucky and the jet with it and turned him under the waves. You went to shout but nothing came out. You flew upward and rounded back to pick up speed. The jet resurfaced but there was no sign of Barnes.

You tapped on your glasses and they picked up the pulse of Bucky’s heartbeat. It was getting lower into the ocean and you needed to act quickly. You flew at speed downwards towards him, your wings angled to give you more speed. Nearing the water you put your arms in front of you for a diving motion and took a deep breath. The speed that you’d picked up in the air propelled you into the water and towards Bucky. His eyes were closed but one arm was reaching out in front of him like he had tried a last minute grab of the jet before being buried by the waves. With a few strokes you were able to grab the harness that wrapped around his upper torso and held his weapons. You kicked your legs and fought against the sea, battling to get to the surface. You’d never been this far underwater before and definitely hadn’t had hold of a two hundred pound super soldier in the water either. You decided to use your wings and pushed them into a flapping motion in sync with your legs.

You broke the surface with a gasp. The waves grew bigger by the moment and a brief glance at Bucky in your arms told you he wasn’t breathing. Looking up into the darkness you could make out the lights of the jet, the door still open and Clint hanging out of it waving a flare. Your vision was blurred by the water on your mission glasses but it was enough to guide you back to them. A heavy pull of the water let you know you were in the trough of a huge wave and you knew it was now or never. You wrapped your legs around Bucky’s and slipped your hands into the back of his harness. You pulled and pushed with your wings until you were out of the water and battling your way to the jet.

You landed in a heap, still wrapped around the alpha. You heard Bruce yell to get him breathing and pulled yourself from around him. With Bruce working on Sam, Nat on Steve and Clint lining up a beacon arrow to fire to the jet it was on you.

You pulled Bucky onto his back and checked his airways. His heart was slow but still beating. You blew two breathes directly into his mouth, as Clint quickly joined you. He slapped his face and yelled at Bucky to wake up. You blew another breath into his mouth and decided to shock him with a little static electricity.

Water splashed across your face as he began to cough and you pushed him onto his side. You hit him hard on his back as he moved onto all fours. He coughed up more water and you hit him again before he gasped and gestured at you to stop.

Bucky was confused. One minute he’d been watching you take Steve. Then he was underwater. Now he was on the jet but it smelt like he was at Coney Island.

You watched as he took deep breaths before he muttered that you should have left him. It was quiet enough for the others to miss it with the noise of the jet but you certainly didn’t it and your brow furrowed as you looked towards Clint.

“What did he say?”

You signed back, concern across your face.

“He said I should have left him.”

It was at this moment Clint lost his shit. He grabbed at Bucky and pulled him from the floor, attempting to manhandle him towards the bed waiting for him.

“Hey asshole, she just risked her damn life for you, so you can quit with the self loathing bullshit.”

“I didn’t ask her to do that.” He replied shrugging Clint off.

“No, but she did it anyway. Didn’t even have to ask her and she’s throwing herself into a fucking storm for you three idiots. You’d be dead without her, all fucking three of you. Is that what you want?”

Bucky went to yell back but coughed again and struggled to catch his breath. You listened carefully and could hear he still had water in his lungs. You signed to Clint, who in turn yelled at Bucky.

“You’ve got water in your lungs dipshit. Get on the bed.”

Clint pulled at Bucky’s shoulder and he brushed him off harshly. You felt the mood in the jet shift further and the start of a growl rumbled in Natasha’s chest. A growl from Bruce followed but it sounded more like the other guy. Clint rubbed his face in frustration.

At this point you had really had enough. You were wet, cold and hurt. You were drained. You needed another shower and a warm bed. You heard Bruce ask Barnes again to get on the bed and his response was a growl. Natasha went to react but for once she wasn’t quick enough, as this time it was you losing your shit. You strode towards Barnes and pushed out your wings as a show of force and intimidation. You were almost surprised that it worked and he staggered back in shock and collided with the side of the bed as you crowded him. You grabbed the harness and lifted him up, sitting him on the bed. You were purposely rough as you lifted his legs and pushed him further on to bed.

You signed angrily.

“Get on the bed and do as you’re fucking told Sergeant.”

It was as you stormed off towards the bathroom that Bucky realised he’d fucked up. It was you that smelt of Coney Island. Well, sugar doughnuts and cotton candy.

The stirring of his alpha confirmed it. You were his.

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@animegirlgeeky @mrsevans90 @vicmc624 @elissanatok

[ithebookhoarder]

Open Arms (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Description: There are some nights where just having someone waiting for him is all Matt can ask for...

A/N: Who wouldn't want this loveable doofus to curl up in bed with?

Masterlist

It was always late whenever Matt finally got his ass home, after a night out patrolling across Hell’s Kitchen.

Sure, most people would have found your decision to wait up for him night after night insane - especially when you normally had to be at work bright and early the next day - but you didn’t mind. 

In fact, you felt relieved to know that Matt had someone watching out for him, whilst he so tirelessly continued his crusade to watch out for the people and place he called home. You may not have been as strong as Elektra, or any of the other super companions that somehow seemed to gravitate towards your boyfriend, yet this was your way of helping. Of showing up. Of being there for him without donning a mask and mantle yourself… even if you had jokingly mentioned it once or twice. 

Tonight had clearly been a long and gruelling shift, but successful nonetheless. You could tell without him even saying a word, from the way he drifted around your apartment, slowly shedding his mask and muttering to himself as he eventually made his way over to join you on the sofa. 

Cocooned in your favourite throw, you’d been trying to make your way through your seemingly never-ending stack of files you'd brought home from work, but had felt your eyes drooping every time you made it to the end of a sentence. However, it was a better alternative than trying to stay awake watching the late night shopping channels.

Your credit card had been abused enough for one month, and even Foggy had said your home had started looking like the inside of an IKEA show room. 

“What time do you call this, young man?” you teased, turning to gaze up at Matt as he approached.

His smile was immediate. 

Good God, you’d never tire of that adorable grin. 

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he purred, arms winding around you, hauling you close enough for him to press a kiss against the top of your head. “You still working? I thought we agreed it could wait until tomorrow?”

“Wow, Matthew Murdock! You are such a hypocrite.” 

Matt laughed. “Fair enough, I had that coming - but I’m home now and you’re the one still at it.”

Damn it. He had you there. 

“Any chance you fancy taking a break and coming to bed with me?”

With a sigh, you began to put the file down, knowing better than to argue. After all, it was bad when Matt Murdock was the one to tell you that you needed to take a break. Besides, the idea of curling up in his arms sounded pretty good about then. 

“Alright,” you conceded, extending your hands towards him. “You win.” 

With that, Matt grinned and helped you to your feet, clearly pleased with his victory. The pair of you then began to make your way to your bed, peeling back the covers and nestling together in a routine that was second nature by now. 

You didn’t even need to ask for Matt to slide in next to you, crawling across the mattress to rest his head against your chest. It was a moment of vulnerability - one you cherished as you felt the tension seeping out of the Devil in your arms with every passing moment. 

“Rough night?”

Matt nodded. 

He didn’t need to explain. 

He never did. Not when you could read him like an open book. It didn’t matter that you didn’t have his enhanced “super senses”, as you liked to tease. You could tell what he was thinking, and how he was feeling from a single glance. Like tonight - tonight, the way he was so willing to come to bed said that whatever had happened out there, in the dark, he was happy to leave it there. 

His focus was entirely on you, in the here and now, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a rush of selfish pleasure at the prospect. After all, it was a rare thing to have Matt to yourself, and to not to have to share him with the city he called home. 

“You smell good.”

His soft murmur made your lips flicker upwards.  

“Thank you. I may or may not have used your shampoo while you were gone…”

He chuckled, the vibrations making your chest shake. “No wonder you smell so good.”

Rolling your eyes, you flicked him on the nose in retribution. Matt yelped but was clearly exaggerating. This was the man who’d once split his head open and had carried on walking about like nothing was wrong. In fact, he’d only been given away after he collapsed in the middle of his office, giving the game away and terrifying poor Foggy in the process. 

“Ow!” 

Bending down as best as you could, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips by way of apology. You also began to gently run your fingers through his hair, the motion causing him to hum and nestle back down against you. 

So much for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. If only the world could see him now. Like this, it was hard to equate the fearsome vigilante that prowled the night, with the man curled up around you like a stray kitten. 

He seemed so much more vulnerable like this. 

As if sensing your train of thought, Matt spoke. “I love you, you know?” 

“I do. I love you too,” you replied. “Go to sleep, Matty. I got you.” 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

[ellemaru]

Simon "Ghost" Riley General Headcanons

A/N: This is just headcanons that have popped up in my head or whatever but I'm trying my best to keep it lore accurate/based off of lore. There will be some mentions of abuse, mental health, substance abuse (alcohol and drugs) and body dysmorphia due to how his character is.

General Appearance:

Starting with appearances, I think he's 6'2-6'4 and weighs 200-230 lbs (189-195 cm and 90-104 kgs).

He has prominent muscles, but they aren't Arnold Schwarzenegger huge but still large enough to the point that most people are impressed.

He has short, blondish hair where in the winter, it darkens to a light sandy brown if he doesn't go outside.

He had more of a fair and cool undertone but after spending time in the Middle East he darkened up slightly.

Everyone he knows always debates whether his eyes are green, grey or hazel but he personally thinks they are hazel with a light blue on the edges.

His nose is slightly hooked but is also kind of crooked from the front due to it being broken a gazillion times.

General Personality:

As proven previously with the "Alone" mission, Simon is a pretty funny guy.

I feel like there's a common misconception about him that he's super serious and cold and has no emotion but that's FAAAAAALSE.

When he's not on duty I'm a firm believer he acts sassy with the others to be funny.

He obviously knows that there's a time and place for everything but he also knows when a joke or sarcastic comment is needed to lighten the mood up.

I feel like his enhanced ability to read the room kind of stems from him having to always observe and walk on eggshells with his dad in the past.

Like if he misread his mood he could've potentially gotten hurt, leading to Mama Riley defending him causing her to get hurt too but that's for another post.

Back to the humor I feel like a lot of times he's just unintentionally funny like he'll say something, and because of his delivery people laugh and he just sits there confused like "???? I didn't make a joke"

100% a workaholic with no work-life balance because who needs that when your job is your life!

Once the guy starts working, he ain't gonna stop until he says so.

Super observant, he notices the fine details so if you think you can cut corners around him? You're mistaken.

Simon is moody af but that's definitely heightened by his kinda crappy mental health.

General Family:

He hates his dad.

Did I mention he hates his father?

For sure a mama's boy but not in an "I was my son's first girlfriend" kind of way.

He looks up to his mom like crazy and still has an emotional attachment to her from when he was young due to his father being emotionally, physically, and mentally abusive to him.

Anytime he comes back from a mission, has a rough day, or just needs advice on a decision or life he ALWAYS calls Mama Riley.

She's literally his rock because he sees her as someone who is steadfast and strong who goes based on the facts and how she takes things for face value, similar to Simon. I think this also gave Simon an admiration of single mothers and women in general since he grew up with more of a perspective from his mother than his father.

He loves Tommy to bits and pieces, and they were hands down partners in crime back in their teenage years before Simon enlisted.

If you go around Manchester, you can still see some of their graffiti tags on different things.

When Tommy became a drug addict, Simon was there for him from day 1 till he finally got clean.

A/N: This isn't much but if y'all want more I can work on another that's more detailed! Requests are always open so leave some suggestions on things you want to see!

[bluebeary-jay]

Congrats on 1k! 💙 hopefully I'm not late with this? My request is Oberyn + 'if i didn't know any better, i'd say you were jealous.' Anything but angst 🫢

I felt inspired by this one 😌💕 (2.2K of fluff and a sprinkle of some suggestive content but nothing graphic)

Thank you so much darling for requesting!! 🥰💗 I was thrilled when I saw two oberyn asks in my inbox idk why but I love writing for him! Sorry for the wait and I hope you'll enjoy it. Love you!! 💙

Oberyn always said that he did not wish to commit to any serious relationship, for in his mind it equaled to being trapped. But then he met, and eventually married, you – and his beliefs altered slightly. The love you two shared was incomparable to anything else he ever experienced and now there was no doubt in his mind that his whole being belonged to you and you alone. And it was the most wondrous feeling.

It didn’t mean, however, that there was no room in your lives and bed for other people. Especially if they were there to give his gorgeous wife an infinite amount of pleasure.

Oberyn never wanted to unconsciously push you to do anything you weren’t set on doing and the most important thing for him was to make it abundantly clear that his love was reserved only for you. The many beautiful people he occasionally invited to your shared chambers (with your knowledge, of course) were there only to enhance your and his physical pleasure.

He never felt jealousy toward any of them and always made sure your comfort came before anything else so you wouldn’t have to endure this bitter, poisonous feeling, either. And for months, everything was perfect.

But then something changed. All of it happened because of Jorral.

He was one of the helpers in the palace, tall and handsome, with skin smoother than silk. Oberyn assigned him as your personal servant a long time ago to cater to your every need whenever he wasn’t by your side or was summoned by his brother, but he was never worried about leaving you with another man. You were safe in the palace, after all, and the Prince trusted you completely, so the thought of something happening never even crossed his mind.

But then, after seeing how attentive Jorral was to your comfort, he had the bright idea to invite the servant to your bedroom so that they could both give you pleasure a man with only two hands and one tongue wouldn’t be able to. And you loved it. Oberyn loved it, too, of course – seeing you being worshiped by others in the way you deserved always gave him a sense of pride and happiness that he was able to provide it for you.

