#...at who they are not. the whole series and every character is set on that premise. and you're going to cultivate an environment where...

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 (coming soon) pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.���

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

 “I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[oifaaa]

Is Killer Croc being Roy's sponsor canon or fanon?

It's Canon but it's from red hood and the outlaws which a lot of people agree is one of the worst Roy portals so do with the information as you will

[deathbypufferfish]

Need to be a walking dead stan for a second and talk about Norman Reedus's strange ass vibes that I love so dearly he's so babygirl

[minakoaiinos]

Animating this season like you can't have the slightest bit of jest and god forbid jesting about yaoi

[socialkid]

Imagine…

You’re a well known actress, and your name is pretty big. Like Zendaya big. And your fiancé Katsuki Bakugou is your pro hero boyfriend. Perfect couple right? No literally you are. He goes with you to all your interviews, tapes all of your auditions, and manages to get on your set AT LEAST one time.

Well recently you got casted in a show about an zombie outbreak. You play a main yet supporting character named Halle, a 19 year old girl who is apparently the only survivor left of her family.

Lucky for you the producer highly respects your boyfriend, and he’s allowed to watch you on set whenever. He sits in a chair the directors provide for him every time you film.

He usually supports you and he’ll peak at you from his phone a couple times, but it’s nothing he’s never not seen before.

Now when Bakugou’s passing by his staff’s cubicles and work area in his angency, and he keeps hearing them discuss about ‘Dead of Night’ (your new show) he’s genuinely intrigued.

Apparently the show’s gon viral. And everyone is talking about it. “Yeah, you haven’t seen it yet? I swear you live under a rock.” pro hero Charge Bolt told him. I mean technically he has watched it, he watched you film it! But now that he realizes, he can’t even spell out the plot.

So one day when Bakugou finds the time, he plops down on your sofa and clicks on your series.

Safe to say he might be intrigued…

Now when he watches he’s locked in. Snacks and all, and if he blinks he’s rewinding. It’s all he watches, he’s so interested in the show and can be considered a piece of the show’s fandom.

Now when you’re filming the show, Katsuki shows up a whole lot less. When the directors yell cut and your eyes pan to his empty chair. Katsuki gives you every excuse under the sun as to why he didn’t show up a certain day. You figured maybe he just got bored watching you film and didn’t know how to tell you, so you shrugged it off. You had no clue he was heavily avoiding spoilers. You didn’t even know he watched your show.

So a couple years pass and your show gets renewed for it’s third season. Unfortunately this season, Halle meets her fate. You recorded your last scene for the show, episode 10. Not a dry eye from the media.

The day your character’s death airs is a tragic day for your fans. Especially Bakugou. Mid way through the show as he slurps his spicy ramen his jaw is floored when your character passes. Noodles immediately discarded back into the cup.

So when you get back home and your boyfriend is quietly laying down on the sofa, watching a corny kids cartoon, you’re lost. “Hey Kats.” You say hanging your coat on the rack as you entered. He only replied with a mumble, something along the lines of “hey how was filmineejdirk”. The room was dim, the shades were drawn, and your boyfriend showed no signs of getting up. Was he depressed or something?

You quietly sat down next to him, glancing at the colorful show in front of him. “Katssss…what’s wrong?” You finally asked. No response. Then he slowly shifted upwards, now sitting up to face you. “Halle died.” He responded. He actually looked fustrated.

You were actually shook, you weren’t even aware that your boyfriend was one of the shows viewers. It sort of made up for him not being at your interviews and filming days.

“I’m sorry baby, but I mean I’m still here.” You said, now opening your arms out to embrace him. He took the opportunity, and pulled you into his arms, leaning back onto the sofa once again.

“I know,” he muttered into your neck, tickling your skin, “Yer not Halle though.”

[ohmerricat]

inspired by fifteen trying to say shit and getting censored by the nanny filter, here’s a complete table of every doctors who and whether or not they use strong language

1 - no

2 - yeah

3 - rarely, but accurately and directly, in a dignified and sarcastic fashion

4 - ABSOLUTELY all the time. the tardis filter barely copes. we’ve all seen the K-9 clip, that’s what the character sounds like without the kids show censorship

5 - no. does he look like a man who swears to you? maybe some esoteric combination of words like fuckadoodle shitnozzles

6 - yes. duh

7 - he doesn’t enjoy it, but occasionally, sparingly, when the situation calls for it

8 - definitely . not too frequently, though. for emphasis, or for a laugh

9 - that man is a working class northerner from the 2000s and a jaded war veteran. draw your own conclusions. he knows elaborate insults you’ve never heard of

10 - cheeky little ‘fuck’ here and there with rose & martha, ALL THE TIME with donna, and swearing like hell when he starts going off the rails in the s4 specials

11 - lol no. well… he’s got an example to set to the companions that he treats like children. he’s a storybook character and he wants to be perceived as an imaginary friend, a kind almost victorian whimsical gentleman in a bowtie, and a person like that wouldn’t use crude language. with river song though? now THAT’S a whole other story

12 - the scene in dark water with the psychic paper tells us everything we need to know. twelve in series 8 was straight up pg13ified malcolm tucker. shuttity-up-up-up without the tardis filter sounds like fuckity-bye. he swears liberally, frequently, unsparingly and unceremoniously, at everyone without distinction, including clara’s students at coal hill. personally i think that’s one hell! of a fucking! bird!

13 - no. she’s all famalam hipster mum cringy kindergarten teacher. it doesn’t fit her ~vibe~. the master makes fun of this trait in the timeless children when he’s goading her about her superiority complex. says it’s such a step down from her previous self, at least that one was honest about his emotions

fugitive - she gives no fucks and takes no shit

14 - yes from time to time, like a normal human being would, nothing excessive. donna does bring it out in him though. his mouthy side

15 - this guy says cunt and serves it

[dcxdpdabbles]

God, I love the Cave Boy series. Will the batfam manage to find him after he dips. Will they ever find out about his powers. So many questions

Danny stays underground for days.

He doesn't know the exact time frame because he only goes to the surface to grab supplies. He makes sure to only fully emerge when there is no light out.

It was a bigger risk to be caught by the Waynes, who only operated in the dark, but it ensured fewer eyewitnesses were around. Danny Kane was still a very hot celebrity for taking down the Joker- he would be surrounded by a mob of fans if he walked down the street.

He moved his ship into a deeper cave by phasing the large metal and all his equipment through solid rock, which was not easy. It was a miracle he found a little pocket to set up shop.

Danny thinks the little pocket- surrounded by stone with no opening at all, was formed after a cave-in at one point. It was large enough to work on his ship and had just enough space to set up a sleeping bag and a tent for rest.

He rarely uses that space nowadays.

Danny had stolen from a camping store- taking with him an entire box of lanterns that he placed strategically around his space. They threw light to the large four walls of stone- making him feel trapped inside a midevil dungeon, and somehow, it also made him think incredulity alone.

That was the worst part of this whole change of scenery. He doesn't want to admit it, but he got used to Wayne Manor and the colorful characters there.

He hadn't even done anything besides lay around but he missed the sound of people. Even before Bruce had found him, Danny would see people often as he wandered around gathering a sense of the city.

Now, he was genuinely suffocating alone. He didn't feel the loss often, but there were times when it felt like being hit by a truck.

It's when his own ice powers reach into his bones, causing his teeth to clatter and curl up into a smaller ball on the cave ground, that Danny misses the Manor the most. He stole food from the stores- but without any way to cook or heat it up, it's limited to the packed food.

Sometimes, while eating packs of dried fruit, he thinks longingly of Alfred's warm meals. Then he remembers how they looked at him when his lies got so out of hand that they believed Bruce's parents lived in his world and he could suppress the longing to return.

Danny has made leaps and bounds on building his ship since he no longer pretends to be Brucie. He no longer filled the hours with nonsense, only being awake to work or stealing what he needed to continue working.

Unlike before, Danny had developed a tunnel version of finishing his project. He no longer wanted to give himself time to ensure everything was fine.

He just wanted to go home.

He's gotten better at wielding using his own ghost laser, and now his ship had its full body. It was missing seats, a window, and even a steering program that actually turned when he wanted- but he was getting closer and closer every day.

All the small technology pieces he stole from the Waynes were on one side- ripped apart for the needed parts. He would spend hours carefully opening everything to check what he could use and what he could melt down to repurpose.

Danny carefully pulls out some small wires from the electric candle he took from the Wayne Dinner table when his vision blurs. He takes a moment to blink rapidly, trying to let the sudden burst of lightheadedness pass him.

Sadly, it was only a few seconds before he crumbled to the hard ground. He gasps, the cold coming back tenfold, and he can do nothing but lay there and pray the pain passes.

Danny hadn't felt this weak since his ice core first developed. Even the first Ghostly Wail hadn't made his limbs feel this heavy.

He knows he has been pushing himself too far lately- barely eating or sleeping- but Danny can't risk any wasted second. He saw the resources the Bats have.

It was only a matter of time before they found him- even if they would need to drill through the solid stone for hours to reach him- and he didn't want to face them after the guilt of lying to them was slowly eating him alive.

He had kept the Wayne at arm's length the entire time, living under the pretense of being Bruce Wayne's counterpart. He told himself he wanted nothing to do with their nightly battle against evil- and he didn't!- and that he could care less if they treated him as family.

He took everything they gave him without hesitation, telling himself they were fools for letting anyone in and stealing from them. Danny thought it would not matter as he would finish his ship and be flying home long before they realized he wasn't Bruce.

Until they stop treating him so warmly after killing the Joker. Danny wasn't sorry about it, but suddenly, he was a stranger in a crowd to them.

Danny had no right to be upset. He lied. He didn't want to be Brucie to them and had actively made Tim look bad by being as Unproactive as possible, going along with changed narratives of his world.

Danny had used the Waynes.

Yes, he did so, believing they were a cult or an evil madman, but he learned that wasn't the case early on. He could have ended the lie at any moment, but he didn't because he figured it would be harmless.

Then he realized that Bruce's parents were killed in front of him- the story wasn't hard to find when he actually bothered to look into the Waynes at a local high school library after hours.

Not only did he find the horrific story, but he found out that almost all the Waynes had a tragic story. Dick's parents were murdered in an accident that wasn't an accident at all.

Tim's parents were killed by a madman with boomerangs. Jason's father died in prison, and his mother overdosed before Bruce took him in. Duke's parents were patients with no working mind because of the Joker (Danny should have made his death last longer).

The only ones that didn't seem to be Cass and Damian, but he knew it was likely due to Bruce not wanting the public to learn that they came from abusive households- he figured that much out by their reactions.

Even Alfred had a history of PTSD from his time in the army. There was an article about a scandal when Bruce had actually been a child- apparently, someone had thought to release firecrackers under the servant's table, and Alfred had panicked. People had mocked him about it for months.

Everyone had a reason to be a villain, yet they all had opened their home to him and been nothing but kind. They were good, and they treated him like family.

Danny felt sick with himself, for being so self-centered he never bothered to really get to know them. And now he never could.

A few tears rolled down his face as his vision started to blur out more and more.

No use crying over it now, Fenton. Though the haze of exhaustion doesn't let him get up from the floor, he thinks bitterly.

He'll rest for a little bit, then get back to work. Only for a few minutes/

Danny doesn't notice his body has shifted in his Ghist side, slowly redirecting his energy to his core, so that his healing could help overcome the unknown days.

He is not aware his heartbeat stops at the same time.

_____________________________________________________________

"I can't hear him anymore!" A young boy screams, pressing his ear against a stone. Horror clouds his voice as he turns to stare at another boy. "His heartbeat....it's not...."

"We must make haste! Breakthrough now!" The other boy snaps.

"But that might cause the cave to fall on top of him." The other rubs his hands together nervously. "I think we may be too late to save-"

"Every second we waste is a second that Brucie gets closer to death!" His company growls savagely, though the tears in his eyes make him less scary. "We have to at least bring his body home- we-I can't- he needs to be buried properly."

Not even a second passed before the other boy threw his shoulders back, yanking out his phone and pressing a speed dial two.

His father picks up two rings. "Jon?"

"Dad! We found Brucie! He was stuck in a cave underneath the tunnels leading to Gotham Cemetry. Can you come help me get him out?"

"I'll be right there."

[year2000electronics]

i think obsessive/selfish/misguided love or “harmful” love in general as an antithetical theme to gravity falls’ theme of love and family makes so much sense. if you think about it, a lot of the conflict in the show is born out of selfishness and obsessiveness and loving people as objects or means to an end. obviously, you have the big examples like gideon for mabel and giffany for soos, but every time both sets of the pines twins have butted heads, it’s usually been because of that too. just in like, a different way.

stan and mabel are both relying on dipper and ford to stay anchored to them forever to secure their happiness, and even though it’s a totally okay thought to have and dipper and ford weren’t in too much of a rush to consider their feelings, it’s a bandaid solution at best! dipper ends up NOT leaving because that’s the right thing for them but it’s not totally because the pines twins are a “set of two” who can’t be separated. it’s a decision they make mutually! mabel even says that she would be okay with dipper taking the apprenticeship, she just needed a minute to be frustrated!

and then of course you have stan and ford where stan leaving ford meant stan would lose his only friend, but even in their adult years, they clearly still love each other (ford and stan both apologizing profusely every time they land a devastating enough hit) but their selfish desire to have the other admit they’re the “villain”, to have a scapegoat to blame a whole series of factors on, overtakes them and buries that love. even as old men they’re still trying to get something out of the other before anything else (ford’s house and name, stan’s “thank you”). stan and ford want to love each other deep down so badly but this giant means to an end is in the way

you even see that sort of motif with characters like dipper and pacifica, where dipper’s crush on wendy almost always has negative results because, not only can it never be due to the age gap, but every time he tries to court her, it’s usually in the way a prize is to be won. he makes an itemized list of a process that is “guaranteed” to impress wendy, he literally brakes the laws of space time just so robbie won’t date her (as if one single snow cone is keeping him from his success), gets a job at the pool just so he can hang out with her, and jumps at the opportunity to prove robbie is evil. etc etc. and with pacifica it’s clear that her parents’ love is very transactional and conditional. if EVEN that.

so the fact that book of bill is setting up bill to be like a clingy ex to ford- more than that, it’s setting up ford to be the only human bill cares about THIS much! it feels like the ultimate way to tie bill to that theme of how love can harm as much as it can heal. like, he’s always been an obstacle to the pines’ happy ending, but this way, we see his reaction to love in his psyche play out, and you understand why he’s the opposite and obstacle to the pines. the stan twins hurt each other and it takes an entire show’s worth of growth for them to fix it. gideon hurt mabel but him letting dipper and the group into her bubble proves he’s willing to change. bill hurt ford and he throws a temper tantrum and denies everything, trying to use force to get things back to the way they were because in his own twisted way he really does love and care for ford. i’m sure even a traumatized millenia old dream demon could change but for now bill doesn’t! and that kinda makes him and ford’s relationship the perfect tie in to the themes in the show

[stevieschrodinger]

Baker Steve/Rock Star Eddie wrong number AU

Part One

Part Two

PART THREE

"It's like a TV show, but on YouTube."

"Right," Steve answers, half listening to Dustin's explanation, "so it, like what, has an air time, or whatever?"

"Yeah, like a series."

"And it's just, what, famous people playing dipshits and dickheads?"

"Steeeeeeeeeeeevvvvveeeeeeeeeeee why are you like this?"

"Dunno," Steve shrugs, trying to read a recipe online. Unfortunately that's resulted in his having to scroll past someones entire fucking life story and he's ready to give up and try and work out the dumb Oreo cake recipe himself, "just lucky, I guess."

Dustin drops his head on the kitchen counter like Steve is the greatest difficulty he's ever going to face.

"So why do you need to be here to watch this?"

"Because we all want to watch it together, the guests are Corroded Coffin, they all like, play, the whole band, it's so cool-"

"Corroded Coffin? Playing your nerd game?" Steve's interest leaks through before he can stop it, "I mean, like, I think I've heard of them?" The last thing he needs is the kids finding out he's been kind of friends kind of flirting kind of maybe wants to date the actual Eddie Munson.

Dustin looks at him skeptically, "yeah...so you-"

"You can all watch it here, it's fine...I'll make cookies."

Dustin's completely distracted by his own success, instantly whipping out his phone to inform the other kids. Steve's pretty sure their group chat is called 'No Steve's allowed' but he hasn't actually found out for sure yet.

Steve does bake cookies. All the kids are gathered around his smart TV, absolutely demolishing them while they wait for this thing to start. It's like, an actual channel, with intros and graphics and stuff, a logo that reads 'Final Roll.'

And there's Eddie and the band, sitting around a table with two dudes who must run the channel. They all have the bits of paper and dice and little figures that Steve's used to seeing when the kids commandeer his dining room table.

There's preemptive ramble, and Steve leans forward a little every time Eddie's in shot. He's relieved all the kids are all sitting in front of him and all glued to the TV, so he can ogle in peace. They do introductions, and then everyone introduces their characters.

"May I introduce Sir Steven, the half elf paladin," behind Eddie Gareth rolls his eyes so hard his whole fucking body moves. Steve can see him and Geoff mouthing something to each other. Steve can only assume it's because Eddie has named his character, presumably, after him, "he has a sworn oath to always protect those weaker than himself."

Steve's heart fucking melts.

Steve's phone is buzzing. He's prepared. He knows Eddie's back in the country, they've been talking for months. Steve's kind of done waiting, and he's ready to press his advantage. He's had this set up for a little while, just waiting for the right moment. He presses play, and then answers the phone.

"Hey Stevie how-...are you listening to Corroded Coffin?"

"Yeah, yeah," Steve turns it down, bomb dropped, trap sprung, advantage played, "the kids absolutely love them, they're trying to get me into them even though they're not exactly my thing."

"Right, ah, right, what do you, uhm, think?"

"Yeah. Still not my thing-"

"Oh."

"But I really like it when the lead guy sings."

"...yeah?"

"Yeah, not the like, shouty growly singing, I can't understand a fucking thing he's saying-" Eddie chuckles, "but like, the parts where he properly sings. I think he has a beautiful voice."

"I ah, well, I mean, I bet the, uhm, shouty bits are hard work, you know. I expect that takes a lot of, you know, practice. Hell on the throat. I imagine, I would guess anyway, I don't actually, like know-"

"No no, yeah, well, maybe he should just sing more then, save those vocal chords, or whatever. I'd like that a lot."

"Yeah?" Steve can practically hear Eddie blushing down the phone. Eddie's so cute when he goes shy.

"Yeah." There's a long beat of silence before Steve goes in for the kill, "the kids are trying to get me to go see them. They're in the states now, apparently. Will be playing a gig in Indie."

"Yeah they are- I mean, I assume they are, most bands, uhm, yeah-" And Steve is hardly holding it together, Eddie is such a bad liar, and he's trying so hard not to lie at all. Steve doesn't know how he;s keeping his tone normal and not letting the whole ass cat out of the bag.

"And the kids are absolutely itching to go, you know? But tickets man, they're all doing every chore they can find to get some extra cash, but tickets are pricey, and for eight of us? Because I'll need someone else to help me chaperone and, you know..."

"I. I might...know a guy. Maybe. Like, because of the band I might...know someone who can get you tickets."

"Seriously? Eddie that would be incredible, the kids will absolutely loose their shit."

"Yeah, ah, is your work email cool?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course of course, man, the kids are going to love you for like, forever."

And maybe I will too, Steve just about manages to keep the words inside.

@steves-yellow-cardigin @melodymeddler @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao

@superduckmilkshake @she-collects-smut @paintsplatteredandimperfect @resident-gay-bitch

[peachsayshi]

Hello can I request a part 5 for the inexperienced reader where they finally do the deed? Thank you and I really love all your writings. You’re amazing!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ playboy geto x inexperienced female reader (part 4) ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

wc: 7,712

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰ previous parts: 1/2/3/4

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

notes: hi, nonnie! I haven't posted the official part 4 for playboy geto x reader, so here is an update! part 5 is the final part of this mini series and I am still figuring out the scenario for the big moment. I had this idea in my head and really wanted to write out. I hope you enjoy the update!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: other jjk characters are mentioned, virgin reader; lovesick geto & reader; hurt/comfort; the first fight; making up; smut; oral (f receiving); nipple play; overstimulation; fingering; practice makes perfect *wink wink*

There’s a downpour outside - a peaceful shower trapping you in a cocoon of stillness. Grey clouds collide, orchestrating a rumble of thunder to disperse across the horizon. You squeeze the glass of tea in your hand and breathe out a heavy sigh as you continue observing the waves crashing onto the shore in the distance.

Standing in pensive thought, you find yourself contemplating why the sky isn’t a saturated blue, and why you are not wiping away grains of sand between your toes while tasting the salt in the air and getting kissed by the sun in the red bikini that you are wearing.

This is your first weekend away with Suguru and it was supposed to be perfect…magical even, but…

You haven’t exchanged more than a few of sentences with him in two whole days.

The truth forms as a discomforting lump in your throat. At this point you’re convinced that the turbulent events of this week is what conjured up such a dreadful storm to hijack your mini vacation, and you’ve been a bundle of nerves ever since because you’ve never had a fight with him before.

Not a real one, anyway.

Whenever a situation got remotely tense, your boyfriend would be the first person to jump in to talk things out. Suguru hated having petty arguments and always relied on strong communication to put out any fires before they set everything ablaze. You know it’s entirely unfair to put that expectation on him but, the truth is, you’ve grown used to him mediating, and depended on him to squash potential disagreements without question.

What you weren’t expecting was for things to escalate between you two because it’s never happened before, and now you aren’t sure how to proceed.

What if he leaves me?

The nauseating thought of a potential break up twists your gut, but you brush off your anxiety as you lift the cup to your lips and take another sip of soothing chamomile.

Couples fight, you think, it’s normal to fight.

Your fingers pinch the ceramic so hard, you feel it might crack from the pressure. You’ve tried to reach out since then, but Suguru remained unresponsive to your little gestures of peace.

Why is he still ignoring me?

You lean your head against the window and exhale, eyes fixated on the storm’s dramatic performance. A bolt of lighting crackles across the sky, channeling you back to the night on Suguru’s sofa just two weeks prior.

His fingers were trailing the outline of your thigh, keeping your body tucked perfectly into his frame. You were twirling a strand of his onyx hair between your fingers, listening to him proposition the idea of the weekend trip away.

“Yuki is one of my oldest friends. She lives in a beach house, so that’s where we will all stay…” he casually stated. “We visit her a couple of times a year, and I know she would love to meet you.”

You said yes without hesitation.

At the time, there was no need for you to question who Yuki was or how Suguru knew her. There was no need for you to pry deeper into the memories of his past because you were just living in the bubble of present happiness.

“We used to spend every summer at her beach house while I was in university,” Suguru informed you a few days later, slipping in that tidbit of information right after describing all the places he was excited to take you to. “I love that her beach house is so far away from the city. Plus, they have the best soba in the village. You’ll love it, I just know you will…”

This deep infatuation you shared for Suguru had your heart swelling up more often around him. Your valves were arrows to a compass that always spun directly towards him, your shining North Star. Your eyes were glazed over in a rosy shine of deep romance, making it hard for you to blink away the hue of its affection, but you should have taken a breath to catch yourself.

Maybe then you wouldn’t have reacted so harshly later on.

The ”problem”, as Suguru dubs it, happened two days before the trip.

Shoko invited you to join her and Utahime on a shopping date to pick up some new swim suits for the occasion. However, you weren’t expecting to see Mei Mei upon arrival. Your friendship with Shoko made it easier for you to blend in with the rest of Suguru’s group, but Mei always kept you at an arm’s length. For the most part, you approached any interactions with her with caution. You made sure you were nice and didn’t try to pursue anything beyond cordial conversations. Despite your attempts at playing cool, Mei continued making snide remarks about you being “Suguru’s Girl” and enjoyed addressing you condescendingly.

Truthfully, she treated you as if you were simply a stranger with one foot out the door and not the person who was in a committed relationship with her friend.

Your eyes, powdered with pink infatuation, had you feeling indifferent about her sharp tongue on this particular outing, and it made you loosely speak up about how excited you were to go on this trip with your boyfriend.

Your walls were completely down when Mei went in with a new attack while you were all having dinner together.

“It’s adorable how excited you are. Besides, I think it’s about time that you met Kiki…” she giggled, earning a glare from both Shoko and Utahime.

“Kiki?” you replied like a naive child, all wide eyed with an innocent pinch between your brow.

“Suguru didn’t tell you?” Mei coos as she proceeds to take a sip of her milkshake. “That’s his special nickname for Yuki. The two of them used to spend their summers together getting high and fucking. She was his first, you know…”

Your cheeks were stinging with embarrassment. You glanced over to both Shoko and Utahime, praying that one of them would denounce Mei’s confession.

Instead, Shoko shook her head with disapproval and simply added, “we all know that it wasn’t serious…”

“Wasn’t serious?” Mei interjected, her cruel eyes fixed on you. “Suguru was in love with her…”

“He wasn’t in love with her,” Shoko sternly answered. “They were friends. Don’t make up stories in your head”

Mei swirled her straw around her vanilla milkshake. “We are his friends too but that didn’t stop him from hooking up with us either. The only difference is that Yuki is the one who broke his heart afterwards. Suguru didn’t speak to her for an entire year...”

“How about you don’t stir up problems for no reason, Mei.” Utahime bit back, and Mei responded by rolling her eyes with mild disinterest.