But even though it was a one-time occurrence, the interaction between you and Jorral shifted significantly.

None of this was your fault, Oberyn understood. He knew you long enough to realize that so very often you weren’t even aware of being flirted with – a fact he experienced first-hand when he was courting you, and one which Jorral seemed to abuse. Leaving flowers in your room and bringing you your favorite sweets between meals was alright – after all, the Prince of Dorne ordered it long before your wedding. But touching you, making up excuses to be alone with you and sitting way too close when Oberyn wasn’t present was somehow way too much.

A vile poison of unknown origin entered his veins and Oberyn Martell was no longer acting like himself. He didn’t know what was happening, and his mind was clouded by the consuming desire to have you as close as possible whenever there was another person nearby. It was an odd feeling for him. Foreign. He never experienced such compulsion before, the need to flaunt the proof of your marital union in front of everyone.

For weeks now he tried to restrain himself against such behavior. It was your choice who you spent your free time with and he’d be a hypocrite if he started to scrutinize everyone you wanted to be close to.

But he realized he didn’t have any problem with other people. It was just Jorral.

One afternoon, he wandered along the water gardens, knowing you’ll probably be here at this time of the day. He tried to get the thoughts of Jorral out of his mind, of the flirtatious smile he directed at you before Oberyn had to leave for a meeting. He reminded himself over and over again that it didn’t bother him and that it didn’t even mean anything when it was him you were married to.

Then, he heard your soft laugh on the other side of a tall hedge, beautiful like twinkling windchimes on the breeze, and all tension left his body – but only for a split second. Because the voice that answered you belonged to your personal servant.

Quietly as a viper, Oberyn went around the wall of green to where you were standing – and indeed there you were, with your back to him and Jorral standing in front of you, touching your forearm. The servant’s eyes darted to Oberyn and he immediately withdrew his hand, but before he could alert you of the Prince’s presence, he took a long stride and snaked his arms around your waist.

“My flower,” he murmured into your temple with a smile, pressing your back closer to his chest when you gasped, startled.

“Oberyn,” you breathed with relief when you finally noticed him. You placed your hand over your rapidly beating heart, but your body was already relaxing in his hold. “Gods, you scared me to death.”

“Apologies,” he said in a raspy voice as his lips latched onto your neck in a tender manner. “My heart was calling for you. I couldn’t wait to have my sweet wife back in my arms.”

You smiled and leaned against him as he whispered words of poetry in your ear. Your hands covered his, wrapped around your waist, and your eyes closed in pleasure as he kissed your neck again and again – completely oblivious to the dark look your Prince was giving Jorral. “I’m sorry I made you wait for so long.”

“You’re here now.” You tilted your head, laying it on his shoulder so that you could see him. Oberyn smiled brightly when you lifted one of his hands to your lips and kissed his fingers, but it wasn’t just because of his wife’s affections – his eyes flickered to the man standing next to you, making sure that he’s watching. “How was the meeting with your brother?”

“Long and dull without you there. I couldn’t stop thinking about how ethereal you looked when I left you, still half-asleep and tangled in the sheets in my bed.”

He put more pressure on those last two words than he intended, but you didn’t seem to notice. Instead you turned to Jorral and thanked him for keeping you company before mentioning something about the topic you previously discussed. Oberyn’s features hardened as his hands roamed aimlessly over your body, craving your full attention, but the smile quickly returned to his face. His thumb – not even on purpose – brushed the underside of your breast, making you squirm and squeal.

“Easy, my love.” He did it again, this time deliberately and chuckled when you said his name chidingly. “You’re always so responsive to my touch,” Oberyn murmured, not even caring now if the other man could hear him. Your proximity was so intoxicating and all his senses were focused solely on you, screaming at him to kiss you already.

So he did.

The Prince of Dorne tilted your chin up gently and brought his lips to yours, his tongue invading your mouth before you even knew what was happening. You whimpered under the onslaught of his open-mouthed kisses, but the sounds you were making only served to fuel Oberyn’s desire. He cupped your cheek, wanting you closer, yearning to touch you as much as possible while you returned his soft caresses. Oberyn knew of your shy nature and could almost feel your inner conflict, the hesitancy whether to bring him closer or push him away – but the love of his action melted your resolve soon enough, making you putty in his hands.

Oberyn pulled away slightly, tugging at your bottom lip trapped between his teeth and making you moan. He relished in those pretty sounds, as well as the shivers raking your body when he moved lower, nibbling at your neck.

“My love…” you began before sighing in pleasure again.

Your husband didn’t stop his actions, trailing his nose down the column of your neck and inhaling your scent.

“You smell nice,” he hummed, burying his nose in the spot where your neck met your shoulder and pressing his lips there tenderly. “Did you bathe beforehand?”

“Yes, Jorral helped me,” you answered matter-of-factly, missing the twitch on Oberyn’s face. “That oil you gifted me recently smelled so good, I didn’t want to get out.”

“That’s true. The Princess stayed in the tub until the water turned cold,” Jorral spoke up for the first time since Oberyn arrived. He smiled sweetly at you, making you return the gesture and Oberyn arch his eyebrow.

“Is that so?” Oberyn asked blandly, staring at the other man. “Wait for me next time, my love. I’d love nothing more than to help you myself.”

“If you wish so.” You brushed his cheek with your fingertips and his eyes flickered back to your concerned ones. “But it’s fine, you know. Jorral is a great help to me an–”

“What do you say we retire to our chambers?” Oberyn interrupted with a sensual purr, putting back a smile on his face. “I wish to hold you in my arms, my love, with your naked body pressed against mine.”

“Oberyn,” you whispered bashfully, looking away in embarrassment. He chuckled, glancing above your shoulder at the other man who seemed increasingly more uncomfortable and bitter by the situation.

“My wife looks so beautiful with this blush adoring her cheeks, does she not?” he asked Jorral, his voice poisonously sweet like a viper’s venom. The servant didn’t give any indication that he heard him, making Oberyn’s eyes darken. “I asked you a question.”

Jorral met his challenging stare begrudgingly. “She does, my Prince.” Then he turned to you. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my Princess?”

“No,” Oberyn answered instead of you. “I’ll make sure she wants for nothing when she’s with me. Now leave.”

He felt your eyes on his face, but didn’t turn around and continued staring at Jorral. A couple of seconds passed between two men before the servant clenched his teeth and bowed his head before making his way back to the palace. Oberyn no longer tried to hide the smug smile tugging at his lips, and only after he disappeared from sight and you were left alone, he turned to look at you.

“Care to tell me what that was about?” you asked with your eyebrow raised, but Oberyn just offered you an easy-going smile.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, my love.” He pulled you into his arms, humming as his eyes followed his large hand tracing your curves. “I was merely anxious to be alone with you.”

“You never minded other people watching… or participating, for that matter.” Oberyn beamed under your scrutinizing gaze, and you squinted at him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

There was no reason to feel sheepish or deny your accusations. If anything, he was proud that his wonderful, smart partner saw right through him.

“Of whom would I be?” he teased instead of answering, tugging you behind him as he made his way backwards to one of the stone benches set nearby. “I am a Prince of Dorne and you’re my beautiful wedded wife. I’ve no reason to be insecure.”

“So it has nothing to do with Jorral?” you asked with fake innocence, but Oberyn shook his head. His knees hit the cold edge of the seat and he plopped down, gazing up at you with love so overwhelming that it threatened to drive him mad. You pressed your lips together to hide a smile on your pretty face when he pulled you to stand between his legs. “So it doesn’t bother you that he bathed me so thoroughly today?”

Oberyn’s body stiffened against his will before he realized that you were just teasing, but it was too late – you gasped and a look of triumph spread across your face.

“You are jealous!” you giggled and Oberyn sighed, leaning his head on your stomach. His hands caressed the back of your thighs slowly, inching higher with each loving stroke.

“What have you done to me, my love?” he asked dramatically, making you laugh again. “Before I surrendered my heart to you, I never felt so sick from watching any of my lovers with another person.”

“But you know you needn’t worry, right?” you inquired softly, leaning down to kiss his hairline, your fingers trailing down his short beard. “I belong only to you, darling. No one else could ever compare.”

A brilliant smile spread across his cheeks and Oberyn tugged on your wrist, encouraging you to sit down on his lap. Once you did, he hugged you tightly, cupping your cheek with his other hand.

“What would my gorgeous wife say to a horse ride along the seashore?” he whispered, gazing up into your eyes. “Just the two of us?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him softly, smiling against his lips.

“She’d love that. But I’m afraid her handsome husband will have to help her change into more appropriate clothes.”

All thoughts of other men left his mind as Oberyn brushed his nose against yours, his chest expanding with overwhelming love at the simple sight of your smile.

“I’m sure he’d love that, too.”

[uhohdad]

If Titan had truly loved someone, how would he act?

WARNING: 18+, NSFW, DEPICTIONS OF NON-CONSEXUAL SEX AND PHYSICAL ABUSE. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION AND TAKE CARE <3

The Head Cheerleader and The Star Quarterback High School Fantasy come true.

There’s something about having a girl like you at his side that just makes him feel twice as powerful as he already is. He can’t help but show off - because knowing that you’re his makes him feel like The Man. It’s intoxicating, your presence. He is addicted to how big and strong and powerful you make him feel. It’s almost tangible in times when he pulls you in for a sloppy kiss on your cheek or forehead. He’ll linger for a moment after his lips leave you, the tip of his nose still pressed to your skin while he breaths you - no, inhales you. Your scent sets his shoulders back and makes him stand a little taller. It wakes him up. Your pheromones are a drug, his performance enhancer.

The cockiness, the teasing, the flirting, it all seems to escalate when you’re around. Silky purrs and hums from a dangerous smile and fluttering eyes watching you get more and more flustered.

You’re his favorite toy to play with.

And Titan makes sure everyone knows it.

You’ll wear his jacket, and he’ll keep the loose fit snug with one of his strong arms slung around your shoulders. He tugs you close, until you’re practically sitting in his lap, and he won’t be discreet when his hand slides down your back. A tight meld as his palm snakes around your ribcage, smoothing over the curve of your waist. He’ll finish on a painful grope to the top of your ass, relishing in the way your squeak interrupts the conversation. His hand will creep to your front long after your squeak has been forgotten, pinching your thigh underneath the table and laughing at you when you flinch and bat his hand away. It doesn’t stop him from returning for seconds, resting on your knee before creeping further up your plush insides of your thigh.

He can’t wait for the moment you turn your head to snap at him, wont be able to hold back his smug grin while he stares down your cute angry little face, because your scolding will be completely undermined by the overlapped marks of his teeth painting the sensitive flesh of your neck.

His feelings for you does not hinder his tendency to push things too far. His teasing and button-pushing is endearing, making you smile more times than not, but some of your biggest fights revolve around him disrespecting the simplest of boundaries.

He can’t keep his hands off of you. And most of the time it’s welcomed, but in public you don’t exactly appreciate being groped and degraded in front of everyone. It doesn’t stop him from holding you steady by your hips to plant a kiss on a bruise he left on your neck the night before, grinding his aching cock against your ass.

You’ll try to whip around and shove him away, a heat on your cheeks as your eyes dart around to make sure no one noticed, but you’re no match for your boyfriend’s powerful grip.

“Titan!” You hiss through clenched teeth.

His fingers dig painfully into your hips when you try and wiggle from him, the strain in his jeans rubbing over the curve of your ass as he slobbers over your shoulder.

“Stop!”

He pulls off your shoulder and presses his lips to your ear, giving you another squeeze from behind.

“Oh, c’mon, no one’s watching Doll Face.”

You grimace at the crude nickname, hands prying to get Titan’s fingers from bruising your hips, but it seems to have the opposite effect.

“I’m not joking, Titan, get off!” Your scold is spoke through grit teeth.

You can feel his smile against your ear, his words nothing but a sickeningly sweet purr.

“Well if you’re embarrassed about giving everyone a show, let’s just go somewhere private, Dolly.”

You give an earnest but discreet tug against his brutal restraint.

“You can’t control yourself until we get home?”

Titan presses his aching cock against your ass and gives another steady grind.

“How am I supposed to wait when you look, taste, and smell this good?”

You give an exasperated huff, stifling the shudder his breathy words send down your spine.

You know it’ll be easier for everyone involved if you just give in.

His voice drops several octaves when he presses his lips to your ear.

“Now.”

Titan lets go of your hips to snatch a wrist, his grip crushing as he drags you to the nearest storage closet, bathroom stall, or dingy alleyway, picking you up by the back of your thighs and pining you against the wall, fucking you until you’re grateful he chose to take advantage of you right here right now. Greedy, brutal cock filling you up, savage grunts and filthy degradations growled into your ear.

“I don’t know why you always put up such a fight, Doll.”

His grip of the plush flesh of your thighs tighten, tits bouncing ruthlessly against your ribcage as he quickens his thrusts, bottoming out and slapping his mound against your swollen clit with each plunge into your dripping cunt.

“Look how wet this cunt is for me,” He grits, eyes long since darkened and drained of empathy.

“You’re made for this, Doll.”

You pinch your eyes closed as your shaking fingers dig into toned shoulders, head lulling against the wall as he has his way with you.

You know this is wrong.

You know that this isn’t how a lover is supposed to treat you.

But Titan’s right.

The arousal soaking his cock proves how sick you are, how you crave the mistreatment and abuse, how you love the possessive hold he has around your neck.