“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. Everyone at this table, except Shoko, hooked up with Suguru at one point,” she let out a pretty laugh, one laced with wicked intent. “Maybe this is something we can all bond over at the beach house. Compare notes and what not…”

“How about we dial back the bitchy attitude and put the subject to rest” Shoko interjected, and Mei merely huffed before sipping her milkshake with nonchalance.

Hot, heavy jealousy coiled around your skin, and you used every ounce of restraint not to pick up Mei’s drink and toss it right in her face. By the time your brain was able to connect the dots to formulate even a single sentence, the conversation swiftly moved onto another subject.

You reached for your soda, slurping the icy beverage in an attempt to cool yourself off.

This isn’t the first time that Suguru’s friends have made teasing comments about his past, but Mei took it too far.

The worst part about that god-awful interaction is that it was working out in her favor.

Why didn’t Suguru tell you?

The question sat in your head up until you returned home. You were in a bitter state, choosing to curb Suguru’s calls and ignore Shoko’s messages.

She still called you the next morning with a heartfelt apology.

“We’ve all known Mei for years so we put up with her attitude,” Shoko explained, “But you owe her no allegiance and what she did was uncalled for. I’m really sorry about that…”

“It’s fine, Shoko…” you insisted, but your tone was hard and defensive because it wasn’t fine and you barely got any sleep thinking about what she said.

“I had a long conversation with her last night, and she’ll be backing off from now on,” Shoko consoled.

“Great,” you answered through gritted teeth, trying your best not to hurl the phone at the wall.

“Look,” Shoko added on with a sigh, “I know Suguru doesn’t have the best track record and I know we all give him shit for it, but we also all know that we’ve been too hard on him. He really, really cares about you.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You wished those words were enough to sway you back but they felt just as empty as the space in your chest.

Why didn’t he tell me?

You couldn't stop wondering why.

The day before you left for the getaway, you were giving Suguru the coldest shoulder. He had come over to help you pack your things, but instead was left puzzled by your behavior.

You leaned away from his kisses, always tilting so he aimed for your cheek. You shrugged off his touch, pretending to busy yourself with searching through your closet and picking your outfits. You could feel his piercing stare from over your shoulder, those dark eyes dissecting the softest parts of you to get to the root of the problem. You tried to focus on the music from gently playing through the speakers, but as you walked over to your bag to pack another dress, Suguru quickly reached for your hips to drag you onto his lap.

“What’s wrong?” he asked seriously, his voice the tip of a sharp blade pressing into your heart.

You shook your head, caressing the fabric between your fingers. “Nothing, I have a headache,” you repeated firmly, sticking to the same excuse that you had given him earlier.

“Sweetheart,” he replied tenderly, your body stiffening when he brushed his lips over your shoulder to leave a contemplative kiss. “What’s actually wrong?”

You froze, your anger scalding your insides as it bubbled to the surface. You squeeze the dress between your hands, creasing the smooth surface. Suguru rests his chin on your shoulder, patiently waiting for you to at least acknowledge him.

“Is it true that you were involved with “your friend” Yuki?”

You hid your hurt with sarcasm, her name rolling off your tongue with a hint of disgust.

Suguru lifted his head from your chin, his fingers pinching against the fat of your hip while his other hand moved to reach for your jaw. He angled your face towards him, a pained expression masking over his breathtaking features.

“Who told you?”

“Mei,” you answered sharply, “apparently Shoko and Utahime know all about it too…”

“Look,” Suguru sighed, “it’s…it’s not what you think…”

“Did you to spend your summers getting high and fucking?” you interrupted harshly, mimicking the cruelty in Mei’s voice as you posed your question.

Suguru closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Is it true that she was your first?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly this time.

“Yes, but…”

You rolled your tear soaked eyes as you stood up on your feet, tossing the dress into your bag as you folded your arms across your chest to give Suguru your back.

You weren’t sure what hurt more. The fact that Mei had all the ammunition in the world to hurt your feelings, or that she knew that your doting boyfriend would keep this from you.

Suguru stood up, carefully approaching you from behind as he extended his hand out to find your waist once more.

“Mei’s a gossip,” he contended, “I told you that when we first met…”

You spun on your heel to meet his anxious stare, drilling your fury right into him.

“That’s not the point,” you argued. “The point is that you lied to me! The point is that you spent weeks going on and on about “your friend” without even warning me that you were both intimately involved…”

“We put that shit behind us years ago. I didn’t want to bring it up, and I didn’t think I had to. Mei shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Didn’t think you had to?” you repeated with confusion.

“There was no reason to,” he replied with annoyance, his fingers digging into your waist. “Because you and I are supposed to trust each other, and considering how things have been going between us, I thought we did.”

Your heart raced at the fact that Suguru was still keeping his mouth tight lipped over what happened with Yuki, which did little to help your own dramatized theories on their relationship.

If he was being secretive about something as serious as this, then who knows what other tales he might have been spinning with that honeyed mouth of his.

The knot that’s wrung itself around your mind finally snapped.

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have an inventory of people I slept with to keep track of…”

Suguru winced, the involuntary grimace an unusual sign of hurt. Your apology shot to the tip of your tongue, and you were ready to jump right into his arms and plead for forgiveness. This brutish commentary was so unlike you, but you didn’t know how to keep a handle on your own insecurities this time around.

“Keep track, huh?” he answered softly, the faintest hint of distress coming through and making you nip at your bottom lip out of guilt. “Must be hard having a boyfriend who is so used up…”

“No...you're not. That's not what I mean, I’m…I’m just saying that it’s different,” you retracted, easing your delivery to try and explain yourself. “You just don’t have to worry-”

“Is there a reason for you to worry?” he rebuked, quirking his brow in genuine surprise.

You scoffed, “You told me about everyone else you’ve been involved with but with her you are suddenly keeping quiet-”

“Please, tell me you’re fucking joking right now-“

“You can’t-” you interjected, clearing the catch in your throat as your voice warbled uncomfortably. “You can’t just expect me to be okay with this, Suguru. I have to be able to trust you and that’s only going to work if you are honest with me. Keeping something like this from me doesn’t help…”

Suguru dropped his hand away from your waist, and folded them over his chest tightly. There was a twitch in his jaw, and the disappointment in his eyes spoke volumes. You both stood there in silence, studying the other in deep concentration.

“I thought you did trust me. You were practically naked in bed with me when you said it. So what is it then? Do you trust me or not?”

Your face grew increasingly hot recalling his birthday, the way you were soft, vulnerable and pliable sprawled out against his chest...

“I do…” you replied with very little confidence. “Sort of…”

You swallowed your regret to stare down at your feet shamefully, and allowing your pride to fight the battle for you. If you can waver his insecurity even a little then maybe you might find some equal footing with the discomfort.

“I can’t change my past. I can’t erase the people I’ve been involved with. Yes, we both had different opinions about how we viewed relationships, but we aren’t going last long as a couple if I’m the only one that has faith that this is going to work,” Suguru informed calmly, using his fingers to gesture between you both.

Hearing those words from your lover’s lips felt like surprise blow. You parted your mouth to exhale quietly, clenching your hands tightly by your side as you naively waited for him to attempt to turn things around.

“I’ve given you everything. I’m not going to force you to trust me,” Suguru adds on, his tone morphing into a cold, cruel note. “And if you fucking can’t, then I’m done.”

Your head shot up in surprise, the front of your brows upturning sorrowfully but Suguru had already turned on his heel to walk out of the room, slamming your bedroom door right behind him.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

The car ride to the beach house was terrible.

Neither you or Suguru said a single word to one another. He kept his focus on the road, while you kept replaying the words “I’m done” on repeat in your head.

It was disappointing to start off on such a sour note because Yuki’s beach house was the perfect getaway spot as Suguru described. The location was rural, and the building was quaint and cozy. The size is big enough to fit your entire group, but not to the point where it was gaudy. Suguru mentioned that the property belonged to Yuki’s mom, which she eventually inherited after she passed away.

Meeting Yuki took your breath away. From the moment you laid eyes on her you understood how a young Suguru would be infatuated. She was striking - tall, with long, golden hair that cascaded all the way down to her butt. Every part of her was perfect, from her toned tummy revealed by her short black cropped top, to her legs that seemed to go on forever which were covered in only a pair of loose denim shorts. She had a naturally cheeky grin, like there was something up her sleeve that no one could quite point out, and sharp brown eyes that were simply inviting.

She pulled Suguru in for a warm hug, and ruffled his hair like a sister would.

“Sug! Your hair’s getting long! I like it!” she chirped with a big smile, while Suguru held an effortlessly casual stance to play off that the two of you haven’t been ignoring each other this whole time. Yuki instantly turned to face you, “And you must be the girl that stole his heart! I’m so glad to meet you! This guy never shuts up about you…”

You felt small against her, and it wasn’t just due to her height. You could feel yourself shrinking into your own shame hearing her talk about your lover. Whatever doubts that sparked due to Mei’s burning statements were quickly turned to ash.

Yuki gave you a house tour and explained that Shoko was sharing a room with Mei and Utahime, while Satoru and Nanami bunked in another.

“If you’re comfortable you can stay in Suguru’s room. He kind of has his own bedroom from how often he’s stayed with me. If not, I’ve got a pull out sofa in my room,” Yuki informed, while you were trying your hardest to undo the tight knot in your belly.

Getting to know Yuki over the course of the two days only fed into your regret. You couldn’t help but watch her interactions with Suguru, only to conclude it was no different than how he behaved with Satoru and Shoko.

Even when he addressed her as “Kiki”, it came out with a level of comfort that felt a familial familiarity. If it wasn’t for Mei and her devious manipulation games, you would never have even have assumed that the pair were intimately involved with each other.

As your stubbornness started chipping away, you decided to at least try and make amends with your boyfriend.

On the first night, after getting ready for bed, you broke the long hours of silence by asking him where he was going after watching him get ready to leave the room that you both were supposed to be sharing.

“I’m staying with Satoru,” he curtly responded, and slammed the door behind him before you could get another word in.

Yesterday was painful to say the least. You attempted to sit down with him and Satoru for breakfast, but Suguru excused himself only a couple of minutes later. By mid-morning you texted to ask if he would like to join you and Shoko to walk around the village. You even brought up his favorite soba shop, but found yourself left on read.

His behavior was harsh and quite obvious. By lunchtime Shoko pulled you aside to ask if everything was okay.

“We’re fine,” you answered breathlessly, your worry sending tingles to the tips of your fingers and toes. “We got into a bit of an argument in the car, but we’ll talk things over”

Dinner last night was supposed to be a fun get together at one of the local omakase joints, but it turned into you and Suguru sitting on opposite sides of the table barely acknowledging each other.

You were trying to steal his glance, but he wouldn’t stop avoiding yours. Afterwards while all of you were standing outside, you found the courage to reach for Suguru’s hand to grab his attention.

“Hey,” you whispered low enough for only him to hear to avoid making it obvious to the others. Your heart fluttered when you noticed that Suguru didn’t let go of your hand, but instead pressed the pads of his fingers lightly against your palm to return the gesture.

Almost like he was saying hello.

“Do you maybe want to go for a walk?” you asked, eyes hopeful and desperate. “It’s nice outside tonight, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t gauge what he was thinking, but you paid close attention to his reactions. Like the way his eyes dipped to your fingers slightly interlaced with his own, and how his digits were merely tracing yours in the most featherlight touch.

Did he miss you too?

“I’m going out with Yuki tonight,” he announced, his tone sharp and daring.

Your heart winced.

You weren’t used to this side of Suguru at all.

You let go of his hand, and nodded your head to feign acceptance but your throat was tight and tears were glazing over your woeful irises.

“Oh, okay!” you answered with as much confidence as you could muster up. “I guess…I guess I’ll see what Shoko is up to. And-”

Your voice cracked when Suguru let go of your hand. The emptiness a cold touch against your palm.

“I-I hope you guys have fun catching up tonight-“

Suguru nodded his head, taking your breath away for only a second when he leans forward to leave a chaste kiss on your brow. Not giving you a chance to finish your statement.

The gesture shatters you, because you know that it wasn’t genuine.

He was simply putting on a show, keeping up appearances so that the others don't suspect that something is wrong.

You cry yourself to sleep all alone in bed, all the while holding onto the hope that he might just show up to remind you that everything is okay.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

You’re still staring out the window, watching the droplets trickle down the glass. Lost in the peaceful moment, you barely hear Suguru enter the bedroom, which is why you jump in shock when you suddenly notice a large hand press firmly against the glass by your side.

“It’s pouring, huh?”

His voice, smooth like velvet and soft like storm clouds sent a tremor of desire in your belly. You steadied the cup in your hand, sensing your body trapped between the window and your boyfriend who was now standing prominently right behind you.

“Yeah,” you whisper quietly, your chest rising and falling with anticipation.

You watch him tap his index finger against the glass, your gaze falling to the bracelet on his wrist. It was the other gift that you gave him on his birthday, and he hasn’t taken it off since. The rain patters outside, the white noise your safety barrier against the awkward tension, but you can feel it brewing behind your spine as you steady your breathing.

“Where did you stay last night?” you ask with a mousy voice, hoping that your tone wasn’t coming across as accusatory but simply concerned for wanting to check in on Suguru’s whereabouts.

“Yuki’s room, we were up late talking…” he responds gently, a hint of amusement in his voice but not one that was cruel. “She told me I could sleep on her pull out only after admitting that I’m acting like a little bitch…”

Your mouth naturally ticked into a smile at his playful tone, and you sink your teeth into your lower lip with relief from the casual delivery.

He huffs out a small laugh, "in case you're wondering, I just so happen to agree with her."

“It’s not just you,” you acknowledge, finding the courage to slowly spin on your heel so you can face him. “I started all of this…”

“Yeah, but you’ve been trying to fix it and I’ve been difficult about it…”

Your body crumples when your eyes met his, the power of his gaze forcing you to press your back against the window to stop yourself from buckling at the knees. His yearning matches yours, and the tension in your shoulders relaxes slightly when you note that he might have actually have been missing you too.

The ease in his expression is a white flag of surrender.

You place your tea cup on the table by your side. “I shouldn’t have let Mei get to me,” you admit, “I was caught off guard, and I took my anger out on you…”

“I shouldn’t have put you in that position,” Suguru adds on, shaking his head in disbelief over his own decision. “I should have been upfront with you about Yuki from the star, I just-” He drops his hand away from the window to find yours, and takes both of them between his fingers. His thumb smooths over your knuckles, his grip firm and protective.

“I just didn’t want to give another reason not to trust me”

Your brows furrow with confusion, and Suguru sighs.

“My family were in a bind financially. Even though I got a full scholarship to univerisity, there still wasn’t enough money to put both Mimi and Nana through school. I've known Yuki since I was sixteen. She told me to spend the summers with her and hooked me up with well paying jobs ,” he explains solemnly, almost like he is ashamed by the situation entirely. “So, that’s what I did. Her mom never stayed during the summer break. And yeah, shit happened between us. We’d get high, fuck around, drink, party…but it was just…a release.  It didn’t mean anything else. I swear…”

“Mei said that you loved her,” you fill in, piecing together parts of your own personal indignation. “I think that’s what really got me. Especially when you didn’t tell me yourself. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the secrecy…”

Suguru scoffs, “Mei says that only because I went back summer after summer. I didn’t let anyone else know the real reason why. They had no fucking clue what was going on with me and my last summer with Yuki is when we decided to stop but I-I fucked it up…”

You could see the strain on Suguru’s face, and you squeezed his hand reassuringly to let him know that he could share whatever he needed to say.

“There was this girl that Yuki liked. I mean, really liked. She wouldn’t shut up about her. She was the reason why we stopped sleeping together. One night while we all went out, I got…carried away. I drank too much, I smoked too much, I wasn’t fucking thinking. I don’t even really remember what happened, but when I woke up the next morning…the girl was in my bed. When Yuki found us, she was…heartbroken. She didn’t speak to me for a year, and…I was devastated because her friendship means everything to me. She was the only person who knew how bad things were, and I returned the favor by…well, being myself, I guess…”

“Suguru, don’t say that…” you blurt out, your hands letting go of his as you eagerly clasp his jaw with equal protection. “I see you with your friends. You’re so loyal, and would give them everything if they asked. For somebody whose always so put together, what you did…is so out of character…”

He winced, his eyes narrowing with humiliation but it only taps into your empathy.

You bring his face closer, press your forehead to his own and notice him flutter his eyes close.

“You rarely talk about how hard it was with your family,” you mumble so close to his lips, keeping the conversation as private as possible even though it’s only the two of you in the room together. “I can’t even imagine the kind of pressure you must have been feeling. If you and Yuki are as close as you say are you, I’m sure she came around because she must have seen it too…”

His hands find your your bare waist. “She was the only one who could see it. Satoru, Shoko…it went over their heads…”

The quiet loops in right then, a rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. The hurt in Suguru's voice was loud and clear. The fact that he's always been there, but is so easily forgotten in the long run.

“I need to know,” Suguru confesses, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I need to know what else it’s going to take to get you to trust me because the odds are stacked up against me, sweetheart. And if I can’t make it happen, then I don’t have a single fucking shot at making us happen…”

The sting of regret burns your cheeks once more, and you extend your arms out to circle around your boyfriend’s neck. You want to kick yourself for making him doubt himself, especially after he working so incredibly hard to earn your favor.

“I swore I would never throw your past in your face. I’m so sorry that I did. You’re not the same guy that the people in your life paint you out to be, and I shouldn’t have let them try to convince me otherwise,”

You seal your apology with a small kiss to the corner of his lip, goosebumps pebbling your skin from Suguru’s thumbs tracing tiny streaks up and down your belly. “For whatever reason we don’t seem to make sense to anyone around us…”

When Suguru finds your eyes, you lose yourself into a dark abyss, sinking back into the depths of his soul.

“Is that how you feel too?” he questions seriously, “that we don’t make sense?”

You shake your head instantly to disregard the claim.

“Being with you is the only thing that I seem to understand, and I think that’s why I’m so scared to let you in,” you admit, the past forty eight hours of desperation formulating the next statement on the tip of your tongue. “I’m falling in love with you, Suguru. And-And I can’t seem to stop it from happening…”

Your breathless at the proclamation, your heart hammering so hard in your chest like it’s ready to burst out and bury itself into Suguru’s instead.

You watch your lover pull back slightly, his brows raise with astonishment.

“In love…” he breathes, like he can't believe the words himself, “with me?”

You nod your head, your hands roaming back to the front of his chest where you can feel his own stammering heart against your palm.

"Yeah, with you."

Suguru withers into your touch, his hand cradling your jaw as he dips in to press his mouth over yours. He parts his tongue to deepen the kiss, the weight of his body pushing yours into the surface, where behind you lightning bolts across the sky and grey clouds envelop you both in a shadowy cocoon.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

You freely unravel, your joy sparking from the tips of your toe as to the top of your head knowing that your lover has chosen not to abandon you, knowing that you both are desperately seeking forgiveness.

You swear to yourself that it’ll never get this far again.

Suguru baptizes you with his kiss; it was a long reminder of your submission, of fully surrendering your feelings towards him. In between he moves your body, away from the glass and across the room, until you're pinned underneath him on the bed. He uses one hand to undo the wrap skirt around your waist, leaving you clad in your bikini to bathe under the light of his love instead.

His index finger loops around the string of your bikini top. He pulls away from the wet kiss, the tip of his nose lightly brushing your own, with the heat pooling in those dark irises enough to singe your skin.

“I’m not done with you,” he confirms, going back to the statement that ate away at you like a parasite. “Truthfully, I don’t think I’ll ever be…”

A lock of his hair brushes his brow, and you move it aside to kiss the space.

“Even if you were, I’m not willing to let you go that easily,” you counter because you need him to hear it. You need him to understand that you see what he’s put into this relationship and that you are more than willing to return the effort.

He smiles, and it’s devastatingly perfect it makes you want to scream at the heavens for allowing someone to be this beautiful.

“Still think I’m worth the trouble?”

Your fingers trace down the bridge of his nose, your heart gooey and soft in more ways than you can understand.

“I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have you, Sugu.”

His head tilts with curiosity, eyes drooping in contemplation. He doesn’t say it but you can hear him asking “are you sure?”, but his doubt is enough for you to seal the truth with a kiss, and when Suguru returns it, you’re once again dissolving in his affection.

Your limbs tangle into one another, your bodies pressed so close that you can feel every hard muscle. The bed sheet rumples, is lifted away from the corners as it gathers messily. Suguru’s hand glides up your torso, over the swell of your breasts, and he hooks his fingers around your throat to tilt your neck to the side and allowing him the access to kiss the column.

You thoughtfully sigh, your eyes fluttering close at the sensation of him sucking on your delicate flesh. He leaves a trail in his wake, and you shiver when his hot breath fans your ear.

“Can I ask you something?” he questions in a hush tone, his voice dipping down an octave and sprinkled with desire.

You nod your head.

“Can I go down on you?”

Your body seizes, every single cell on fire. There’s a catch in your throat, and your thighs clench together nervously at the suggestion.

You tilt your head back to face him, your noses and lips bumping in the process. “I-I can do it for you-”

He interrupts you by shaking his head, his mouth carefully kissing your cupid’s bow. “You’ve gone down on me three times already…”

You can feel yourself soaking through your bottoms. A mixture of pleasure and shame heating your cheeks.

“But...what if-what if you don’t like it? I read somewhere that not all guys do...”

Suguru scoffs, baring his teeth as he gives you a full grin. He prods the tips of his nose onto yours, wiggling it teasingly from side to side.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he confesses before adding, “I promise you, I’ll like it”

Your heart is beating so fast you can’t think, but your body speaks another language as your thighs naturally spread a little wider to invite him in.

“Okay, yeah-” you consent, “yeah, you can…”

He smirks, his hands tracing to the strings of your bottoms. You lift your hips, watching him shimmy the fabric down your legs. He stuffs the material in his back pocket, his palms spreading your inner thighs apart.

You sit yourself up on your forearms to study your boyfriend with intrigue.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty…” he sighs, his attention focused on the triangle between your legs, and your belly flutters at the direct compliment.

He doesn’t move for a second, his hands adding the slightest bit of pressure on the meat of your thighs. He licks his lips and breathes out once more, taking just a second to compose himself.

“It’ll only feel good, no pain,” he informs, “but if it’s too much for you, just tell me and I’ll stop, okay?”

Your hips relax further into the mattress, his assurance easing some of your apprehension. Your boyfriend knows how sensitive you are at this point, but you nod your in head in acknowledgement while gratefully appreciating that he regards you with such consideration.

He kisses up the apex of your thigh, carefully avoiding your sex to find a path to you hips. His tongue is sof and warm, tasting every part of your skin as it travels across your lower belly and further down your pubis. You gasp at the sensation of his breath so close to your cunt, your calf twitching when he finally places a gentle kiss on your lips.

And another kiss.

And another kiss.

And a fourth until your toes curl and he finally flattens his tongue along the slit.

“Oh,” you coo, the sensation so delicate and delicious. Suguru drags his love between your folds, up and down, and side to decide, his mouth circling around each lip as he sucks on them in between returning to glide his tongue around.

Your legs clasp around his neck, your heels resting comfortably on his back. The sound of Suguru sucking and licking up your pussy reverberates along with the storm outside. He reaches one arm to find your hand, and you intertwine your fingers to hold him tightly. His other hand slithers up your torso, and slips underneath your bikini top. He pushes the fabric above your breast, his thumb and index finger finding your tender nipple which he massages steadily as his uses his mouth to pleasure you.

The sensation builds, filters throughout your body in waves that roll over and over again. You squeak when he sucks on your clit, your heels pressing into his back but the weight of his body holds you in place to keep you from wandering away.

Your brows furrow, little tremors shaking your collar bones and your belly. “Suguru,” you whine sweetly, a moan following after when he pinches your nipple and nibbles on your clit. He lets go of your hand, his touch traveling down to your legs. He spreads your pussy, giving himself more access to bury his soft tongue deeper, further, to taste more of your nectar as it dribbles down his chest like he’s biting into fruit.

He groans into your cunt.

He grazes his tongue over your weeping hole, and your body thrashes with anguish and rapture. Your eyes spark in white, glittering like the lightning as it bursts and recedes into the ceiling above you. The band in your core is a tight spring that finally unfurls quickly and quite suddenly, your orgasm unfolding throughout your stuttering body.

“Oh, god…” you cry out, your back arching as Suguru keeps his mouth over your cunt, his hand holding you down by your lower body.

You gasp, panting heavily trying to cope with the aftermath. You think that Suguru might stop, but instead you feel him paint kisses all over your sex, rolling your nipple between his finger and moving to suck on your throbbing clit.

“Sugu?” you call out, your spine shuddering.

“Hmm?” he answers, his tongue massaging across the bud.

“You’re still…” you whimper, “you’re still going?”

He releases you with a pop, blowing air over the swollen bud before smiling into another kiss.

“You have no idea how long I can keep going”

Suguru only manages to keep his word by delivering another orgasm with his mouth buried against your cunt. You had tears in your eyes when you came, panting out “no more” with desperation because you couldn’t handle the detachment you were feeling in your own skin.

It feels so fucking good, but all too much at the same time.

Suguru doesn’t push. He won’t test his boundaries right now. Not when you’re just a vulnerable kitten in his eyes. No, the stamina will require time and patience, and for you to get used to him in the bedroom as well.

His disappointments sits between his brows when he pulls away, his hand smoothing over the curve of your pelvis as he kisses your hip and lower belly. He crawls over you like a panther, his shoulder blades rising with each calculative moment. You can smell yourself against his lips, savor your own arousal when he dips in for a kiss.