Titan knows it’s wrong too.

Because after he buries his finish deep into your eager cunt, his grunts and powerful thrusts wavering as he claims you as his own, he can’t seem to meet your eyes.

He’s always well behaved after. His touches are soothing, his kisses tender instead of slobbering, compliments spoken with a genuine tongue instead of a condescending one.

The next day you’ll find flowers waiting for you, and he’ll tell you about which flower made him think of you the most. He’ll snuggle up to you, the way a lover should snuggle up to you, and rest his head on your shoulder.

You know he’s just trying to relieve his own guilt. He wants you to remind him that you will still love him regardless of his depraved urges.

And you’ll give in, reaching a hand up to play with his hair and scratch his scalp. He’ll give a hum into your shoulder - a content hum, not an arrogant one.

Your relationship waxes and wanes like this, a stint of good behavior until the corruption creeps back in, escalating exponentially until Titan inevitably boils over, sometimes in lust, sometimes in jealously, sometimes in anger.

You do love him. And he loves you.

He just can’t help it.

⌞ ALL TITAN DRABBLES ⌟

⌞ KONIG X READER HUNGER GAMES AU ⌟

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 49 – Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh

Introduction

I forget who initially recommended me this book, but I owe them an incredible debt. Really the only disappointing thing is that I hadn’t heard of it even sooner, as this really is just perfectly tailored to appeal to me specifically. First science fiction/fantasy novel I can remember reading in a long time that I actively wished was longer. As a testament to how much I liked this book – this review is long enough to need subheadings.

So! Some Desperate Glory is a space opera, following Kyr (Valkyr, technically), a 17-year-old cadet and genetically enhanced ‘warbreed’ golden girl of Gaea Station – that being the quasi-fascist statelet of militant dead-enders who fled to a desolate planetoid in a dead system to continue the war after aliens destroyed the earth/most of humanity. After she gets assigned to Nursery (read: breeding the next generation of soldiers) instead of a combat wing and has a crisis of faith, she talks herself into running away to help her brother on the suicide mission terrorist attack he was deployed on. With the help of one of her brother’s friends and a captured alien, she manages it, discovers that her brother had absolutely no intention of actually following orders once he’d made it out, and take it upon herself to do her own, better, terrorism. From there the plot gets weird, and I’m going to spoil it shamelessly talking about it, but if you value surprises when reading at all just stop this review and go read it.

The Heroine

Kyr is, and I say this lovingly, the most insufferable bitch of a 17-year-old military brat I’ve ever spent time in the head of (at least at first). Even compared to the other indoctrinated child soldiers she’s the cop nobody likes. She then spends the first third to half of the book unlearning this indoctrination, by which I mean very arduously and painfully reaching a point of ‘the fascist cult was a corruption and black mark on the good name of the death cult vengeful crusade, I’ll do it better’ and ‘it’s probably okay to not, like, personally hate aliens who were too young to have been alive when the earth was destroyed. Torturing them for no reason is wrong, like abusing animals was, back when there were animals’. She spends the entire book expecting on a bone-deep level to get herself killed for the cause, and at the end of the book is only like 10% of the way better (one of the last beats in the entire story is, standing with one of her only friends and sure they’re both about to run out of life support, offering to snap their neck for them because ‘asphyxiation’s a nasty way to go’). Whenever she is confronted with the idea that some people aren’t constantly aware of the possibility of physical violence or get to live their lives as something other than a bullet in the gun seeking vengeance for a dead planet she wants to scream and smash things at the unfairness of it all. I adore her.

Honestly my only real complaint is how quickly she starts mellowing out in the second and third acts of the story. There’s extenuating circumstances (whole extra life of memories, time loop bullshit, forcibly confronted with what she said she wanted and what it looks like, etc), but past the one real big hump it did rather feel like her character development suddenly became a bit smooth and easy/. This is one of the things I’m talking about when I say I wish the book was longer – everything after the first big climax and the time travel/universe editing felt kind of rushed and abbreviated.

As far as being a #problematic fave goes, Kyr was also very carefully kept from being, like, directly personally culpable for anything really unforgivable. Which I do understand why from a wanting people to sympathize with the racist homophobic fascist child soldier, but like – you’ve already introduced time travel and retroactivity. C’mon, don’t get cold feet now. Let her and Avi really share the ‘killed trillions in a universe that retroactively never happened’ credit.

Also, and entirely tangentially – you know how in a lot of action shows, the hero has incredibly emotionally tense rivalries and/or camaraderie with other guys, and then also an extremely conventionally feminine girlfriend off to the side somewhere who does like two things in the entire story and mostly seems to exist to prove he’s straight? Kyr has that, except she is textually gay (if incredibly repressed about it and like 90% of the way to asexual in terms of libido). Sorry Lis, but you are literally barely a character. Cleo’s right there, and already has a personality that’s more than two bullet points and is actually involved in the plot in ways beyond ‘love interest’.

Gaea Station

The shitty fascist asteroid habitat that Kyr grew up on is (if barely) the primary setting of the story, and as far as portrayals of incredibly unbalanced and fundamentally broken society just full of cultlike and ultranationalist neuross. I kind of love it as a dystopian setting, though I feel like the author kind of over-egged the pudding on it by the end of the book.

Society is organized into what feels like an intentional parody of a lot of YA dystopia setups, where you live in a tightly integrated mess all through adolescence (each with their own heraldic animal to idenity with!) but then at 17 your exams determine the branch of society you will be assigned to for the rest of your life to do your duty for humanity. Of course, unlike most YA dystopias, the System isn’t the result of some leviathan-state ruling the fates of millions or a tradition that’s going back generations upon generations – it’s a ramshackle mess that can barely consistently feed its warrior elites enough protein slop to take advantage of their genetically engineered hormone levels for muscle growth. It’s all so clearly and intentionally artificial and fake that it loops around to feeling extremely realistic.

Also do love how the elder generation all have names like Joel or Ursa or Elena, while the younger generation are all Valkyr and Magnus and Avicenna and Zenobia. The only really surprising thing is that they don’t specifically call out how children are raised in common and without individual families as following Plato’s Republic – it’s exactly the sort of attempt to create a grand unifying mythology for all of Earth’s true and vengeful children.

I really do wish Tesh had trusted the reader a bit more about it, though. Like, we can tell that almost all the names of the younger generation are either historical figures form the Mediterranean/Greco-Roman world or Norse mythology (with a few exceptions like Avicenna who fit the general aesthetic if not those exact conditions), which puts a bit of a lie to the whole ‘pan-human’ bit. It’s a clever bit of characterization through worldbuilding! You don’t need to call it out twice in dialogue between characters and then again in an in-universe scholarly essay excerpt at the start of a chapter. I can’t complain too badly though, she’s really not even close to being the worst for that I’ve read recently.

One thing I did like especially because I don’t think it was ever called out and brought front and centre is just the sort of, like, perfect irony of both Kyr and her brother Magnus – ‘warbreed’ engineered supersoldiers with physical capabilities beyond any baseline human, blonde aryan ubermensch, the golden children and eugenic future of Gaea Station/true humanity – both being queer and totally unsuited to their assigned gender roles. If it was, like, specifically brought up in a big monologue as disproof of the Gaean ideology or something it’d feel much too on the nose, but as just a set of facts underlying the characterization of the protagonists I liked it quite a lot.

Trio Dynamics

They don’t actually have all that much pagecount spent together, now that I think about it, but as far as I’m concerned the absolute heart of the story is the dynamic between Kyr, Avi (Avicenna, genius-level hacker and cynical rat bastard discontented Gaea Station restaurant) and Yiso (young and rebellious Prince of the Wisdom, taken captive by Gaea when they’re personal ship came too close and then liberated/kidnapped by the other two in their escape attempt). It’s peak trauma-bonding in that the first time it involves a) Avi torturing Yiso to force the alien supercomputer to let him access it and b) Kyr shooting Avi in the head after he uses access to the supercomputer to wipe out 90% of galactic civilization as payback for the whole ‘destroyed Earth with an antimatter missile’ thing (she got a case of morals when confronted with what ‘winning’ would mean. Also her brother shooting himself.)

By all rights they should absolutely hate each other and after two temporal recursions and oceans of retroactively unspilled blood on all their hands they’re the only people who even slightly understand each other. At one point Kyr tells Yiso ‘just so you know, I don’t really care about you as a person,’ and then immideately thinks ‘that was a lie. Why did I say that?’ Avi and Kyr both deprogram themselves from the cult that raised them but only the ‘loyalty to the cult’ bits and not the ‘alien race war vengance death cult’ bits. Yiso meets Kyr in an atemporal training simulation and gets retroactive Stockholm syndrone even though the first time they actually meet she breaks their ribs for repressed teenager reasons. They all drive me absolutely insane and I absolutely adore them. Even if Avi’s redemption felt waaaaay too rushed and unjustified in the final recursion, willing to forgive it here.

Time Loops

The big twist of the story is that, having fucked up and enabled Avi taking vengeance for Earth by doing the same thing to every other alien species, Kyr jumps into the alien supercomputer time manipulation buisness wholesale and goes back to prevent the destruction of Earth. Which then fast forwards to her being a newly minted officer in the Terran Expeditionary Fleet that is the imperial power dominating the known galaxy in increasingly high-collateral damage ways as time goes on. Yiso, in this timeline the beating heart and soul of the main alien resistance group, seeks her out and restores her memories and they go back to try and hijack the alien supercomputer before the government office whose hijacked its crippled remnants (as helmed by the alternate-timeline version of Gaea Station’s great leader, now a fleet admiral of the ‘Providence’ division) manage to literally destroy the universe.

It is mostly down to all the fanfic I’ve read, but I really, really adore timeline divergences that ropagate out and leave all the major characters different but similar people in alien yet appropriate situations. I also adore time travel stories about someone turning the timeline into swiss cheese trying to brute force their way to the one and only golden ending. So I adore this whole conceit. Really my only complaint is that there were only two (one and a half, really) recursions. Not that I’m demanding a full groundhog day here. But, like, it’d have been nice. And Kyr/Avi/Yiso continuously bumping into each other in different configurations and usually ending up at gunpoint would have been ann absolutely amazing bit.

Space Orcs

I can’t be sure Tesh actually had any exposure to the whole online meme of ‘humans as space orcs’, but I do and it’s really impossible to read the book as anything but an examination of the idea. Compared to every alien species ever encountered, humans are tall, heavy, muscular, impulsive, and violent. In a one-on-one confrontation they’ll snap any other species’ neck. The very first pages of the book are an excerpt from an in-universe text writing for an aliens about how actually really humans are very intelligent, and then talking about how threat displays and ‘human culture’. In the original timeline they even fit into the usual social niche of orcs in a lot of fantasy these days – the scattered and diminished remnants of a brutal empire that was defeated and mostly-exterminated in their attempts to conquer the universe.

The book’s handling of this doesn’t really have a point, as far as I can tell – the worldbuilding’s sufficiently divorced from anything real that trying to call it a commentary on racism or genocide or conquering empires is a stretch. (It is after all a fundamental point of the book that the obliteration of earth and extermination of the vast majority of humanity really was the only way the Wisdom could prevent the Terran Federation from conquering the known galaxy. Which is I’m extremely sure not something the author intends to be a historical analogy.) I found it a fun bit of worldbuilding and interesting subversion of normal space opera tropes regarding humanity’s relative abilities, anyway.

Theodicy

Is an incredibly pretentious way to title this section, but also in a sense kind of the core of the book’s plot? In an interesting way, and I think it’s really the book’s greatest weakness that it doesn’t explore or grapple with it enough.

Which is to say – the Wisdom is at the heart of galactic civilization. It’s an alien AI with vague but vast (though limited) reality-warping and precognitive powers. It does not rule the civilizations that accept it, but guides them as a benevolent god towards best, happiest outcomes with whatever support they ask for or need. To determine what ‘best’ means, it creates its Princes, vat-grown heirs to the dead species that created it, with a lifespan of millenia spent going through simulations and interacting with the world to provide the data and decision-making it requires to make that sort of strategic decision.

The Terran Federation’s attempt to reverse-engineer or hijack the Wisdom put it in a situation where the only solution its princes could find was to destroy the better part of humanity and even more of their industry and culture. Through the plot of the first acts of the book, Kyr and her genius-level-hacker friend hijack a node of it and Kyr convinces/forces it to accept her decision-making instead of its prince (who they just killed). This results in an explicitly colonialist human empire ruling over aliens as oppressed subjects, and using the half-wrecked and poorly understood Wisdom to eliminate threats before they occur (shunting the reality backlash off to alien worlds they don’t care about). The next acts of the book mostly resolve around fixing or reverting this, and end with Kyr diving back into a node and having another conversation with it.

A conversation which is basically it giving up. It reverts things back to the human-genocide timeline, then shuts down its infrastructure and goes dark, leaving the entire mostly pacifistic and loosely governed galactic civilization it had protected suddenly on its own. Humanity were such assholes we found a loving god and then convinced it to kill itself.

Which, like, could 100% totally work. As far as high concept short story prompts go its incredible. But as far as actually driving the action goes the Wisdom is the one who makes the most important deciisons in the entire book, and determine the entire shape of the plot. For it to land, it really really needed more than two and a half short conversations on screen, at least to me.

TL:DR

Good book, lesbian doing space atrocities, should have been longer.

[electrikworm]

5 times Wrecker protected his siblings and 5 times they protected him: Chapter 9

As cadets, Hunter comforts Wrecker after a nightmare.