“Taste like heaven, baby girl,” he mumbles, his balmy words running over your skin like hot oil. “I could eat you out all night…”

He traces the column of your neck with his lips, and grins into your skin. You’re too shy to say anything, and he knows it. He presses his mouth against your neck, pecking over the marks that he’s imprinted.

Your hands fumble to reach for his jeans, your body desperate to do something for him too but Suguru grabs your wrists and pins them to your side before standing upright and undoing his jeans himself.

“Relax,” he insists.

Your eyes fall to his large hands undoing the button, and then unzipping the front of his pants. His grey boxers have a noticeable wet spot, and your pupils dilate when he pulls his dick out for you to see.

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting to see what he’ll do next. He pumps his cock a few times, sighing heavily as his thumb runs over the slit. To your surprise he shifts his position, and adjusts himself until he’s perfectly aligned with you.

He taps the fat, mushroom head over your clit. “You just open up for me, don’t you?” he whispers deviously, “Let’s practice…”

He slides his dick back and forth over your slit, supports his movements by holding both your knees as he grinds his length against your cunt.

“See how far I’ll stretch you out?” he mumbles, eyes hazy with hunger. “See how deep I’ll go?”

He slides his hands up and down your thighs, rocking back and forth and using you for friction. Soft grunts and moans escape him, and in between he halts for only a second when your quivering hand finds his length. His hips stutter when you start to lightly jack him off, your thumb teasing over the head.

Your eyes fall close, imagine the burn of him spreading you apart, of him making love to your body as you mold into his frame. To feel him in all his glory, for your bodies to become.

The image is raw, vulnerable, and so, so perfect.

There is nobody else you would rather give yourself too.

Suguru is the one.

“I can’t wait,” you beg dreamily, “Need you inside me, I can’t wait-”

His grip on you tightens out of surprise upon hearing your words, and he suddenly thrusts harshly as he curses out a broken “fuck”. Ribbons of white spurt out of him, painting your belly and tainting parts of your chest.

The both of you freeze as you look down, caught off guard by what just happened.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

Suguru cleaned you up using a wet towel to wipe his cum off your belly and chest. You discarded your bikini top afterwards while he removed his jeans, with the two of you then choosing to snuggle up against one another under the sheet.

“That’s never happened to me before,” Suguru confesses, finally breaking the silence. There was a slight blush tinting his cheek bones, and you giggle as you cradle his face in your palm and trace the shade of red.

“You’re usually so in control,” you playfully remark, and Suguru simply rolls his eyes.

“Not with you, I’m not,” he admits, his arm clenching around your waist as he closes the gap of space to tuck you into his chest.

You breathe in his scent, nuzzling your nose into the fabric of his tee.

"I'm glad we're okay now."

"I am too"

You curl your fingers around his shirt. “On your birthday, and just now…we could’ve…just gone all the way. You could’ve just-”

“Not here,” Suguru states seriously, the intensity in his voice prompting you to tilt your chin up and meet his stare. He plays with your ear, traces the shell thoughtfully before gently tugging on your lobe.

The butterflies flutter once again, your irises tinting in pink. You lean forward to kiss the sharp angle of his jaw.

“What was it like for you? Your first time?”

Suguru sighs, and purses his lips as he contemplates the memory. “Yuki was good to me, and it was nice,” he admits, but you’re entranced with the way he holds your gaze. “I sure as hell wasn’t as nervous as I am now…”

“Is that why you keep holding back?” you question innocently, apropping yourself on your elbow to rest your head on your hand. The bed sheet falling and exposing your chest.

Suguru’s eyes fall, his touch tracing the slope to outline the curve of your breast. “Do you want your first time to happen after a petty argument?”

You pout your lips with amusement. “Does it matter?”

“You’re not the only one who might be in love, sweetheart,” he responds, his words greeting the shining sun peeking through the clouds. “Of course it matters.”

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

tags: @sellenite @kiwibao @allofffmypeaches @sugurussbby @kunigamisbaby @pandoraium @brownskinnedgirll

my works are available on tumblr and ao3 - any fics reposted on other platforms or other Tumblr blogs have been plagiarized. do not share my works on social media (tiktok etc.) © peachsayshi 

[bulbabutt]

okay. lets bite the bullet and talk about 2012. lets talk about child abuse, familial abuse, generational abuse, toxic family units, whatever you wanna call it. lets talk about it and whether it exists in this show. i actually encourage you to read this no matter what your take is, just to hear it out. let me be FUCKING clear: i love this show, but i get scared to talk about it seriously. everyone on every side is defensive all the time but i love every turtles show to no end.

this post is going to go over so well and not controversially at all.

precursor: every splinter is some level of shitty dad. he always has been. the fucking bare bones of the character is that he raised his children to kill the man who killed his own father. thats inherently fucked up. every splinter has some level of fucked up about him. maybe hes inattentive, or neglectful, or strict, or secretive, maybe hes just not very good at dealing with his kids. splinter is supposed to be far from perfect. thats what makes him splinter. maybe he grows over the course of a series, maybe he doesnt. maybe hes supposed to be shitty his whole life, maybe hes not. thats just splinter. each is adapted differently depending on the story being told.

and 2012 has a very interesting tone to its story.

lets start at the beginning, back in japan. this is season 3, was this story what they intended when they started writing the show back in season 1? probably not, theres probably things they would have written differently had they known this was where splinter's story started. thats kind of the way tv works, you add the details later. but for our sake of analyzing the character of splinter as a whole, it seems best to start here as if its all intentional.

hamato yoshi is a member of the hamato clan. theyre a very traditional old ninja clan in the modern world, they have old feuds and theyre trying to keep their culture alive. they're literally the last of a clan of ninjas like this, having (supposedly) defeated the foot clan (their generational enemies) back when yoshi was a baby. hes set out to lead next, and its very important to him. and yet hes married to a woman who works in the city, a modern woman who doesnt live the life he does. she even moved to be with him. i feel the need to compare this to how men in the real world who want traditional wives never go for women who are willing to be their housewives, always try to break down the independent ones. splinter seems unconcerned with how his wife wants to live. with how she wants their daughter to be raised.

im not necessarily saying this is how this comes off in the show, but i find it interesting to think about. this is absolutely the most rounded version of tang shen as a character (thus far) it stops her being just a name on a page "hamato yoshi's love and the object of his enemies affections who died" and turns her into a woman who has a stake in the story. gives her more agency.

its very interesting that this show implies an actual relationship between tang shen and oroku saki, albeit a one-sided one that didnt work out, but they do seem to have parted on equal ground. the pair of them discuss yoshi's inattentive duties as a husband and father, that he's too obsessed with the tradition and lineage of his clan. honestly, if this woman just took her baby and left no one would blame her! he has his priorities set, and it leaves no room for her and their newborn baby. if she ran away with saki at this point, the story would make just as much sense.

but then disaster strikes, saki learns the truth about his family, that he was actually a child of the foot clan (honestly i wish we saw this play out instead of jumping ahead in the story but thats not what this post is about) and he kills he and yoshi's father. revenge for him having killed his. cycles of abuse and revenge that never end. the pair of them were raised in this society that values lineage like this, that would kill for it. its no wonder they both grew up this way.

anyway, tang shen is killed by a blow meant for yoshi, and saki takes their child and raises her. based on splinter's lack of desire to be a father so far in the story, its honestly not one you can blame him for. its fucked up, but it makes sense. saki does to miwa exactly what his father did to him. cycles of abuse and revenge.

yoshi loses everything, and moves to america. he's turned into splinter the mutant rat, and gains four turtle sons.

so as established, he's not exactly grown up with a stable family life. he obviously, while human, wasnt acting as a stable father for the child he intended to have. so how good is he at this?

ive talked before about how the 2003 show treats the turtles as kind of one whole unit. they don't have individual relationship arcs, they dont have overarching storylines where they grow apart or closer, they're always in each other's corner.

2012 makes this more dynamic. here we see that 15 years seeing no one but each other, growing under this splinter has come with its own quirks. these brothers dont understand each other that well. they get jealous of each others treatment, some are left out, some are misunderstood. raph resents leo, none of them appreciate what donnie does, mikey bothers everyone else for attention, etc. it creates a really good starting place for this show.

(the issue i have with this show is more that they never really open or close any of these beats, at least not in ways that last. but boy does it make for some good dramatic scenes)

we see over the course of this first season that splinter treats his children just as he was, as little ninjas more so than sons. he raises them to follow his traditions, the ones tang shen never cared for. but this is all he knows how to be! you cant really blame him.

most people bring up mikey as the quintessential example when they talk about this, i dont want to do that cuz i know you've all heard it. while i think his father does disrespect him and i think it is paid forward and his brothers do too, i'd rather talk about raph for a change.

in one episode, raph loses his temper. to teach him a lesson, splinter makes his brothers pelt him in training while insulting him any way they can, and tells him to just... not lose his temper. this is a terrible lesson in general. instead of trying to coax out why he might be angry, it just plays up that if he loses his temper bad things happen.

splinter in this episode basically encourages bullying. this comes up a lot when it comes to raph. to compare, in 2003 when raph loses his temper, hes told to blow off steam which he does. his brothers don't blame him for having emotional outbursts, they know thats just how he is so they know how he needs to cope with it. he's given the physical space to let it out.

im not saying this show needs to be like that show, im just saying thats a version of this story where the outcome is better for raph as a whole. since this outcome is not as good for him emotionally, you can tell why he's still got these emotional issues. splinter never helps him more than that. thats more why this raph differs from that one, if that makes sense. one has his family in his corner more than the other.

speaking of. raph has a pet turtle. this turtle is the only one he can talk to about how he feels. why might that be? it's the only thing hes kind and gentle to, and he refuses to let his brothers make him feel weak for being kind to it. where did he learn to be ashamed of being kind and gentle? thats a learned behaviour. in a house full of other men... yeah, that would happen. but whos values start that?

when this turtle gets some mutagen spilled on it, it tries to get revenge on his family. there is such a resentment going on here, its extremely juicy. the show chalks this up to "post mutation insanity", but its just as easy to think that everything raph has experienced has made him seem angry and resentful and perhaps scared to his pet, and that former pet wants raph to himself so they can be free. the frustrated venting of a child complaining about how no one understands him in such a big way turns slash into a vengeful monster, cuz thats all he's ever heard. it makes sense, he went from a little turtle to a fully cognizant adult aged being in an instant. emotionally no one would handle that well, and definitely not someone whos only ever heard the worst about people.

he comes around later. notably by being on his own, away from the hamatos.

again, im not saying the show is writing this intentionally, but i think tonally its in the zone where you could see this analysis as being canon. that these little pieces of narrative fit the worldview of a toxic family unit that isnt dealing with its problems in a healthy way.

there's other small aspects. leo slaps mikey early on, having seen it on his favourite show be used as a way of getting someone to calm down. mikey questions this behaviour, leo seems to feel bad about it when questioned. if we know that that behaviour was bad, what other things might he emulate in a similar way?

there's things like donnie's predatory behaviour towards april. in a world where all they ever knew was splinter's stories of the outside world (and perhaps television from decades earlier), hearing splinter's story of his love for tang shen, his rivalry with his own brother over her, you could actually see why he would behave the way he does, why he claims her the way he does. not as an excuse, but as a reason he learned the behaviour. and there's multiple opportunities for his father to tell him off. he never does. why would he? he knows no better.

this splinter, unlike every other, is not old or disabled. he doesnt require a cane (at the start, but also was never a good cane) and its interesting that despite being like... a 40 year old man in the peak of his life he does not accompany his sons on missions. he sits around doing nothing and disproves of his sons heroic actions. april literally calls him out for this at one point. the show is actually telling us some of this man's behaviour is wrong.

one of the more upsetting things that happens in this household is a lot of physical hitting. "theyre training" you might say. understandable. but when you see a lot of hitting come from the father in this show, played for a laugh, when you see splinter play the "drunk master" bit it makes you think. is that okay? isnt that a bit much?

the end of the muckman episode is a freeze frame of splinter (after having knocked out all of his sons to punish them for leaving while grounded) turning his anger on april and her running away. idk thats just not funny to me. this is a bit of the dating of the show, 2012 was a time where character's in shows were meaner, less affectionate, more bullying in nature. that was the sense of humour at the time. that isnt me making a judgment, it's just kind of the era. a pre steven universe world, if that makes sense. so many of the jokes that end in a hit aren't funny in 2024. especially not when they come from a parent.

when this splinter speaks about his kids to their brothers he often ends up insulting them. "you should be like mikey, he never overthinks because he doesn't think", this would be a big reason the boys speak about each other the way they do to their faces. puts forward a bit more of that bullying thing i mentioned earlier. if their own father talks about them like this, of course their brothers do too. so of course they join in and give payback.