--

Content warning: Nightmares, Child Abuse

I wrote this ages ago, right when I started this collection of fics, but just... forgot to post it? I may be stupid.

It's pretty short, but hope you still enjoy it :)

Read on Ao3

Hunter can't sleep. No matter which way he lays, how often he forces himself to stay still and close his eyes, how hard he tries to clear his thoughts, he just can't sleep. As annoying as it is, issues with falling asleep are a frequent problem Hunter faces.

Tipoca City is never quiet, not even at night. The hum of electricity is constant and someone is always still awake, working in one of the labs or in a landing bay. Then there's the storms, pelting the domed roof of their barracks with rain, thunder crashing outside, lightning illuminating the dark room with a bright flash ever so often.

The only good thing about Hunters enhanced senses at night is that he can hear his vode breathing, their heartbeats too if he really focuses. Hunter would know immediately if something was wrong, if one of them wasn't there. Some nights, Hunter can tune out all other sensations just by concentrating on the presence of his brothers. That doesn't seem to work today.

Training was too much, too long. Hunter was tasked with picking apart different electromagnetic frequencies, pinpointing their locations, all whilst different noises and sensations were used to try and hinder his progress. He's still got a splitting headache now, hours later.

Thunder rumbles across the clouded sky, Hunter presses his hands to his face with a groan. At this rate, he'll get one or two hours of sleep in at best.

With all the sensations assaulting Hunters senses, it takes him far too long to realize something is up with one of his brothers. Wrecker's breathing in short gasps, his heart is beating fast, panicked. A nightmare.

Another thing Hunter isn't unfamiliar with, nor is any clone for that matter, nightmares being near universal. Carefully, Hunter gets up. The floor is cold under his feet as he takes one quiet step after the other, not wanting to wake his sleeping vode.

He wants to check on Wrecker. It is just a nightmare, nothing real or of actual risk to his brother, Hunter knows that. He still wants to check.

Hunter comes to a stop in front of Wreckers bunk. He's curled up on his side, expression pinched, shaking ever so slightly. This close, Hunter can smell his fear and the sweat dampening his skin. How had it took Hunter this long to notice his brothers distress?

Out of the four of them, Wrecker's always had it worst when it comes to nightmares. He has them the most, wakes up screaming. It's why they made Lula for him. She's helped, but doesn't seem to be enough today, even if Wrecker has her pressed tightly to his chest.

For a moment, Hunter stands with his hand extended, hovering a little way above Wreckers shoulder. Hunter wants to wake Wrecker, would want to be woken if he was having a nightmare himself. But startling Wrecker is the last thing he wants to do. He tries to think of the best way to go about doing so.

All consideration is discarded when Wrecker whimpers and twitches in his sleep, and Hunter shakes his shoulder. Wrecker gasps, eyes flinging open. He tries to get away from Hunter, slamming into the wall behind him with a dull thud, fear and confusion on his face. This is exactly what Hunter had wanted to avoid.

Despite being younger than Hunter, Wrecker is already almost a head taller than him. Pressed up against the wall as he is, knees drawn to his chest, he looks small.

“Wrecker?” Hunter keeps his voice quiet. There's recognition in Wreckers eyes now, layered on top of the fear.

“Sorry I woke you...” He sounds on the verge of tears, looks it too.

“You didn't.” Hunter lingers another moment, not sure what to say. Wrecker buries his face in his tooka doll and whilst he can't see it, Hunter's sure the tears that threatened to spill before do just that now. Hunter, with his enhanced senses, can pick up on Wreckers barely audible sniffles and suppressed sobs, but Tech and Crosshair probably couldn't. Wrecker's the loudest clone, possibly the loudest person Hunter knows, though some of the supervisors during training are very good at being loud as well. But when he's crying, Wrecker can be very quiet.

Not knowing what else to do, Hunter sits next to Wrecker, putting a hand on his shoulder. It does something, because Wrecker immediately pulls him into a hug. His tears soak into Hunters shirt. Hunter returns the hug carefully, remembering the bruises Wrecker had return from his own training with.

Wrecker didn't really tell them what happened when he came back looking downcast, only saying that he dropped something. When he then spent ages wincing every two minutes it still took all three of them pestering him about it for him to let them see the damage. By the looks of it, what ever he'd dropped had landed on him. But bruises are normal part of training. Hunter had had the feeling something else was upsetting their vod. After dinner, Wrecker had seemed fine, so Hunter left it.

As Wrecker continues to cry into Hunters shoulder, he gets a feeling his little brother is still being affected by what had upset him earlier. “Kih'vod?” Hunter doesn't want to stop Wrecker hugging him, but he does try and move so he can see his brothers face. “What's going on?”

Wrecker's trying to stop himself from crying now, wiping his face with the back of his hand. It takes him a while to answer. “You think they'll decommission me?” His words still sound almost like a sob.

“What? You won't get decommissioned for dropping something.” Surely they wouldn't, right?

“What if I don't get strong fast enough?” Wrecker says, pulling Hunter closer again. Hunter doesn't have the answer to that question.

“You will.” He says instead, hoping it will reassure Wrecker. “I know you will.”

Wrecker nods. He doesn't ask again, but does hold onto Hunter for a long while. Even after he's stopped crying, he seems reluctant to let go. Wrecker is warm and his hold on Hunter is comfortable, easier to focus on compared to the overwhelming sensations outside of this close proximity.

When Wrecker does move away from Hunter, he doesn't look happy to do so. “I shouldn't keep you from sleeping.” He mumbles, playing with Lula's ear absent-mindedly.

“I can stay, if you'd like.” Wrecker lights up at that, pulling Hunter over to lay down next to him, placing Lula so Hunter could hold her too if he wished.

Hunter doesn't sleep great, still plagues by a headache and too much noise, but he sleeps more than he thought he would. More importantly, Wrecker isn't disturbed by any further nightmares, and Hunter likes to believe his presence helped with that. That way, there was at least a point to him not being able to sleep.

[pruneunfair]

"My feelings on" part 5. How to get my husband on my side and how it properly tackles abuse, eating disorders, and relationships.

Another super popular manhwa that I can understand why it's so beloved. The Borgias were actual people in history that inspired characters like the protagonist Ruby, and the title itself already feels different since the world of OI is all about being a perfect badass woman, funnily enough, HTGMHOMS does this better than most.

Rudbeckia/Ruby starts off with the behavior of the og fls that a lot of OI make fun of. She is surrounded by what appears to be loving family members and is already being prepped to be married of to Izek, she looks excited and ready to do whatever her family wants until her inner monolog reveals how she really feels about them especially her older brother Cezar. She hates almost all of them and her real reason for being excited for marriage is so she can get away from her abusive household and avoid death which shouldn't be hard since the transmigrator doesn't plan on poisoning her sister in law like og Ruby did. She's a master of hiding her feelings already which is attributed to her past life in a similarly abusive adoptive household.

Right off bat, Ruby is shown to be strong in the mental sense. Not only is she walking on eggshells she also suffers from an ED (likely bulimia), there a quite a few scenes where she's throwing up, refusing to eat a lot, or in later chapters, eating a lot more out of stress. Her family too is whole new level of psychological horror. They aren't cartoonist evil, for example Pope Borgia is usually kind to his daughter and treats her with respect until he feels like she's defying him, all of a sudden that kind caring nature is gone, then he becomes threatening, or her older brother Cezar who has been abusing her for years both physically and sexually, he keeps her in place through fear, intimidation, and attacking her on occasion which is only enhanced after he kills Rubys bird and feeds it to his turtle which gives Ruby a phobia of turtles. It's actually heartbreaking with how eerily realistic it is when these types of people are easily placed like normal family members in certain scenes, because that's often how abusive family members blend in, almost no one knows what they are really like and if you looked at a first glance without context, you'd think "Ah yes, that's just a brother next to his siblings." They're never truly gone, they just know how to hide their true colors so well.

This is why Ruby is so much stronger than a lot of people give her credit for, she's dealing with all of this at the same time and her only hope of respite is being as far as possible from her home country. It's easy to jump to the conclusion that Ruby is just a weak stereotypical protagonist everytime you see her pretend to fawn over Izeks presence but if you read further, you'd know that Ruby doesn't like it any better but she thinks she's doing what's right to avoid Izeks Wrath since she's the only one who knows what he is the one who kills the og Ruby in the novel.

Speaking of which, while Izek isn't my favorite ML ever, I still was shocked to find that I liked the typical cold nobleman persona on him. Unlike a lot of ML's Izek is allowed to be flawed and his negative traits and moments aren't brushed aside, they cause some issues like Ruby going out of her way to appear dainty and sweet so Izek won't kill her. He acknowledges how he has hurt her and grows from it and doesn't push her boundaries. It's possible for the cold Duke archetype to work but a lot of the time, the whole war hero past gets thrown to the side for baseless fan service or they're just unapologetically abusive. Izek however is in the in between. His cold and dangerous persona stays consistent but that doesn't make him one note and he gets to have geninue moments of care for those in his life rendering Izek to still be likeable.

Ive noticed that the narrative also makes sense instead of twisting itself for a stupid chance at a fan service plot. An example is Ellen and Freya.

An unfortunate sideffects from the fandom was on and off hatred of Ellen for considering what Freya had to say, taking her side or not even choosing a side at all. The readers know that Freya tried to get Ruby killed by tricking her into going into a monster infested forest or when she tried to frame Ruby for poisoning her, but does Ellen know that? Realistically she's not going to immediately turn her back on Freya since they were childhood friends along eith Izek but that doesn't mean she screams at Ruby either. Ellen does care about Ruby but she knew Freya longer than she knew Ruby. From her perspective, it' makes sense that Freya would be innocent.

But perhaps the best part about Ellen that makes her my favorite character is how she notices the little details on others. She's the first to find out that Ruby has an eating disorder and it's not out of nowhere either, Ellen and Izeks late mother also suffered from a eating disorder that Ellen witnessed more than once so it gives an explanation on how she can tell what Ruby is going through.

Side characters are treated just as well as the main cast too. From the other guards to the friendly monsters to minor antagonist and even the children are all given attention to be their own beings, it doesn't have to be a lot since most of what I mentioned are minor characters but then you got characters like Ivan who has a life outside of just being by Izeks side.

Out of all the side characters I gotta say the monsters are my favorites. It makes me wish there was a side story where Ruby successfully runs away forever and lives as a little witch with monster companions.

Of course like all media, HTGMHOMS has its flaws but I think I'll chill on this one since the flaws aren't large enough to ruin it and I want to stay positive on something I like for once.

Conclusion: This is a story that does such an amazing job with its commentary. Instead of just saying "Cezar abused Ruby in the past! Feel bad for her now!" For example, we are given actual flashbacks to respect the show don't tell rule. Other characters besides Ruby suffer from their own traumas and they get their own arcs on their hardships and how they recover from it, it handles eating disorders and trauma responses in a respectful way that has an actual effect on the plot. Most of all, it does all of this with the type of protagonist that has been deemed as "weak" before in the manhwa community. Ruby isn't a boss girl who is always successful and smart. She makes reckless decisions, she cries, she isn't always able to one-up her enemies like Freya. She's a human woman stuck in a world that's not her own but she still rises to the task at hand even with all her blunders. Ironically making her more feminist then many of the female leads before her.

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 10: More Deepground with Some Hojo Mischief

Rating: Mature

Warnings: hojo, canon-typical violence, referenced abuse and medical torture, two guys saying some misogynist BS, and i was gonna say nudity but it's just written, so it only counts as nudity if you imagine the character naked you dirty minded perv

NOTE: There's a scene in this chapter that was directly inspired by @siringadev 's beautiful artwork of Nero and Weiss and they gave me permission to post it with the story! Hit up their blog or twit for more awesome arts!

Unbeknownst to either of the brothers, Director Hojo had decided that now was the time to initiate his planned breeding program, for Weiss. The other scientists begged him to reconsider (out of fear for their own lives, more than any particular compassion for the twins), but he was adamant.

With Nero safely out of the way, for at least a week, including recovery, what better time to put Weiss to work servicing the various incubators he’d chosen to gestate his precious subject’s progeny (Hojo’s actual words). 

That morning, after Nero had been taken away, a handler came to inform Weiss, who was grudgingly teaching some parrying moves to Rosso, that Director Hojo had selected a group of high-performing individuals, as potential entrants to Deepground, and that Weiss was to test them and choose the best candidates, after lunch. 

When these ostensible prospective teammates were shown in to the arena, later that day, Rosso rolled her eyes and snorted audibly, at the transparency of Shinra’s intentions. All of them were female, and of a certain phenotype—small waists, round hips, and large breasts, with pouting lips and big, doe-like eyes. Most notably, none were mako-enhanced, which was the clearest indicator of their real purpose here.

As if it were a legitimate ranks inspection by their new commander, the young women lined up and stood at attention, then introduced themselves, giving their names, ages, and qualifications. They were all educated, accomplished, between twenty and twenty-five years of age, and despite their rather delicate appearances, combat-trained officers or elite troopers. 

Naturally, they had been informed of their intended breeding partner’s age and inexperience, and had been quite expecting to find a gawky teenager. Thus, they were pleasantly surprised to see that Weiss was tall, hyperbolically fit, almost shockingly handsome, and in all ways looked like a full-grown adult male. 

Their flushed cheeks and heated gazes were not lost on Rosso, who was a predator herself, and knew another when she saw it sniffing around her territory. She may not have had any interest in taking Weiss as a mate, herself, but he was her idol and leader. The idea of her leader having a gaggle of silly concubines following him around was an affront to her personal dignity, and got her hackles up.

Weiss, however, far from being enticed by the prospect of healthy, attractive females with which to mate, appeared entirely oblivious to their feminine charms. To Rosso’s endless amusement (and the flat disbelief of the observing scientists), he took the characterization of the situation as ‘vetting prospective teammates’ at face value, and proceeded to do just that.

When the introductions were got through, he ordered Rosso to test the candidates in hand-to-hand combat, then stood by looking bored, while she gleefully thrashed them, one by one.

To add literal insult to actual injury, Weiss ruthlessly rejected each one, as they were defeated, pronouncing them ‘weak’, ‘pathetic’, ‘worthless’, and so forth. 

At the end of an hour, the fifteen bewildered and badly beaten young women had all been sent limping away, to complain to Director Hojo about that evil little harpy, who wouldn’t let them anywhere near Weiss, and beat them all black and blue. 

“Well, the boy is young, and he’s not exactly versed in the ways of the world,” Hojo reasoned. “Perhaps he requires a more direct approach.”

When Weiss arrived at his quarters, that evening, two young women were waiting, lounging in a provocative pose together, on his bed. He stopped short, tense and wary, as the door shut behind him. Desiring to communicate that this was not an ambush (not that kind at least), the young ladies smiled and winked, sliding their hands invitingly up and down one another’s bare thighs.

Weiss’ silver-blue eyes flickered over their soft, curvy bodies, then he turned and slowly shrugged off his jacket, his ropy back muscles flexing and rippling with the motion of his arms. 

This only encouraged the girls, and they redoubled their seductive efforts, beckoning to him and pressing their ripe, round breasts together, under the transparent lace of the lingerie they’d been dressed in. 

Weiss hung his jacket on the hook, then approached the bed, with a beatific smile on his perfect lips.

At that point, anyone who was at all familiar with him would have been making peace with the god of their choice, but the two young ladies had never seen him before today, and took his placid demeanor for approval of their presence.

“I guess Professor Hojo sent you here,” he said mildly, looking down at them. “He really expects me to fuck this kind of haggard trash.”

At these unexpectedly harsh words, both young women bridled indignantly, jumping to their feet and dropping the femme-fatale theatrics.

“Hey, asshole! We don’t like it any more than you do,” one shot back. “We’re following orders, so just hurry up and fuck us, so we can leave, ok?”

Weiss summoned a blade to his hand. “You have polluted the bed my brother and I share, with your whorehouse perfume. Would you like me wash out the stench, with your blood?”

“Brother?” the first girl asked, confused. “Wait, what do you mean, you share a bed?”

“Please, Weiss!” the second girl begged, actually folding her hands in a supplicating pose. “If we don’t get your seed, Professor Hojo said he’ll use us as test subjects for his horrible experiments!”

“Oh—yeah, he did!” the first concurred, nodding vehemently. “You’ve seen the twisted shit he does to people, right? We’d rather die.”

Weiss lowered his blade and hesitated, furrowing his white brow. “It…would be cruel, to allow you to be taken and used for the professor's experiments.” 

“Right!” the girls agreed. “So please, help us out, ok? We promise we’ll show you a good time.”

He drew a deep breath and then nodded. “Very well, I’ll help you.”

Neither of them even saw him move. But neither of them ever saw anything, again. Hojo later remarked, (far more admiringly than was strictly proper, given the circumstances) that not even a world-class surgeon could have done a cleaner, more elegant job of severing a human being’s brain stem, let alone two, and within a millisecond of one another.

Weiss, pleased with himself for his uncharacteristically charitable deed, dismissed his blade and went to the bathroom to shower, leaving the two young beauties lying on the floor by the door, neatly wrapped up in the bed linens they had lain in, which now stank of their unpleasantly heavy, floral perfume. 

While he showered, he reached out to Nero, using their psychic link, only to find himself firmly rebuffed. He was so stunned, that he immediately tried again, from sheer disbelief. Once again, he ran into a solid wall. Weiss was dumbfounded, and immediately worried. 

It was a shared ability, but Nero’s was far stronger, so he had the power to shut Weiss out, and Weiss would be helpless to do anything about it. Only, he never had, before. Why would he do it, now? 

When he emerged from the shower, the bodies were gone, the linens were freshly changed, his supper was waiting, and there was a video call flashing on the monitor. He touched the screen to answer the call, and continued drying himself with his towel. 

The face that popped up was a thin, weathered, middle-aged man, with long black hair, a hawkish nose, and round spectacles, which reflected light in a way that often concealed his eyes.

“I see you didn’t like any of the gifts I sent you,” His nasal voice said, in a tone of exaggerated disappointment. “Well, no matter. I have many more to choose from. Why don’t you tell me what you prefer, and we’ll go from there.”

“I prefer not to find your ‘gifts’ in my room,” Weiss returned, tossing his towel into the laundry bin. He was stark naked, but had absolutely no sense of bodily modesty, having been watched every moment of every day, since he was born. 

The old man on the screen pushed up his spectacles, running his eyes over his subject’s flawless body, in undisguised admiration. This truly was the body of the perfect SOLDIER. Of all his experimental results, over the decades, there was only one who’d turned out better, so he had something of a soft spot for Weiss (as much as a eugenics-obsessed psychopath was capable of, at least). 

“Fair enough, fair enough. There’s no need to send them to pester you in your down time. I can arrange for you to visit them during training hours, if that’s more convenient.”

“Not interested,” Weiss said flatly, as he sat down at the square, steel table, and began to eat his dinner.

“Don’t be difficult, my boy,” Hojo admonished. “You were always slated to be a sire for this breeding program. I won’t hide from you that the success of the project is depending entirely upon you, now. The other intended sire has turned out to be sterile.” He said the last part with an air of grievance, as if the individual in question had been infertile on purpose, to spite him. “Since the girls don’t appeal to you, tell me what incentives we can offer, to smooth the—”

“Professor, you are wasting your time,” Weiss interrupted, setting down his fork. “I will not be acting as a breeding stud, rutting with females at your command, like a pig in a sty. The prospect is as repulsive as it is insulting.” 

Hojo was out of patience, now, and the mask of civility came off. “But it’s perfectly acceptable to you, to fuck your little brother? Who can’t even make use of the valuable genetic material your are wasting on him? Which, I might add, is proprietary Shinra biotechnology!”

“My brother is still a virgin,” Weiss replied tersely. “He’s not old enough for sex.”

“Semantics,” Hojo snorted. “Does it really require penetration, to count? Or is that just what you tell yourself, to excuse what you’ve been doing to that naïve child, who trusts his elder brother so much.”

If Weiss had the intelligence of a normal sixteen-year-old boy, or a much lower opinion of himself, this attack may have worked. However, he was neither stupid, nor plagued by paralyzing self doubt and ego shattering insecurity, like that certain subject that Hojo had been accustomed to dealing with. As such, the blow glanced off his hide like a wooden spear from the hull of a supertanker.

“I love my brother, professor. I will not betray him.”

Hojo waved hand irritably. “Oh, please. Don’t feed me that trite sentimentalism, it’s just copulation! Biology!! What does love have to do with it? Come, now. I’ve been more than reasonable, but I am growing impatient. Everyone has a price, so name yours.”

“There is none.”

“I see. I did not want it to come to this, Weiss. But if you persist in refusing to cooperate, I’ll be forced to use the stick, rather than the carrot.”

“Is that a threat, professor?” Wiess asked.

“I don’t have to make threats, my boy,” Hojo chuckled. “Don’t forget that I own you. And your precious brother. You have twelve hours to name your terms, or there will be consequences.”

With that, the video call disconnected and the screen blanked. Weiss sat perfectly still and calm, finishing his meal, betraying nothing of what was passing in his mind, through his posture or expression. Internally, however, his stomach was twisted into knots of anxiety. 

Hojo’s message was clear: do as I say, or I’ll hurt your brother. But doing what Hojo said would hurt his brother anyway, and thus Weiss was chained between two unacceptable choices. 

Agonized with indecision, and utterly lost without his other half to guide him, he tried to connect to Nero again, but that solid wall was still up.

What could he be doing, that would make him shut Weiss out like this? They’d always used their connection to comfort one another, especially when they were injured or undergoing some painful procedure or another.

Then a dark thought crossed his mind. What if the prototype prosthetic was an excuse, and they’d separated them for the purpose of making similar overtures to Nero, regarding breeding. 

What if he’d agreed, out of concern for Weiss, and was with a woman, right now? What if he’d refused, but they’d drugged or restrained him, and forced him to… 

No. That was paranoia talking. Nero himself had verified the information about the cybernetics specialist, from some handlers’ minds. He’d have known if he was being lied to.

That still left Wiess in this precarious position, alone, which was certainly Hojo’s intention, knowing the Nero was the brains of the operation. Now, it was up to Weiss to think of something, quickly. When Hojo contacted him, the next morning, he found the boy in a more cooperative frame of mind.

“Why does it have to be sex?” Weiss asked. “There are other methods of creating a pregnancy. Isn’t that how Nero and I were made?”

“Of course, in vitro fertilization is my preference,” Hojo answered. “Much cleaner and more reliable. Easier to control all the variables. But the costs for extraction and cryo-storage and implantation are prohibitive, on the scale I desire. Deepground’s budget is tight, and the board is already looking for excuses to slash it. They’ll never approve the extra expense.”

“That must be because they haven’t seen any results, yet,” Weiss pointed out.

Hojo pushed up his spectacles. “Ah, I see you’ve been using the enhanced brain I gave you. Well, go ahead. I’m listening.”

“Why don’t you let me show them that Deepground deserves just as much attention as SOLDIER. That it could be better than SOLDIER, like you always said. If we convince them that it’s worthwhile, they’ll increase the budget, which will free up funds for the in vitro procedures, and benefit the whole program, as well.”

“Interesting, interesting. But that’s a tall order. Just how do you plan to convince them?”

“Let me fight Sephiroth.”

Had the old man been sipping a beverage at that moment, he’d have spit it out, all over the monitor. “F—fight Sephiroth! You??” he sputtered, nearly choking with laughter, now that the initial shock had worn off. “You fool, he’d kill you six ways before you hit the ground!”

“I didn’t say I have to win,” Weiss returned, gloomily. “I just have to not lose badly enough that it’s an embarrassment to Deepground. He obeys you, right? Set up a match between us, for the executives. The board will love it, because it’ll be good PR for their poster boy, and it’ll also show them how successful the work you’re doing here has been. All you have to do is tell Sephiroth the plan, and that he has to beat me without making me look too bad. And get him to endorse the Deepground program. Unless…you can’t control him.”

“Tch, that child is putty in my hands. There’s no need to worry about his cooperation.” Hojo sat back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “The tricky part will be creating a pretext for a sparring match between Shinra’s superstar and a total unknown, like you.”

Weiss shook his head. “That, I can’t help with. I’ve never even been outside. I have no idea how things like that proceed.”

“Never been outside,” Hojo muttered, absently removing his spectacles to wipe them with the sleeve of his lab coat. “Pity, too. You’re such a good boy. The only one who hasn’t disappointed me.”

“Except for Sephiroth, you mean.”

“I mean just as I say. Sephiroth may be well ahead of you, but it’s only because he’s so much older. If you work hard and don’t get lazy, you’ll surpass him, one day.”

This was news to Weiss, and happened to stroke his ego in exactly the right spot. “You…really think so?”

“Indeed. Your genes are purer, since his parents were chosen…impulsively, whereas yours were carefully selected. Most importantly, your mentality is superior to his. You are much less morbid and sensitive, and you have drive that he lacks. You’re ruthless and calculating, and you’re not ashamed of it.”

“Sephiroth seems fairly ruthless and calculating, to me,” Weiss hedged.

“Bosh. He knows how to seem cool and in control, for the public, but it’s all a façade. That boy is moody and temperamental and capricious, like a woman. Not only that, but he doesn’t enjoy success, at all, and spends all his time moping about killing people. And he’s always on about not having mother. You don’t have a mother, and I don’t see you crying about it.”

“What does he need a mother for?” Weiss asked, with a disdainful curl of his lip. “He’s the greatest warrior of all time. He should be proud of how he was raised, without the influence of a woman, to make him soft.”

“Ha! Try telling him that,” Hojo snorted. Then caught himself and cleared his throat. “Ahem. Well. I’ll take your suggestions into consideration. One way or another, we need to arrange a demonstration of your abilities to the board. It’s high time I got a chance to show you off.”

“Professor?” Weiss said, stopping Hojo as he was about to disconnect the call.

“Hm? What is it?”

“My brother. Is he alright?”

“Yes, yes, no need to trouble yourself about that. Dr. Ikari is the best in the world. I’m going to look in on him now, in fact. I’ll make sure everything is proceeding as expected. Is that all?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Weiss spent the next two days going through the motions of training, gazing absently off toward the surgical ward for minutes at a time, and letting Rosso follow him around everywhere, because it made no difference to him, if she was there or not.

He actually grew from grudging tolerance to tentative acceptance of her, during those few days, because she obeyed his orders without question, and didn’t try to talk to him, otherwise. Both excellent traits in a subordinate.

They were in the middle of a particularly intense virtual battle, when the simulated beasts and mountain landscape around them suddenly disintegrated, and the room went pitch dark. Then the flashing, red emergency lights came on, casting the room in bloody crimson. The floor shook, with the heavy clang of the reinforced blast doors coming down, over the top of the doors to the training room, as the alarm klaxons began blaring. 