again. splinter wasnt raised in a normal family. he was raised in a ninja commune with a bunch of murderers. he wasn't great with his wife and baby daughter. its not surprising that he's bad at this.

so, ive just said a bunch of things about what's wrong with this household as a whole. i think ive explained why the family unit behaves the way it does: generational teachings of feuds and traditional values. i dont think this makes the show bad! i, in fact, wish there was more of it. i think theres so much low hanging fruit that the show kind of wants to play with, but cant fully bring itself to.

specific example: during the space arc on a planet thats driving all the characters emotions against each other we get this amazing scene where raph screams at leo for being splinter's favourite. leo responds by hugging him. its really well done!

however its never brought up again, never actually getting into the nitty gritty of why raph feels like that is exactly what i think makes this show resonate with so many people

its dark! it pulls at your heart strings! it makes people feel seen! we go in mikey's head at one point and see such splintered (lol) personalities in his head. he has a huge anger problem (much like raph) in there. he retreats into imagination land when stressed. the show kind of toys with "these kids are fucked up!" but never lets those character moments go anywhere. i love how fucked up this family is. its so complex, it feels real. at least real to me. i wish it went that little step further and let the characters talk about these things a little more.

maybe you have a different experience, and thats fine! but i wouldnt brush off people like me who look at 2012 and say "these dynamics make me uncomfortable". to excuse it by saying "my family is like that and we're fine" sometimes i just wanna say... <:/ are you? have you talked about that? and if that's your read on it is that its fine, thats great. but some people notice patterns and those patterns can make them uncomfortable. i hope ive explained the patterns here.

i think thats why the fandom is as big as it is. this show would lead to the most amazing deep introspective fan-works youve ever seen, it lays the pieces out so perfectly for you to draw your own conclusions about why they are this way. you cant really blame people for talking about it as if its got a way higher rating than it does. it feels like it does.

i should say, i dont even know if i blame the show on its own for leaving those pieces laying there, it was on nickelodeon. i sense studio meddling in the tone. i mean, given that the show wanted to end with the big mutant apocalypse storyline, and yet the network wanted to end it with the big 87 crossover..... yeah i think its safe to say nick would rather they keep it light.

which is funny, because i think the most controversial thing i can say is i personally love the finale arc as the mutant apocalypse. it so encapsulates my favorite part of this show. to end this show in the darkest timeline and say "even though these characters are so far removed from who they used to be and even though the entire world is over they still have each other in the end" and i find that so perfect.

so. i understand that this is always a touchy topic. i know people want to brush it off as "people say the 12 brothers are abusive to mikey but mikey is fine", and i think thats a really skewed version of it from both sides. first of all. mikey is not fine, look in that boys head. look how he copes. he's not. but also, mikey is not the only victim. they all are. these turtles are victims of their upbringing, victims of generational war. of men who didnt know how to be good fathers in the first place. and thats good writing! it feels deep! it connects!

for more context: any fucked up way you can think of karai being raised by shredder? its probably the same way here. splinter and shredder were raised the same way.

i guess i think about this a lot, cuz i always see things like "oh, rise fans write crossovers where the rise boys love each other and have to teach the 12 boys how to be nice cuz they dont like 2012!" and i just think to myself:

guys. do you understand why a person might do that? why would someone (likely a teenager) want 2012 mikey to be treated nicely by a kinder more openly affectionate version of his own family? do i need to spell that out for you? why do we connect with media at all, why do we write our own stories about it?

if you genuinely dont. i mean, im glad for you. but sometimes you wanna imagine a world in which your own family is more openly affectionate with you. where they hug and tell you theyre proud and love you and you never have to question it, never have to look elsewhere for that kind of approval. its less that they're idolizing rise, and more that they're looking at the two families and saying "this one is emotionally mature and in touch with their feelings more than that one. how would that play out?"

doctor feelings ass response.

look, im not saying everyone understands 2012, that everyone likes or needs to like it. im just trying to say that i think these fucked up parts of 2012 are all around my favourite parts of the show. its an inspiring story about this fucked up little family that has no one but each other, and they're not great about it. they try, but they don't always get it right. i just wish the show would have talked about that part more. but i think that since it doesnt people get to fill in those blanks themselves, and they do it so beautifully. and i really wish people on the internet would be more kind to one another when they wanted to discuss these darker themes they find in it.

these are the reasons i love this show. i think its so very interesting that splinter dies this fucked up father figure who never really apologized for his behaviour. i like that raph needs to be held to stop punching his brothers. that leo doesnt have a good grip on what it is to be a leader, that he tries bad ways of doing it. i like that no one copes well! i like that their relationships are so complex! this show is messy! its good! i wish it was more messy!

and id love if we could be more honest about these things and how they make us feel instead of just brushing each other off as "likes the show" or "doesnt like the show". the things that make me uncomfortable are why i love this show and i'm pretty sure i'm not alone there.

[bakugoushotwife]

𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖑 𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 // 𝖔𝖓𝖊: 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖊𝖓

↳ cw: minors dni, dark content. proceed at your own risk. sukuna, human!sukuna, historical inaccuracies, murder, npc character death, gore, blood, knifeplay?, marriage, mentions of having children, smut, fingering (fem receiving) size kink, virginity loss, corruption kink, breeding kink, creampie, uhhh making shit up for sukuna's backstory, he's a soft husband kinda? ↳ series masterlist ↳ jjk masterlist ↳ part two

before he was a curse—he was just a man. surely unsightly and terrifying in every way; abandoned from the beginning and forced to learn how to survive the hard way—the powerful sorcerer known as ryomen sukuna had come to extinguish your clan at last. news had traveled fast from the fujiwara clan—the high ranks of the village knew what had happened there—and what would be sure to happen here. you could feel the energy shift all the way from the estate, like a dark, lightning-charged cloud had swallowed you whole. your father was the lord of this clan—the first man. as his daughter and only surviving child, you were expected to be right by his side to greet—and hopefully negotiate with the heian era’s most powerful sorcerer. 

so you kneeled next to your father, head bowed deeply, nearly touching the ground. your betrothed mirrored the actions, showing respect to the man they called the disgraced one. your kimono was layered and bright–you were certainly eye-catching. sukuna always did enjoy the fanfare as he made his appearances around japan—the fear was sensational; the way villagers would plead for their lives or for the children to be spared. intoxicating. even smaller praises like this caused a smirk to blossom on his lips. supposed rulers on their hands and knees before him, all in the hopes that he would make one exception. 

too bad for this small, hillside citystate. he would brutalize the women, and slaughter everyone else. well, maybe he’d hang on to a few of the women if they were obedient enough. then he’d set fire to the structures your ancestors worked so hard to erect, there would be no trace of your bloodline. 

you feel the vibrations of his footsteps on the dais more than you hear them echo. “rise.”

you are the first to move, easing your hands by your sides and straightening your back. your stomach lurches. this was a man? he was humongous, nearing eight feet tall and seemingly just as wide across with a double set of hulking arms and sneering eyes. he was rippled in muscle, broad black markings wrapping around his biceps and thighs, lines scattered across his seemingly disinterested face. one of his four hands clutches a trident-shaped weapon, a second combing through his pink peony colored hair. the other set balances on his hips, carmine eyes combing over you and your reaction to him. unblinking, the both of you. 

your father clears his throat, afraid you had committed the sin that would damn your clan’s village. your fiancé elbows you in the ribs to get you to stop staring, to stop blushing at the monster before you. you bite at the inside of your lip, tearing your gaze away. 

what an interesting creature you were. it was hard to explain, but no one had looked at him like that before. he wouldn’t say unafraid—it was clear you knew what was potentially on the line. but you didn’t seem…disgusted. so naturally opposed and recoiling away like everyone else. like he wanted from commoners like them–like you. so why did you hold your head so high to look him in the eyes? who were you? 

“my apologies, my lord,” your father bows again and then casts a glare at you. “my daughter is still learning how to be a proper lady.” he says, smiling nervously. it’s clear to you and to every one of the villagers watching how spineless your father is. even your fiancé is shaking like a leaf right next to you—embarrassing. you wouldn’t be surprised if sukuna murdered you all simply because of this pathetic showing. 

his gaze just trails over to you again. he says nothing, mouth almost in a pout his lips were so downturned. you feel your body grow hot under his examination, at this point you feel it more rude to look away. that coupled with the wimpy performance your men were putting on had you raising your chin again, even splitting your cheeks into a smile. “it is ladylike to look our honored guest in the eyes.” you refute, and that has his attention. you speak out–you fight back. he’s always liked his women feisty.

that simpleton to your immediate right puts a hand on your arm, gentle eyes begging for you to keep your mouth shut. your eyes narrow in argument, and before you can speak again…the said guest speaks. 

“what do you want.” his voice is a silky deep pulse, bored in every way. your father starts to wring his hands. 

“your excellence, we would be of your greatest debts if you would consider sparing our people…i-i-in exchange for whatever you may desire!” 

how pathetic. and absolutely stupid. “do you think you are the first to ask mercy of me? or do you think i owe you a favor…? i have the means to take what i want. i am wasting time even entertaining your stupid pleas.” he seems so aggravated–it’s such a shallow solution. he could request every woman in the village—he could take the lord’s daughter in front of everyone here and now. boring—where’s the creativity? clearly the man didn’t care for his people with more effort than this half-baked plan—

“my lord, if you’ll excuse me weighing in..” you say, your satin voice wrapping around his very thoughts. “you’ve conquered every territory that you have set your eyes upon. if we yield our lands and our rule to you with peace…we could assist with trade and labor.” you hum, hands folded before your stomach. your painted lips are pursed, he can tell even you are annoyed with the lame fodder your father provides. sukuna enjoys your boldness–even if women are oftentimes if not usually the weakest beings present, you seem to carry the intellect of your clan. but your father has had enough interruption. 

“insolent woman!” your father says, turning to spew more, but it doesn’t come. you hear a blade whip against the wind, and he’s decapitated at the mouth, his body falling toward you with a sloshy thud. the crowd screams–your fiancé leaps back in horror. your body twitches with surprise, a splatter of blood painting your cheek. 

“waste of skin and bones and my precious air.” sukuna sneers, his attention now fully crowned upon you—the new leader of your village. you turn away from the cross section of your father’s face and towards the man that did it without moving a muscle. no, it was his technique—a set of words that made it effortless. you can’t tell if it’s shock or genuine gratefulness that floods your veins. “is this your husband?” the conqueror asks, jutting his chin towards the man cowering behind you. his eyes nearly glow with something you would call excitement.

you were your father’s only child–and regrettably a woman. you had no say in your betrothed. heaven knows you wouldn’t have picked the coward using you as his shield. you had no say in a lot of things—but maybe thanks to this vile man, your luck may have changed. 

“he is promised to be.” you answer, the unpleasant cock of your jaw when you answer tells the demonic sorcerer all he needs to know regarding your affection for him. his smirk grows into a genuine smile—pointy white teeth flashing at you. something about him makes your insides bubble. and not in a way akin to fear. 

“he is an utter embarrassment.” he snorts, and you smirk for only the faintest second. “very well. i shall accept your proposal. your people can live if you serve me. you will be the crown ruler.” he steps closer, body towering over you and heat radiating between you both in proximity. you don’t step back, and a certain hunger develops in his vision. you’re fiery, even bold enough to meet with him without flinching. you are impressive, even down to your cursed energy. “what is your technique?”

“black widow…i have webs, poison, and superior…childrearing capabilities.” you redden only slightly when you have to explain the perks of your technique. it’s an ancient one, known to form powerful breeds in the past as well as stand on its own in battle. his eyes turn feral, and his undressing gaze is shameless this time as he looks over your body. you are an interesting little thing indeed, and if he hopes to take over this world…he will need a strong wife to produce a long line of strong heirs to forever rule. you are beautiful and spirited. 

one of his hands reaches for your face, two thick and calloused fingers tilting your chin up higher so he may see your face in its entirety. yes, you would make good heirs for him. they would be plenty attractive if they took after you as well, something crucial for the success of his bloodline. your cheekbones are shapely and your eyes set in a beautiful bedroom stare. your lips are pouty and full, teeth perfectly indenting your fatter bottom one. his touch is searing your skin in a way you’ve never known. he is at least three times your size and a mystical beast in your world…and your insides are throbbing at his closeness. you’ve never experienced this with your fiancé. 

you look at him in a way that’s foreign. he doesn’t know quite what to make of it, except that he enjoys it. he smirks, eyes trailing to your body. it’s covered by the many layers of your kimono, but if your chest was any indication—you’d have no issues bringing heirs for him either. his fingers tighten around your chin, pressing your cheeks together. it pouts your red-painted lips, and you giggle at the carnal enjoyment he seems to get from it. 

“u-unhand my b-be-betrothed!” your cowardly fiancé finally says. peeking over your shoulder. 

sukuna never looks away from you, only thrusting his trident out into flesh—into the face of the man you’re supposed to marry. he didn’t drop his hold on you, keeping you from looking at the gore. 