“Lockdown,” Rosso muttered. “But we’re both here, so—”

“Nero,” Weiss said, finishing the thought. 

Rosso stood tense and ready, awaiting further orders, but after a minute had passed, and he hadn’t spoken again, she could no longer bear to remain silent. “Commander? What are we going to do?”

“Nothing,” Weiss said tranquilly. “They will come to us, shortly.”

Rosso glanced reflexively toward the doors, then back at Weiss, who was seating himself in a lotus position, with his long sword balanced across his knees.

She knew better than to question him further, so she did the same, swallowing her deep dread of being locked in a training room, in the dark, and forcing herself to take slow (though rather shaky) breaths.

Perhaps five minutes passed, then suddenly a voice came crackling loudly over the intercom, nearly startling her out of her skin.

“Weiss! There you are! Get the hell over here and control your lunatic brother!”

“Good afternoon, professor,” Weiss replied calmly, looking up toward the camera. “I’d like to comply with your order, sir, but we are in lockdown status. The blast doors have closed.”

There was rustling and some garbled cursing from the other side, then Hojo’s voice returned, sounding annoyed and impatient, but not particularly worried. “These imbeciles can’t lift the lockdown for that room, without lifting it for the entire complex. I assume you can get out on your own?”

Weiss’ eyes glinted in the red glare of the emergency strobes. “Not without causing damage to Shinra property.”

“I hereby authorize you to damage whatever you need to, just get to the surgical ward ASAP. He’s already killed three squads of guards and Hades knows how many doctors and scientific staff.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rosso was a bit confused by what she saw next. Weiss seemed to vanish, from his seated position, and almost simultaneously reappear, standing before the doors, amid multiple flashes of white light. 

“Go protect Director Hojo. Stay with him, until I am sure my brother is safe,” he said over his shoulder, as the steel doors to the training room, and the three-foot thick reinforced blast doors outside those, collapsed to the ground, cleanly sliced into dozens of geometric fragments. 

“Y—yes, sir,” Rosso answered. 

Before the words were even all the way out of her mouth, Weiss had vanished again, displacing air behind him like a small explosion. 

Rosso stood gaping, for a few seconds, before she dashed off to obey his orders. Her heart pounded and her breath came short as she sped down the hall, but it wasn’t from the running. It was from the adrenaline pumping through her body, at the sudden, staggering revelation of Weiss’ speed and strength, and the swiftly dawning realization of just how little of his power she’d actually ever seen. 

She wondered if the Shinra people were even aware of his full power. They must not have been, if they thought that lockdown doors like those were enough to contain him.

Though, Professor Hojo hadn’t seemed to harbor any misguided notions. He hadn’t questioned for a moment that Weiss could break through those doors, and only told him to hurry up. 

What was their relationship, anyway? The two spoke so familiarly with one another, and the professor seemed to have quite a bit of trust in his imprisoned test subject. Well, whatever it was, her orders from Weiss were clear. Find Director Hojo and keep an eye on him, under the pretext of guarding him, as insurance, in case Nero wasn’t alright. 

She almost wished he wouldn’t be. Not that she wished Nero any particular harm (she rather liked the vampiric little psychopath), it was just that, in the case that Nero was killed, or even irreparably harmed, Weiss would certainly revolt against their captors. 

Then she would be free to slash and slaughter to her heart’s content, as they fought their way out of this place. And then…and then she would find either her death, or the open sky. What a glorious day that would be.

Weiss reached the surgical ward, within two minutes of departing the training room, moving like a rush of wind, far faster than the human eye could perceive him, and blowing through the many layers of locked down security doors on the way, like they were nothing more than tissue paper. 

The last set were the double-doors leading into the ward. He kicked them open with a boom, and surveyed the situation. The lights in the main hallway were out, and with the equipment and papers and things strewn all about the floor, and the place lit only by the red emergency strobes, it looked very much like a hospital from a horror film.

Weiss had never seen a horror film, however, and wouldn’t have been frightened by one if he had, and strode into the scene of pandemonium unconcerned.

The hallway branched left and right, and he didn’t know which way Nero was. The cameras and intercom were out, as well, so Hojo couldn’t tell him. The only way was to try their connection.

When he reached out, this time, he thought he’d hit that wall again, but when he tried to draw back, he found himself unable to do so. It wasn’t like Nero holding onto his strand, but more like he’d collided with a wall of thick, sticky tar and sunk a few inches in, and now it didn’t want to let him pull himself free.

Rather than struggle like a fool, he relaxed and let himself sink deeper and deeper into the cold, clinging slime, till suddenly, he popped through on the other side…into a lightless void, so black it was like swimming in ink.

He was pondering which direction to go, when he heard screams, suddenly, and looked over, to see faintly-glowing bluish shapes, being dragged deeper into the blackness.

Seeing his bright, white light, they reached out and begged him for help, probably mistaking him for an angel, come to save them. He ignored their pleas, only following behind as they wailed and bawled, struggling impotently against the inexorable force that was pulling them along. 

This force that was pulling them along was actually thin strands of sticky, black shadow, like nightmare spider’s silk. Weiss knew this, because the strands kept brushing against him, but they never grabbed hold of him or even adhered to his body (or rather, his human-shaped psychic projection).

For what seemed a long time, he followed the doomed souls into the darkness, till at last, eight red suns rose in the black sky, a crown of immense, bloody jewels, emitting no light and yet bathing everything in their crimson glow. 

Weiss realized with a thrill that sent shivers up his spine, that these things were neither suns, nor jewels, but titanic eyes, belonging to a spider the size of a planet.

It was a colossal beast of ancient power, impossibly massive in size, wreathed in writhing shadow, blacker than the abyss, as if the essence of its being was the negation of light, rather than simply the absence thereof. Its eight segmented legs reached out from its thorax, spread wide enough to encompass galaxies, had there been any stars in the abyss. 

With careless ease, it consumed the microscopic souls, which passed in through its fanged jaws in the blink of an eye, and were no more. Then its eyes fell upon the tiny, silver-white star, that had descended into its domain. 

Rearing up suddenly in defense, as high as a nebula rising into the reaches of space, it raised its enormous forelegs and snapped its mandibles, with a sound like the crackling of thunder. 

Weiss, who alone had the strength to maintain a human form in this realm of chaos and annihilation, spread his arms in response, and a ray of light reached out from him to pierce the darkness. 

The spider shrank back, curled into itself, drew its galaxy spanning legs in tight against its black bulk, and hid its eyes from the blinding light. At the same time, hundreds of thousands of black strands of web shot out and wove themselves into a defensive mesh of shadow and confusion, to disorient and keep the angel away. 

To the behemoth’s disbelief, the light passed right through its barrier of webs, and the tiny angel kept coming, unhindered and unafraid. 

The closer it came, the more the spider curled and shrank into itself, until it was hardly larger than a human child. A tiny, pathetic thing, trembling and quaking before a towering angel of light. 

“Brother,” said a voice, as soft as a baby’s breath and as mighty as the roaring of the sea. “Why are you afraid?”

The spider shook harder, and tried to hide what it knew was its hideous, arachnid face, with fanged mandibles and eight eyes, but the angel reached out and took its head in his strong hands. 

“Nero. You are so beautiful,” he said, gently stroking the horned, oil-black exoskeleton. “Never hide your face from me. You may conceal yourself in darkness, and hide away from all the world, but never from me.”

As he said these words, he leaned in, heedless of the huge, venomous fangs, and pressed his perfect lips to the spider’s horrific maw. 

Lured by his warmth and softness, the spider reached helplessly toward him, with its black pedipalps, which seemed to suddenly look much more like human hands, where they touched his broad shoulders. 

Slowly, very slowly, its eight legs uncoiled and wrapped themselves around the angel’s silky, silver-white body, taking care not to hurt him, with the sharp tips of the arachnid appendages. As the angel deepened the kiss, the spider’s fanged jaws spread wider and wider, and began to recede altogether. At last, they revealed the smooth, white, lower half of human face. 

The angel laughed softly and kissed him again, holding onto his bulky thorax and pushing his lips apart, sliding his tongue into his mouth, eager and possessive, and infinitely tender. A kiss filled with a love so profound, it shattered the rest of the spider’s black carapace and fully exposed the tiny, fragile and vulnerable human body, that he had been trying so hard to protect. 

But that didn’t matter now. Weiss was taking him in his arms and holding him close, against his big, solid, blazing hot chest, and Nero’s mind was filled with his strong heartbeat, that sounded in his ears like the music of life itself. 

Nero buried his face in his brother’s neck and breathed a shuddering sigh. It was alright, now. Weiss had him. The spider could hide away in abyss inside, again. Weiss would protect him. Everything would be alright. 

At that time, he had truly believed it.

LINK TO NEXT CHAPTER:

[sillyrabbit81]

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Fourteen

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Fourteen Summary: Lori spends time with Mike and shares a meal with the Brothers.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3.3k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Fourteen Warnings: slight angst, some fluff, mild violence, mild smut (kissing)

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

I tested positive to covid yesterday so I'm feeling a little foggy in the brain, so forgive me if this chapter is poorly edited (well worse than usual 🤣)

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors. (see above!)

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Thirteen Part Fifteen

Lori

After eating a simple lunch of sandwiches with Geralt, I spent the afternoon with Mike. His room was the polar opposite of Marshall's tidy minimalism. It looked like a college dorm room, an overfilled, yet organised den of nerdom. He had a desk filled with what looked like a custom PC and several monitors while vintage consoles and games were organised in shelving around the desk. His room was fairly dim with most light being emitted from LED strips along the corners of the ceiling, but there was enough lumination to see his closet seemed to have more clothes on the floor than hanging on the coat hangers or folded and his bin was overloaded with empty wrappers and soda cans.

I loved everything about it.

“Uh, so, this is me.” He must have noticed my inventory of his room because he looked away as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

I leaned over to kiss his cheek and said grinning, “I'm digging the ‘King of Nerdom fantasy’ aesthetic you have gone for here.”

Mike rolled his eyes then grabbed me around the waist, fingers digging into my sides as he tickled me and made me squeal. I slid from his grasp and ran around the bed. My heart was pounding, adrenaline was surging through my veins making my hands shake as I couldn’t stop giggling as he continued to stalk me.

“Think you can run, huh?” he asked, grinning as he kept advancing on me.

The low light in the room seemed to perfectly enhance his already far too attractive face, highlighting the strong cut of his jaw, the dimple in his chin and the model-like bone structure in his cheeks. Despite being smaller than the other Brothers, he was still a very large guy. I could see how broad his shoulders actually were and I noticed the way his arms stretched the sleeves of his t-shirt.

Trembling and giddy, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to make him chase me or if I wanted him to catch me and throw me on the bed. My eyes darted to the door and I thought maybe a bit of a run might be just what I needed.

“Don’t even think– Hey!” Mike called, but I was already throwing open the door and running down the corridor.

Giggling as I ran, I turned my head to find Mike tearing down the hall after me. I yelped and ran faster, determined to take him for as much as a run as I could before he inevitably caught me.

I ran further into the clubhouse, down a hall I hadn’t been in before, noticing a few rooms that had doors which appeared to be holding something valuable behind heavy duty doors. As I turned a corner I quickly realised I had gotten myself trapped. I was on the verge of trying to open one of the doors to find a hiding place when I felt my arm being yanked and I was hoisted into the air and thrown over Mike’s shoulder.

“Gotcha!” he cried, triumphantly.

“Put me down!”

Mike laughed and started to run down the hall while I screamed, kicked my legs and flailed my arms in a weak attempt at getting him to release me. Truthfully, I didn’t want to be put down. Mike’s spontaneous, freely given affection and his chaotic, bordering on juvenile behaviour was what I adored most about him.

It’s what I needed most from him.

Suddenly, Mike came to a stop and I felt the muscles in his shoulder tense under my weight. I peered around his body as best I could and saw Walker with a rifle in his hands pointed directly at Mike’s head.

Holy shit.

“Were you born a fucking idiot, Mike, or did you have to practice?”

Mike slowly lowered me to the floor. I had to avert my eyes from Walker. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I felt like I was about to burst out laughing.

“Shit, Walker, we were just–”

“Running around making the girl God damn scream? Like she was being attacked? During a fucking protection operation? The fuck, kid?”

It wasn’t really funny anymore as I raised my eyes and looked at Walker. His eyes were narrow and his lip curled into a snarl. He wore dark denim jeans and a plain white wife beater which clung to every muscle and the hair of his chest peaked above the low neckline. I knew he would be fit like the others, but fuck he was jacked and unlike his Brothers, I couldn’t see any tattoos on him.

“Shit, I didn’t think–”

“You better start fucking thinking or one of these days you’ll end up–”

“Walker,” I interrupted sharply.

“What?” he snapped as he whipped his head towards me.

I gasped. I had expected to see his face twisted in anger and it was, but that wasn’t what made me suck in a breath. It was the other emotion that warped his near perfect features, the same one that had his chest pumping and his nose flaring. 

Walker was scared.

He steadily and slowly lowered his rifle as his face seemed to drop and in the snap of a finger his momentary look of vulnerability was replaced by his usual sneer.

“This is Club business, princess. Stay out of it.” Walker growled.

“I’m fine though,” I said softly. “Nothing happened. I’m okay.”

Walker continued to glare at me. I wanted to raise my hand and touch his cheek, to reassure him, to comfort him. My arm was halfway there before I realised what I was doing and forced myself to lower it to my side.

“Get the hell out of my sight,” Walker spat, and he turned his grim look to Mike, “Both of you.”

I swallowed as Mike silently put his arm around my shoulders and led me back to his room. I couldn’t stop myself and looked over my shoulder to see Walker looking down at the dark grey low pile carpet of the hallway shaking his head. He glanced up and our eyes met. His face momentarily appeared pained, his brows furrowed and raised, then they lowered and his lip curled.

I quickly looked away.

Mike set me up at his desk then laid on his bed, watching some tv. The mood was a little sombre as I started perusing my go to sites that had next day delivery. I found it difficult to concentrate at first, the run in with Walker played on my mind. As did his unexpected reaction.

Had he truly been afraid when he thought I was being attacked? I found it hard to believe considering the position he had in the club. If he fell to pieces at the outset of a life or death situation, there’s no way the others would have put him in charge.

The only other explanation - and it seemed too far-fetched - was that he was afraid for me. 

Maybe he had been worried something had happened to me because if he lost a client, the Brotherhood’s reputation would be tarnished. On top of that, I don’t think Sy - or the other Brothers for that matter - would easily forgive him and it may even threaten his position as President.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense and I was able to concentrate on my orders.

I found a way to actually make the shopping enjoyable. Still angry at my Nate, I didn’t hold back and ordered what I wanted without any consideration of cost. That $200 pair of jeans? Add to cart. That $150 bra and panty set? Quantity two. Add to cart.

Was it childishly passive aggressive of me?

Absolutely.

I almost decided to really take the piss and order myself a couple of cocktail dresses, but I figured the cost of what I actually needed was punishment enough. I did order a few skin care products that were usually too expensive for me to afford and some workwear and steel-toed boots for when I spent time with Geralt.

When I was finished and just messing around looking at pretty and impractical shoes, I started to wonder what Mike knew about the pact. I spun around in the gaming chair at his desk and decided to ask him about it.

“Mike?”

“You done?” he asked, sitting up and grinning with his usual puppy-like enthusiasm.

“Yeah. I want to talk to you about something.”

“Sounds serious.” He grunted and raised his lip in a mock look of disgust.

“It's about the pact.”

His eyes widened with an exaggerated look of innocence. “What pact?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t bullshit me.”

He downcast his gaze. “Shit, I’m s…” he shook his head and when he looked back at me his face set in a grim determination, “No. I’m not going to apologise for it. I was frustrated when I thought I had missed my chance with you, but when G told me what he, Sy and Marshall had agreed to, I was in. Maybe we should have discussed it with you first, but I wasn’t going to let another chance with you slip through my fingers.”

I looked down at my jeans and picked off a piece of fluff while I tried to take in what Mike said. He moved across the bed until he sat on the edge and grabbing the armrests of the gaming chair, he rolled it close until I was nestled between his legs.

“Hey, I don’t want things to get weird between us. I meant it when I said ‘no pressure’, okay Babycakes?” He lowered his head until his eyes caught mine, and he smiled gently as he cupped my cheek with his warm hand. “I’m just happy you’re here with me. Even if we’re never going to be more than friends. I just want to be around you.”

“You really mean that?”

He nodded, solemnly but then his grin turned mischievous and he added, “Okay, maybe I’ll be a little disappointed if we don't kiss again.”

I laughed and lightly punched his shoulder. “You’re such an ass.”

Mike chuckled a little, but grew serious. “How do you feel about it? The pact I mean.”

I took a deep breath, giving myself a moment to really think about it. “I was mad when Marshall told me. I yelled at him and stormed out.”

“That explains his shitty mood this morning.”

I shrugged. “I’m not mad anymore, but I don’t know how I feel about it.” 

Mike pulled me onto his lap as he nodded. “Took me a bit to get my head around as well. Then I realised a couple of things. First, you being with my Brothers doesn’t change the way I feel about you, Babycakes and the second is that I know they all feel the same way about you as I do.”

I laid my head on Mike’s shoulder. His arms went around me, drawing me closer to his body as he bowed his head.

“Have I said too much?” he whispered, his lowered, serious tone made him sound older than he usually seemed.

“No,” I whispered back. “I think I needed to hear that.”

He hummed softly and lifted his head just enough to kiss my cheek. I raised my eyes and met his; they were wide, brows pinched and raised in a charmingly gentle invitation as he licked his lips. My breath came in hard and heavy while a torrid tempest surged through my chest and settled firmly between my legs.

Mike’s finger twisted around a stray lock of hair by my ear and he smiled shyly, “Wanna watch a movie and make out?”

“Forget the movie,” I breathed and pressed my lips against his.

I was on fire as he took us to the bed and split my thighs over his hips. His lips were forceful, parting me until his tongue brushed over mine. He moved beneath me, hips lifting and creating a subtle friction that was nowhere near enough to satisfy my searing need.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he groaned.

His tongue continued its urgent exploration of my mouth until it felt as if no part of it was untouched. I would have thought such a kiss was one of inexperience if it wasn’t so hungry, dominant and such a fucking turn-on.

“I haven’t gotten the taste of you out of my head since yesterday,” he murmured into my mouth, “How do you taste so fucking good?”

I smiled, feeling my cheeks warm and Mike dropped his head onto the bed and closed his eyes. His hands squeezed my ass, fingers digging so deep that I could feel the pressure of his nails even through my jeans. I laid my head on his chest, the side of my face pressed against his sternum, the sound of his heart beating was as loud as thunder as it echoed in my ear.

“You ok?” he asked. His fingers slid into my hair, combing through its length as his heart slowly fell back into its resting rhythm. 

“Yeah,” I said, wistfully. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“You stopped.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

I felt him take a deep breath, my head lifting as his lungs filled with air. “Because this is nice. I like this.”

I smiled as I shifted my body until I was laying beside him and settled beneath the crook of his shoulder. I lifted my head and kissed his cheek.

“I like this, too.”

When it was time for dinner, Mike led me past the kitchen and into the common room and through into another smaller room. I pulled up short in the doorway, surprised by the scene before me.

Mike had taken me to what appeared to be the Club meeting room that seemed to double as a dining room. On the table were a number of dishes including what looked like a creamy mushroom pasta, a rocket and pear salad, grilled pork and some roasted vegetables and a couple of bottles of wine and beer littered the table.

Each of the Brothers stopped talking as I appeared and each one turned their attention to me. It made me want to shrink in on myself, I was not prepared for this.

“Oh,” I murmured, “Do you guys always eat dinner together?”

Mike nodded, “Yeah. And while you’re here, you can join us.”

As if to support Mike’s invitation, Geralt stood and waved his hand over the empty seat next to him. I swallowed hard and tried not to look at either Walker or Marshall as I took my seat. 

It did not surprise me that Walker sat at the head of the table. Geralt sat on his right hand side, Marshall on his left. Mike sat next to Marshall which left me sitting next to Geralt.

“Do you always eat like this?” I asked, “I mean, this looks really good.” It really did. Nothing like this went on at my Brother’s club. Most of the members didn’t permanently live at the Clubhouse, they had families to live with and most ate at home. The ones that stayed, either permanently living there like Nate or Hustle, or crashing for a party or to get away from the Missus, generally lived off take out or two minute noodles. 

“Thank you,” Walker smirked. 

My eyebrows shot up. “You made this?”

He nodded.

I glanced around at the others, nothing in their faces gave away any sign they were playing a trick on me. I turned back to Walker, who only grinned wider and more mockingly.

“Do you cook every night?” I asked, still incredulous.

“I’ll cook tomorrow,” Geralt said, “We take turns when we are here.”

“How very democratic of you,” I said, addressing my sarcasm towards Walker.

Something in what I said seemed to tickle him and his jeering smile became a sardonic chuckle.

“Here,” Geralt rumbled roughly, holding the tray of pork towards me and shooting a stoney glance towards Walker, “Eat before it gets cold.”

The meal started quietly, but as the alcohol flowed it quickly became lively. Even Marshall seemed to lift his gloomy disposition as he told a story about a prank Geralt and Sy played on Mike last Fourth of July.

“So, Sy and Geralt got together and modified a couple of Roman Candles–”

“Modified?” Mike cried, “Turned into a fucking bomb is more accurate!”

“You squealed like a six-year-old, dropped the thing and ran,” Geralt chuckled, “I still don’t believe that you didn’t shit yourself.”

Marshall started snickering, even Walker had his lips pressed into a tight line as if he were holding back his own laughter.

“I almost lost a hand!” Mike protested, his voice breaking and letting out a little squeak.

The other Brothers glanced at each other and all at once they lost their composure; all three breaking out in simultaneous raucous laughter. 

“Oh sure,” Mike said, folding his arms across his chest, “Pick on the fucking New Guy as always. Why don’t we tell her about the time you tried to pull a wheelie and ended up letting go of the bike and it crashed into Sy’s truck?”

“What?” I looked at Geralt, his face was grim and I burst out laughing.

“Or the time Marshall ate a jalapeno thinking it was a pickle?”

“Oh my God!” I shrieked, “you didn’t?”

“Or the time Walker—”

“Mike!” Walker thundered.

His cheeks were flaming and I couldn’t stop laughing no matter how hard I tried. Tears rolled down my cheeks as Mike mouthed across the table, “I’ll tell you later.”

“You tell her anything and you’ll shit teeth for a week,” Walker growled through gritted teeth as both Marshall and Geralt joined in the laughter.

Walker looked around the table and our eyes met, his eyes dark as a thundercloud rolling across the noon sky. But then, they softened and I saw it again; I saw his facade slip a moment before his guard shot back faster than lightning.

He stood quickly, his chair scraped loudly on the polished timber floor and the laughter trailed off.

“Mike, you’re on clean-up. Princess, I need to see you in the morning.”

I opened my mouth to ask why, but he was already walking out the door.

“Why does he need to see me?” I asked Geralt.

Marshall answered, “We’ve been digging into a few things. He’ll want to talk to you about what we’ve found.”

“About Jake?”

He nodded.

“Can’t you tell me?” I asked.

“I’ll be there in the morning too,” Marshall said reassuringly, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“I’m—” I slammed my mouth shut as I looked at Geralt and Mike still sitting at the table. I stood up. “I think I might go to bed.”

Geralt stood too and rested his hand on my shoulder and exerted the smallest amount of pressure until I sat. 

“No. Stay for a bit,” he said to me. Then he addressed Mike as he started to collect empty plates, “Come on, I’ll help you clear the table.”

Mike gave me a short dip of the head and a smile, but didn’t say anything as he gathered as much as he could and followed Geralt to the kitchen.

I glanced at Marshall. He was sitting with a hand on a glass of wine, his long fingers twirling the stem.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat before I spoke. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

Marshall shook his head. “You don’t need to apologise.”

“I do. I was confused and angry and took it out on you when you were the only one who actually came out and told me what was going on. I reacted badly and I’m sorry.”

“No harm done.”

I looked down at my hands, the fingernail of my index finger picked at the polish on my thumb. I forced myself to stop and stood up.

“I think I will go to bed,” I said, “it’s been a long day.”

Marshall inclined his head and stood. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

[ink-flavored]

❤️️ ❤️️ ❤️️ ❤️️ ❤️️ 👀👀👀

ooOOooo five hearts, i guess i'll ramble about 5 different WIPs!!

❤️️ part 1: Pride & Justice

I've been stewing Lust's backstory in my mind for a while, I want to make it a character intro at some point. Same thing with Honesty, but I'm having a harder time with Lust's because like... I want to make sure it's a well-rounded character so I don't trip into all the various pitfalls having an antagonist who represents the concept of lust brings. It's abusive and shitty, but I want it to be clear that it's choosing to be this way—and it was also taught to be this shitty through circumstance and its own trauma, just like how Pride was. I also think doing a full backstory will help me write it better, I'll know what I'm doing with it's character better than I currently do. I've also decided we're going to meet Chris (from the book club) before Lust, so my first it/its character isn't the evil one.

❤️️ part 2: Tales from Athendrolyn

November is coming up, so I'm VERY excited to do my little Anthology Blast plan!!! I've been especially excited to write the little gargoyle adoption prompt—I haven't had the idea as long as some of the other prompts, but ever since I came up with it, I've been obsessed. I know I want to have multiple volumes of my anthologies so I can just keep coming up with prompts forever, and I may end up bringing this gargoyle-carving character back at some point. I love her.

❤️️ part 3: Athendrolyn After Dark

One of the prompts (not one of the ones I'll write in November, but still) is about a FWB pair that take love potions to Enhance their sex life, and I've been thinking about the culture surrounding love potions in this world now. For the prompt itself, I'm treating it like an intox kink, almost? It's like having sex while you're high, but the "high" is "immediately falling in love with whoever you're looking at." So would these things be legal? Do you have to make them yourself, is the recipe underground? Is it like.. a drug that in smaller doses is used for a genuine medical purpose, but when you take a lot of it you get stoned like this? So many questions brought up by this one prompt that I won't even be able to fit into the short story itself, but now I Have to think about it.

❤️️ part 4: Unnamed Dream WIP

I've known for a while now that I want Asim to have regular correspondence with Mira while he's in the city, because I don't want to give him a sister and immediately write her out for the rest of the book, yknow? He talks about how his research is going, she talks about how she's adjusting to being the Speaker for their village. He might send money back... if he's getting paid at all? Still unclear about what's going on with that. Probably getting a research stipend or something.