“you’ve a new betrothed, little thing.” he grins cockily, admiring how you never got fully to your feet. your father had been dumb enough to do so–and your fiance decided to challenge the wrong man at the wrong time. but you, you only rose to your knees, thick lashes batting up at him, one hand still occupied in cupping your soft skin. the trident lowers to your face–not an aimed weapon. a gift. he grins, teeming with insatiable desire and excitement. his mind was made up ages ago–the moment you spoke. he has found his wife, and now he wants her to accept him wholly–to perform for him and him only. “clean the hiten.”

the flame climbing in his eyes made you tingle, even sent a wave of vertigo to your head. you feel the need to please him, the idea of becoming his bride was desirable to no one more than you. he had freed you from a life of serving your father and miserable husband-to-be. he was a powerful ruler–the most feared man alive. and he was strikingly beautiful to you, hence the craze in your stomach when he looks at you in this way. you have always liked to play with fire and the unknown. with your entire clan watching, you lean forward and flatten your tongue against the sharp metal of his weapon. the steel is cool, and the wet liquid warm. if not for the temperature difference, you may not have been able to tell the blade from the blood. 

oh he could give you an heir right here. the seductive nature you possess, on your knees and looking up at him so obediently, tongue out and splattered with blood so red it outmatched your lipstain. his thumb strokes your cheekbone, his grin turning wicked. this shall be the capital of his new kingdom, and he would build his legacy alongside you—the perfect mate, handcrafted just for him. clearly, no other man would have been enough to satiate you anyhow. the wife of a man such as he would be widely revered and respected, by none more than himself. he would give you a proper ceremony, he would give you the next little prince or princess once your souls have been bound, and no sooner, even if it’s a torture to himself. it’s a gift he could spare for the woman he shall keep forever. “we will marry by the new moon.” 

you lick your lips, leaning back with a nod, “it is my honor, my lord.” you bow your head again, but even that doesn’t hide the eager smile on your lips. you have to be the weirdest woman alive—and it intoxicates him. he leans in, one hand tilting your chin back up to meet his bedroom gaze.

“no. from today on—i am a king. and you…will be the queen of my hard work. and you all,” he turned to your people–now an integration of his own people, “are invited to the wedding.” his sarcastic voice carries over the crowd. he is smug, but you can tell the pride is real. this is…more than mere conquest for him. he would not marry you for sport. something in your heart softens at this, at his proclamation. you know you do not need to fear him at all. 

“we will get straight to organizing the ceremony.” you nod, waving in some guards to clear the bodies. no one in the congregation moves–no one speaks. you have to look closely to make sure anyone is even breathing. the silence insults you. you know they’re scared–but can’t they see? this union has saved their lives—has turned them from peasants to lords and ladies in their own right. upon seeing the angry look on your face, your new husband-to-be hoists you to your feet, red eyes zeroed in on the men dragging the corpses away–threatening them to comply. 

“you should be celebrating. if my father had continued down his path, we would all be dead! now, you’ll flourish! you should be championing his graciousness!” you announce, the showing of your own spirit only cemented his decision. no concubine of his could stand in your shadow—and he has hardly even touched you. his chest…it was tightening right where his heart was. sukuna never realized affection could cause such physical sensation, but it wasn’t a bad one. he was just acclimating to this, to wanting someone around. to wanting this life after being alone for so long. but he saw it when he looked in your eyes. he saw the future he could have, he felt a fraction of the love, of the completion you will bring to his life. he had long moved on from the concept of love. even sneered at the mere mention of such a hideous joke. his own parents hadn’t loved him. who possibly could? 

and why was it a little girl from a random village carved out of the side of a hill outside of the big city? why was it a girl with an ancient powerful technique that had the nerve to look him in his eyes and smile kindly? he didn’t mind not knowing why. as long as this is true. as long as you become his queen and promise to give him your all. the sound of your people cheering his name catches his attention, your sweet face looking at him in wait, such pride on your features. you were giving him your all right in this very moment. yes. the month could not turn quickly enough.

however, ryomen sukuna found that the thirteen days you had to organize some sort of ceremony were well worth the wait. you still spent everyday together, showing him your admittedly beautiful lands and estate, though he spent much of the time planning the renovations to truly make the place fit for royalty. you could hardly believe this was the man of legend, the evil and cruel sorcerer that had even his own kind running the other way sooner than fight him. if he hadn’t slaughtered two men in front of you, you’d be like to dispel those stories entirely. sukuna is…harsh, and rough around the edges, yes. but you can tell it’s more out of routine combined with his cluelessness. he doesn’t know how to be a husband, and he worries if he will be a quick enough learner. all internally, of course. he would not share such insecurities with anyone. it was hard enough to find a willing lover—a wife! you saw past his looks, even his base beastial nature…so could he run you off if he wasn’t a good enough listener or was too protective?

you planned picnics in gardens and walks along the forests. you showed him nests of baby bunnies and crouched in bushes to feed doe. you planted potatoes and peonies alike, and he was enchanted by you. your soul—he felt like he could see it at times. like a bright glow in your chest, a happy yellow that gave you such an angelic glimmer he couldn’t believe that you of all people held such tremendous power over him, such a dark and devastating omnipotence that had never lost a battle. except this one. laying amongst a bed of moss by a lake, your tiny frame snuggled into his side, secured by his right two arms. the sun has started its retreat, the hazy pink and orange complimenting the natural brightness you possess, the black widow of darkness that you are–still shining like the day. it seems you know how to sort your powerful black away from your brilliant brightness—an impressive split to you that he admired; the power to control yourself–to not be consumed as he has been. 

the frogs croak in a pitchy symphony, but you’re as happy as can be. you brought a book, one you’ve been reading to him all day. he found the sound of your voice peaceful, the lively way you theorized and asked his opinions was as entertaining as the story itself. under the leafy willow trees, he almost didn’t feel like a bad man at all. he almost felt reborn, at peace. in love. he had accepted this but had not yet said it. it was clear to you that he felt it anyway. a man like him would not tolerate you in the way he does if he was not crazy about you. 

the book snaps closed and you’ve turned on your side so that you could meet his eyes. “we’re getting married tomorrow.” you say with a breathy gasp, your smile mending his very soul every time he witnesses it. he nods, giving you that same deadpan look he normally does. 

“yes, this is true.” he raises a brow, prompting you to say more. his head is propped up on one of his arms, the other hand caressing your cheek as he is prone to do. 

“well–aren’t you excited?” you huff, knowing damn well he just expresses himself with a certain…emotional stuntedness. if the man had it his way, you’d be a week into your honeymoon by now. 

“of course, you pest. you have been mine since the day i arrived—but i will be grateful to make this official and binding.” he hums, pinching your cheek affectionately. you scrunch your nose and balance an arm on his chest, crawling closer still. the adoration–that’s it, the foreign look in your eyes. it’s adoration—it makes his own chest flutter. a feared man—now bowed to a mere tiny woman. he’s annoyed by himself, so he rolls his eyes as you approach. 

you match the gesture, raising a brow. “how romantic, my beloved.” you snicker, and this time he tugs your hair. “hey! i meant all the eye rolling and grumbling!” you squeal, laughing. he didn’t pull hard enough to hurt–just to annoy you like you annoy him. 

“brat of a woman. seems tonight’s sleep alone will be my last peaceful one.” he smirks, closing his eyes to enjoy the peaceful scene–even if you two are mercilessly taunting each other. he appreciated the humor. 

you scoff, playfully pouting. “only cause you’ll be so enticed by me every night–”

it was his turn to scoff. “you couldn’t handle me every night. you’re an idiot.” he says, peeking an eye open to see you scowling at him. even that was ridiculously cherished to him. 

“tch–you don’t know for certain. but i will be pleasing my husband every time he needs.” you purr, holding his eyes. it was only now that it hit him; you are attracted to him. you’re not looking past his grotesque form, you love what you see. until now, he assumed the power and promise of safety was enough, the companionship he could provide. but no, no, that adoration has always been there. that want, since the day you seduced him in the first place. 

“mm. i’m sure. i have no doubts, kozō.” he hums, his deep voice a comfort to you–as well as the lazy grin that spreads across his features when you lean up to bite his bicep—well what parts of it you could fit in your mouth. 

the next day, he was the first to arrive to the scene of your ceremony. it was nicer than most, even he knew that. weddings of the time were often not love related at all. just practical arrangements between the aristocrats. so there were no cheering townspeople, no lofty ceilings and stuffy rooms. just the sakura tree with her leaves rustling in the sweet gentle breeze that blew through the gardens as he strolled up to it, following your cherry blossom path to his spot. it was scenic–he should have known that you would opt to marry in the open, in love with the outdoors as you are. the sky is so clear today, another good omen in his eyes. you didn’t leave him waiting long, a different kind of rustling catching his attention—coming from the corner of his eyes. 

there you are, in all your beauty. jūnihitoe and all, you looked every bit the queen you would soon become. your heavy layers sway with you as you walk to meet him, that sweet grin pulling at your cheeks that makes his skin crawl–in a good way. he reaches hands out to greet you, and you slide your hand into the one nearest you–his bottom right. you are stunning, even your makeup was subtle, only highlighting your mesmerizing beauty. there wouldn’t be another girl like you for a thousand years. 

“my king,” you greet, your voice like liquid gold. “finally, our big day.” you grin even wider–toothy and precious. it betrays just how excited you are, and has sukuna giving you a rare grin of his own, lopsided as it was—you squeeze his hand in appreciation, grabbing his lower left too. 

“my queen,” he hums back, bringing his eyes back to your face, “you look beautiful. are we married yet?” he raises a brow, earning a giggle from you. it seems he must be excited as well. 

“well you would traditionally have to kiss me to really seal the union.” you tuck your cheek to your shoulder, fluttering those lashes at him in that adorable way you do. he rolls his eyes–too overwhelmed at the warmth that courses through his veins just from looking at you. it’s nearly pitiful. he uses his free hands to cup your cheeks, towering frame leaning down to mash his lips on yours. it’s hard, and you can feel the nip of his teeth, but it’s perfect. he softens into it a second later, his hands dropping yours in favor of gripping your hips, pulling you closer. all you can feel is him; muscles and warm skin–wandering hands and wet mouths gasping for breath every so often just to instinctually pull and lean closer to each other, until your skin is too hot under the layers of your dress and you need relief. 

you step back, cheeks flushed, taking your swollen lip between your lip–seemingly thinking of what you want to say. that simple expression has all the blood rushing to his cock, a simple grunt spilling past his lips. he knows what that look means despite this being his first experience, it’s carved into the very marrow of his bones; it’s time to put an heir in you. he steps forward again to close the distance, chest heaving against yours. “your quarters, now.” 

you nod slowly, so impatient and needy you can barely stand it—the walk to your room has your knees wobbling. you can feel his intense stare focused on your back–and his cock pressing into it too. your tongue is producing more saliva than usual, head already a little dizzy just from the imagination of what would come next. the heavy doors of your private chambers close with a prominent thud, and his hands cover your frame in seconds. he’s exploring, you realize, combining rough and soft presses over your body with one set of hands; using the other to help you out of those pesky robes. you’re still pressed to his chest, your now bare back soaking in the stability of his decorated abdomen. you can see the pile of fabric on the floor, his hands now pawing at your breasts—feeling them in his palms, pinching and toying with the nipples, chuckling in satisfaction as they harden in his fingers. paired with your pleasurable gasps, he doesn’t have to ask if you like it. your head rolls back to look up at him, leaning all your weight back to give yourself over fully, trusting his will with your body. 

he gently shoves you toward your bed, knowing you wouldn’t be able to stand much longer. as soon as your back hits the silk below you, his figure looms above you, standing between your legs that dangle off of the plush mattress below you. “my wife…” he muses, fingers trailing down your thighs, undergarments vanishing next. you look so inviting, so warm, it was fitting for a woman like you. he’s read books—he’s not braindead. he has researched the human body–the woman’s body—extensively in his spare time. like any skilled warrior, he had to come prepared for battle. above all, he trusted himself to know what to do to please his queen, and he trusted you to be vocal enough to assist him along the way. his hands slide back up over the swells of your thighs, creeping closer to your cunt, you suck in a sharp breath as his fingers ghost along your clit, tracing his way down your lips, splitting them…everything was slow…exploratory. it still felt shocking and nice, his touch in general had you buzzing—but he’s learning how to touch you, seeing the shift of your brow has his fingers moving faster, confidence bolstered by your little gasps as he rubs little circles over your nerves. his own desire was quickly mounting—outweighing his wishes to be careful and please his new wife. you were a strong woman anyhow, no? you wouldn’t have captured his soul in the way you did if you couldn’t handle the brunt of his devotion, after all…

so his fingers move faster, his top set of hands sliding up your abdomen to knead at your breasts—making your eyes widen at the new rush of pleasure that comes with the simple tweaks and pulls of your nipples coupled with the foreign delicious tingle his calloused fingers evoke with the perfectly timed circles he rubs over your pussy. 

“oh—it burns,” you whine, placing a hand over your stomach. he only grins in response, hovering between your legs like a ravenously wild animal, the devilish glint in his eye had every part of that burning fire growing and licking your insides. he finds it so cute that you don’t even know what you’re experiencing, that he gets to give you your first pleasure ever. the sadistic side of him relishes that look of confusion on your face as your orgasm takes you by surprise, your breathy moans are truly the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard—and he thinks that maybe all the pain and suffering was actually worth it; if this is his reprieve. if your soft body and loving eyes would be waiting for him everyday, then surely he would learn how to be the perfect partner for you, and this night is all about the beginning of learning. 

it’s a bliss like you’ve never known, a slight fog coming over your brain and vision as your body pulses with delirium, lightning like sparks running through your very chakra, heart picking up again as he lifts your legs to his hips and lets his pants fall to the floor. all you feel is a warm, wet rod of skin resting against your fluttering cunt, but his view is much better. his wide, lengthy shaft is going to tear your virgin hole apart, the angry red tip was oozing—needy. he was just as bad as you, having fantasized about this moment since the day you licked the blood from his blade. you squirmed impatiently beneath him, whining out. 

“i’m ready, don’t think too hard.” you giggle softly, knowing something of what to expect. it was to hurt, make you sore—but with time and the proper readying, you would be fine. you could feel your own fluids sliding down the crack of your ass, so you knew you were prepared. “i know it’s gonna sting—but i want to make you feel good…” you nod again, holding around the wrists of his upper pair of arms, which hold your face in their hands. his lower set keeps your legs secured on either side of his hips, and it’s clear you don’t know the inner war waging inside his mind. does he give into his desires and likely destroy your little cunt or does he rein it in and learn how to please you fully…perhaps both are achievable. he is an expert and a warrior–now a king! he can take what’s his and find the pleasure for himself that lurks between your legs.

with your boasts of preparedness, he leans back and sheaths his fat cock in your walls, snapping his pelvis into your hips. you wail out, legs jerking back in his hands, head thrashing from side to side. tears instantly cloud your eyes, and he loves it. the glossy look you give him, full of cock for the first time, he carved it into memory. your hands claw at his beefy biceps, unable to process the shocking pressure you feel all of a sudden. it truly does sting, and you feel yourself squeeze down around the foreign object in order to fully relax. he seems to wait until your squirming stops, until your pussy waves the white flag of surrender and acclimates to his size. 

“there, you really can fit it all.” he muses, seemingly impressed. you whine softly, words dying in your throat as the tears finally slip past your waterline. he leans in to lick them off your face, long tongue pointedly tracing the salty line up your skin, making you gasp at the sensation. he finally starts to move, short strokes hammering into the little flap keeping him from bullying his cock any further. he grunts out in satisfaction, your tight cavern was obviously made for him with the way you clutch so perfectly around his dick—nothing could compare to the liquid smoke rolling through his body at this very moment, his hips pulling back further as you loosened your grip around his arms, soft moans pouring from pouty lips. “you look so wonderful like this, wife of mine.” 

he meant it to, your breasts jumping with every force of his cock, your gorgeously arranged hair now spread out around your head like a built in spotlight, cheeks darkened with heat and eyes rolled back in your head—body overcome with all the ecstasy. he shifts your legs to his shoulders, earning a sharp cry as he leans in, folding you in half and slamming himself into your cervix just to growl angrily at the stoppage. you’re sure you’re seeing colors that don’t exist, floating orbs of color melding your vision, you go cross-eyed. his cock drags through your walls, letting you feel every vein and ridge to the appendage. his hands held your hips, using your own curves as leverage to make you scream even louder—that burning stretch building its way up in your stomach again. 

“sukuna!” you yelp, hugging around his neck. your pleas drive him wild. he knew it was attainable, to fuck you like he wanted and give you everything you had ever wanted too. he presses his lips to your neck, nipping and sucking—fully nibbling and biting to leave marking bruises. the tickling pain has your legs jerking and pussy spasming out of control, the clamping rhythm causing your husband to groan your name in response to your chant of his own. 

“cum for me again, so i may fill you with my heirs.” he demands, his voice a gravelly purr against the shell of your ear. lightning strikes again, and you have no choice but to obey his command—the idea of growing his children too appealing to ignore. you were so worth waiting for–but he was now greedy and impatient, he would breed you daily, needing you to be round and hobbling before the year’s end. marriage was step one of claiming his woman, impregnating her was another, and your cute cries of begging only made his cock throb inside your choking heat. 

“yes!! oh–gonna cum for you, love you so much—give you a whole army’a heirs if you wan’!” you babble back, your brain nearly oozing out of your ears as you melt into the pillow, legs trying to close around his hips, body violently tossing and turning with the force of your second orgasm. he watches how your face scrunches up and your mouth drops open–your little hand pushing at his chest as if you couldn’t possibly take one more stroke of his cock—but you must. he holds your hand against his heart, rolling his hips forward. the little ring of frothy blood at the base of his cock has his own orgasm crashing over him like a tidal wave.

“good little wife, now don’t spill a drop.” he grunts, leaning back to let your body twitch as he uses the warmth of your cum to move without resistance, heaving a deep sigh, his lip between his teeth as he stills—warmth spilling inside of you that eases all the aching, flooding you with relief. it feels so good you moan a little from that alone, swiveling your hips to instinctively milk his weepy cock dry. he assists you, smirking. he knows the monster he’s just created, and now he’ll never get away with cumming anywhere but your gorgeous cunt. his hands map out your curves, his cock plugging you full. he meant what he said. one hand slides up further, petting your hair back. he can’t fight the lopsided smile on his face as he watches your pinched brows ease, your heaving chest calm. you finally open your sleepy eyes, grinning up at him. you were ethereal. 

“lay down, want to snuggle.” you whine out in demand. and what kind of husband could deny such a powerful request? it’s easy for two of his hands to slide under each thigh, the other supporting your back as he rolls the two of you over. you grin in satisfaction, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “that was amazin’...feels so good to..make love.” you giggle a little shyly. his fingers toy with the ends of your hair, a lazy smile on his lips as well. 

“mm, it does. you are the perfect woman for a man like me.” he says with as much gentleness as you’ve ever heard from him. your eyes sparkle and that only makes his heart squeeze uncomfortably again. another hand rubs circles against your bare back, and he nods his head to his chest. “rest now, little queen.”

you give him another toothy grin and bury your face against his pillowy chest, dainty fingers tracing the black lines decorating his skin. he never pulls out of you, just as soothed by the feeling of you as the reverse. he’s not sure who fell asleep first, but he does know he cannot wait to wake tomorrow morning. there’s coronations to plan.

tags: @neon-crow @skypperlegacy @gis4greenandgreenisgre4t @secondos-slut @alltimenogoaway-blog @tragedyofabrokensoul + reply in the comments to be tagged!!

[txttletale]

how would you recommend watching doctor who? there are so many different guys idk how it works.

so the thing about doctor who is that there's two shows -- classic who (1963-1989, doctors 1-7) and new who (2005-2023, doctors 9-14). due to a renumber of the seasons and a change in production company, i think it's fair to call the upcoming version of who (2023-??, doctors 15-??) its own, third show. the reason it's been able to run for so long is that when the show's lead actor, (william hartnell as the titular doctor) had to step down in 1966 due to failing health, they made up some sci-fi bullshit: the doctor's species can 'regenerate' instead of dying, instantly healing but changing their appearance and some of their personality. this means that every time a lead actor has walked away (or, in one unfortuante case, been fired) the show's just recast the doctor and moved on, often with notable changes in tone and format.

the easiest option if you don't want to backwatch anything is to start with this year's christmas special, the church on ruby road (2023). it's an obvious jumping on point to the series, introduces you to all the basic stuff (the doctor, the TARDIS, the fact that it's a silly sci-fi show about fighting weird rubber prop critters), and presumably sets up the upcoming season 1 of the disney-bad wolf version of the show that's gonna come out in may 2024.

if you do want to backwatch, you have to decide if you want to start with new who or classic who. i personally would recommend starting with new who, because there's less of it, it's got higher production values, and (imo this is the biggest obstacle to getting into classic who) it's paced in a way that makes much more sense to a modern TV viewer (self-contained 45-minute episodes). also once you're invested in the show, its main character, and some of its classic elements, you get to soyjak at the screen whenever you're watching classic who and you get to see the oirign of a monster you already recognize. you can also skip classic who entirely and never watch it, they don't bring up anything from it in the new series without giving it a new explanation, but if you do this you hate fun.

anyway, starting points for nuwho: the most obvious one is rose (2005). it's the pilot episode for the new show and imo it holds up brilliantly -- it introduces all the most basic concepts of the show, but ultimately it's really all about billie piper and cristopher eccleston's performances and they deliver. the special effects are gonna be pretty terrible for a while because it's early 2000s cg. there's no jumping on point like it for the whole of RTD's run of the show (imo, the best run of nuwho) so if you want to watch seasons 1-4 you've gotta start on rose.

another episode that's written as a jumping on-point is (heavy sigh) the eleventh hour (2011). as well as introducing matt smith's doctor and his companion amy, this also does the whole rigamarole of introducing the show's core elements, giving a nutshell recap of its history in the form of the doctor's rooftop speech, and also signal what the oncoming moffat era is going to be like (whimsical, full of complex time travel plots, way more misogynist). i'm biased -- i'm a hater, one of this episode's central plot conceits sucks real bad and i also hate the eleventh doctor's whole run. but it is meant to be a jumping on point.

there won't be another one of those in nuwho until the pilot (2017). this begins moffat's final season with which he made the odd but extremely welcome decision to jettison all his convoluted continuity shit from the last five seasons and refocus the show with the doctor being a professor at bristol university with a mysterious secret. i think season 10 is a hidden gem and if you find starting from rose daunting this is the next best place to pick up. capaldi's doctor is a delightful abrasive eccentric with a heart of gold at this point in his run & the stories are wall-to-wall bangers with only a couple misses.

finally, you could start on the woman who fell to earth (2018), the first episode to feature jodie whittaker's 13th doctor and head writer chris chibnall. i'd recommend this even less than the eleventh hour, because while i actually like it more, i think it's a much worse preview of what the upcoming era is going to be like than that one. if you watch the woman who fell to earth and keep watching from the start of whittaker's run on the show off the back of it, you're going to be severely disappointed as most of the more promising aspects of the episode get instantly abandoned.

so, summary, if you're starting with nuwho, there's five jumping on points, which i'd rank:

rose > the pilot > the church on ruby road > the eleventh hour > the woman who fell to earth

but i want to start with classic who because i'm a contrarian

alright. classic who also has a few jumping off points -- before i mentioned them, let me just talk about that format thing i mentioned earlier. classic who doesn't have self-contained episodes for the most part, but rather for most of its run told each of its episodic narratives across between two and seven 20-minute episodes. this leads to a lot of weird pacing, forced cliffhangers, and infamously a lot of filler shots of the doctor running up and down identical corridors. so obvsies i'm recommending entire stories here nad not individual episodes. that said, let's look at where you could jump on:

an unearthly child (1963). this is, like, the start of the show. that said i don't recommend it as a place to start (funnily enough), for a couple reasons. firstly, because of dreadful fucking archiving by the BBC, a lot of episodes from the show's first six seasons are straight up missing. some of them have been animated by the BBC from surviving audio recordings, but some of them are just straight up lost -- due to the format, this means there's very few full complete stories, which makes this whole era really hard to navigate. if you don't mind that and really want to start in the black and white era, i'd still recommend the tomb of the cybermen (1967) instead -- hartnell's portrayal of the doctor as a haughty, slightly impish old professor is great, but troughton basically defined the character's core traits for the next sixty years.

spearhead from space (1970) is a pretty big format upheaval for the show and so serves as a pretty great classic jumping-on point. it's the first episode to be in colour, and sets up a new status quo for the doctor as being trapped on earth and working for an elite paramlitary organization called UNIT that operates out of a ratty office. it's an interesting premise that the show gets some great stories out of. the special effects are bad in the best way. pertwee has instant charm in the role and it's all around a banger by classic standards.

if you want to jump right to the one all the boomers are nostalgic for, you can also start with robot (1974). i wouldn't recommend it, though--tom baker is electric in the role from the start, but the episode itself kind of assumes a lot of the context of the third doctor's setup and supporting cast which you're not gonna have.

i wouldn't recommend anyone start at any point during the fifth or sixth doctors runs because i want them to actually like the show, so i guess the last jumping on point i could really recommend after robot would be, like, dragonfire (1987), which heralds the show's short-lived renaissance with the seventh doctor and his best companion, ace. but although you'd be watching some of the absolute best the classic show ever gets, it feels like it would be a weird and disorienting place to start.