I just like when there are siblings!!! With a good relationship! I think it's weird when people are like "all siblings fight and hate each other" because... I've always had a great relationship with my sibling? So I want to write more siblings that reflect my experience

❤️️ part 5: New Poetry Collection?

I know that isn't a techincally WIP but you can't stop me

I was thinking the other day about how many poetry collections are about how beautiful nature is, the natural world, how many poets are from rural backgrounds, and how many of them returned to the country from the city which is when they wrote their most critically acclaimed works etc. but like.... I love living in the city.

I lived in the suburbs most of my life, and now that I live in Chicago I can say with 100% certainty this is my preferred biome (I do wish it was warmer year-round but other than that). I love the city, I think it's just as beautiful and worthy of poetry as nature and rural areas. I dunno, I've been tossing around the idea of a poetry collection just based on how much I love the city. I think it would be neat

[send me a ❤️️ and let me ramble]

[gascon-en-exil]

A Very Belated Octopath Traveler II Ranking

I had an anon asking me about Octopath Traveler II story rankings a few weeks ago. I'd been wanting to do one of those for a long time now, but between all my other projects I haven't really had the time. I can however throw together a quick summation. If there's any interest in longer versions I might be persuaded to explore that...but when I say "long" I really do mean it. Most of my notes at the moment go on for paragraphs for almost every traveler.

#8 Ochette

Knockoff Pokémon. Kind of shapeless thanks to the nonlinearity. Brings up heavy themes but can't really explore them in part because the beastlings are just handled weirdly. The villain only existing offscreen sucks.

#7 Hikari

Literally the standard Fire Emblem plot, only it doesn't work in the Octopath format because of geographic isolation and the travelers being handled oddly as a group like always. Has some pacing issues especially in Chapter 4 with its massive cutscene dump. Was pretty much exactly what I expected from start to finish.

#6 Throné

Fantastic opening and even better midgame, then dives off a cliff at the end because it has to escalate to the Final Story. Overall story can't accommodate such a bittersweet ending so it just kind of...doesn't. Still earns points for how it handles familial abuse and the perpetuation of the cycle of violence.

#5 Partitio

Man's dads get divorced, so he starts an industrial revolution to get them back together. Is as awesomely ridiculous as that sounds, and is enhanced by various unique stylistic flourishes. Succeeds as long as you don't try to bring any serious economic or political themes into it. Also extremely gay homosocial all around, soured only by the token female character...and not remotely in the way you'd expect based on how I'm describing it.

#4 Agnea

A low-stakes, feel-good romp that's exactly what you think it's going to be, and is wonderful at it. Begins leaning on the fourth wall in amusing ways by the end, and although it's also weirdly leashed to the Final Story it goes over better than it does with Throné's or Partitio's stories. Primrose was my favorite from the first game, and while the tone of this one is completely different I'm surprisingly okay with that.

#3 Temenos

A bit lazy doing another story with a Sherlock Holmes-esque approach to mystery when the first game already did one, but the stakes are higher from the start and Temenos is also doing most of the heavy lifting building to the Final Story. Crick provides some much-needed emotional stakes, even including his ultimate fate. Gets a bit lost in its own plot twists at one point, but that's mostly a minor nitpick.

#2 Osvald

Opening is constraining and atmospheric in just the right way. Appropriately dramatic at all the right points with a delightfully hammy villain, and pivots from revenge to the Power of Love adequately enough so as not to feel too cheesy. Spaces out its multiple flashback sequences much better than Hikari's story. It and #1 are actually helped by being narrative cul-de-sacs relative to the Final Story.

#1 Castti

Does pretty much everything the other stories do right. Deftly handles an amnesia plot with clever presentation and a strong supporting cast. Healeaks is devastating, the villain is hammy but also sympathetic (his turn being offscreen is the weakest note of the whole thing), and Castti is a solid presence throughout even if she never really stands out much to me as a character. Ending is satisfying but still allowed to feel melancholy, and it doesn't lead to mood whiplash like Throné's does.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #150

Today is my 150th letter to you. It is the same as the number of my favorite Pokémon. So I am going to talk about him today. His name is Mewtwo, and he's a lot like you, actually:

So… I should probably tell you that I've seen only the version of his story that was localized to my country. So that is the version of the story I will tell.

Mewtwo was created in a laboratory. He was created from what was thought to be the most powerful Pokémon at the time - a Pokémon called Mew, which was thought to be extinct (there is precisely one Mew left in the world as far as I know, kinda like the Cetra). I'll explain…

Some guy named Giovanni was the leader of Team Rocket, which is a crime gang that is hellbent on generating profit in whatever ways they can, no matter who or what gets exploited or destroyed in the process; they're kinda like Shinra in some ways in that Team Rocket has huge armies and crazy resources and is interested in gathering up wealth and power. The easiest way to gain power in this world is by controlling powerful Pokémon, so Giovanni sought to create an enhanced living replica of Mew in order to have all the power and all the profit. Y'know… kiiiind of the same exact reason Shinra sought to create you.

So Mewtwo was created using a fossil that was found of Mew. It was spliced with human DNA (some other guy named Blaine, if I'm not mistaken). And just like that, Mewtwo was created and left to grow in a vat; he didn't even get to be born of a womb in the same way as you. Unlike you, too, he doesn't even have parents; there is literally nothing else like him in the world he inhabits; there never has been, and there never will be. Here is a video that details his childhood; I'll warn you, though - it's very sad:

…When Mewtwo woke up for the first time, he was already an adult. He realized almost immediately that he was created to be a test subject and a slave, and once he had that realization, instead of simply saying "no fuck you" and leaving (this is ALWAYS an option; you don't have to hurt people to get away from them), he became so angry that he used his powers to raze the laboratory he was created in to the ground, slaughtering everyone inside without so much as a second thought; all that was left was ashes and flames. In a lot of ways, this very closely mirrors what happened to you in Nibelheim.

…And, like you, after that, he was taken in by someone who cared nothing for who he was or for his desire to be loved and to have a sense of belonging. In Mewtwo's case, it was Giovanni. Giovanni lured Mewtwo into his control under the premise that they would work together as partners. Mewtwo would learn how to better wield his abilities in Giovanni's presence, but the way he learned was by doing Giovanni's bidding and destroying or exploiting anything Giovanni saw fit. Eventually, when Mewtwo realized that Giovanni saw him as nothing more than a commodity to be harnessed instead of a living, breathing thing to be loved and understood, Mewtwo lost his shit again and escaped, razing the building to the ground, and presumably killing everyone inside in the process. So... Mewtwo did a Nibelheim not once, but TWICE:

..."I was not born of Pokémon, I was created, and my creators have used and betrayed me, so... I stand alone." I can imagine that you might find such sentiments deeply relatable.

From there, Mewtwo quite understandably held a deep grudge against all humans. So he created a storm that would wipe out not only all humans, but also any Pokémon who ever befriended and worked with a human; Mewtwo had never met a human who was kind, and so he had assumed that all humans were dangerous, selfish creatures that manipulated Pokémon into being their slaves, and that all Pokémon who willingly worked with humans were pathetic, vile things that debased themselves for the sake of human approval.

…Coming from abuse, myself, I can understand why Mewtwo would assume that all humans are cruel and capricious things. I can understand why you might have thought similarly in the past, and might still think similarly now. I used to believe the same things, and for all the pain I went through, I bore a deep grudge against other people for a very long time. I thought that if I preemptively stereotyped all humans as things that would hurt me and pushed them away by hurting them before they had an opportunity to do the same to me, I would be able to protect myself and keep myself safe.

But that's not how it works; that's NEVER how it works, because when we apply broad, sweeping generalizations to large swaths of people, we end up dehumanizing them in the process, and in so doing, we become no better than those who have hurt us. I've made a lot of mistakes in the past; I only know better now because I got help, and I still have a lot more work to do in order to make up for who I was before. I'll never be "done". I'll never be "healed". But the work required to strive towards these things is still worth doing.

To create his idea of a "perfect" world, Mewtwo rebuilt the laboratory he destroyed, lured some very powerful trainers there, and then stole their Pokémon for the purpose of cloning them. He then pitted the cloned Pokémon against the originals, as though their manner of birth meant something about their worth (spoiler alert: their manner of creation doesn't mean a goddamn thing, because they're ALL living creatures, worthy of love, acceptance, and a place in the world). Mew showed up to try to talk some sense into Mewtwo, trying to tell him that it doesn't matter how anyone is born and that what counts is the contents of their heart.

But Mewtwo wasn't able to hear the wisdom of what Mew was saying; his eyes were too clouded over by the pain from the losses he experienced as a child, the abuse he went through as an adult, and likely the shame he felt about how he came into being. So he fought Mew with the intention of killing Mew. But their battle was creating terrible shockwaves of energy that were hurting all of the Pokémon on the battlefield that Mewtwo pitted against one another. Realizing that the Pokémon on the battlefield would die if Mewtwo and Mew didn't stop fighting RIGHT THE FUCK NOW, a brave and kind boy named Ash sacrificed his own life by putting himself between Mew and Mewtwo as they fought in an effort to get them to stop, even though there was no way of knowing whether or not it would work.

Mewtwo was stunned. He didn't know that humans were capable of such selflessness, and in that instant, it shifted his entire worldview. Mewtwo realized the terrible mistake he had made, and he turned himself around:

His most profound quote is, "I see now that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant; it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are." I hope that this is one that you'll take to heart.

Here, this is his summary of his story in his own words:

Mewtwo, Mew, and all of the rest of the cloned Pokémon went to a place called Mt. Quena; it's a beautiful mountain with a lake in the middle of it with waters that have miraculous healing powers, and a system of caves in which to take shelter. Mewtwo lived peacefully there for a while, still working through his shame about being a cloned Pokémon instead of one that was more typically born, but Giovanni had been looking for him, and ended up finding him.

When Giovanni found Mewtwo, he immediately mobilized troops to go capture him and to set up a new Team Rocket base, polluting the water in the process. Giovanni demanded that Mewtwo walk into a machine that was designed to break his will via the application of torture, and he threatened to hurt the cloned Pokémon if Mewtwo did not comply, so Mewtwo did as Giovanni said. But Mewtwo's will did not break, and so he was nearly tortured to death before Ash showed up to break the machine. Ash then carried Mewtwo (yes, all 269lb/122kg of him) to the healing lake and threw him in the water, saving his life.

Mewtwo asks why Ash is helping him, since he is a cloned Pokémon that supposedly doesn't belong in this world. And in this one, Ash says something profound: you don't need a reason to help somebody; when you see someone in trouble, you just help them and that's all there is to it. Mewtwo then wonders if Ash is unique amongst humans, to which Ash replies that every human is unique. And when the waters of the lake heal Mewtwo just as they do to any Pokémon or person, Mewtwo is finally able to accept that he belongs to this world, regardless of the circumstances of his birth.

Mewtwo emerges from the waters reinvigorated, and from there, he uses his powers to wipe the memories of his existence from the mind of every Team Rocket member, including Giovanni. He also moves the lake inside the cave system of the mountain, so that no one will ever be able to exploit or pollute it again. Team Rocket leaves, and Mewtwo now gets to have a peaceful life in a beautiful place, surrounded by other living things who love him very, very much. Witness this, and engrave these words into your heart:

Sephiroth, you do not belong to anyone. You do not belong to Shinra. You do not belong to Jenova. You do not belong to the Gi or to the Cetra. You belong to you, and you alone. And you belong in this world. Sephiroth... can you imagine what it would be like if you used your amazing power to defend those people who are good to you and who are willing to try to give you new life?

Good people are everywhere, and they're not going to use you like a commodity or abuse you until you do what they say. Good people will hold you accountable when you do some stupid shit that hurts yourself or other people, though, because that's what the people who love you are supposed to do. They're supposed to challenge you to do better without exploiting you or breaking you down in the process. The world is full of people like this - people who can love and accept you as-is while encouraging you to become your best and most favorite self; all you have to do is open your eyes. All you have to do is try.

You are not much different from Mewtwo. You are not much different from me. If Mewtwo gets to be restored and have a happy, wholesome, joyful, love-filled life even after years of trauma, abuse, and mistakes, then so do you. If I get to be restored and have a happy, wholesome, joyful, love-filled life even after years of trauma, abuse, and mistakes, then so do you. All it takes is a willingness to learn and grow, and you'll never, EVER get me to believe that I am more mentally flexible and emotionally adaptable than you; it's never gonna happen, because I know in my bones that you are better and more capable than me in all the ways that matter, so don't even try to convince me otherwise; my faith in you is unshakable, so it's not gonna work.

Sephiroth. Please don't think you don't have anywhere to go or anywhere to belong. Mewtwo is literally the only one of his kind, and he still belongs with the Pokémon he calls family. They are cloned Pokémon, but all the same, they are not at all different from the other wild Pokémon that also inhabit Mt. Quena. A cloned Lapras can live with regular Lapras just the same. There isn't another Mewtwo. There isn't another Pokémon in the world that possesses the same level of power that Mewtwo has. But he still belongs. And he can still have a good life. He's not alone. You're not that different from him. So please try. Please?

That's all I've got for today. Please think about the story I told you. Heck, if your position at the Edge of Creation allows you to talk to Mewtwo somehow, please do; he's smart and wise and he knows a lot because he's learned much during the course of his life and has grown much as a result of reflecting earnestly upon all the mistakes he's made. He can help you.

I love you. Please stay safe, okay? I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine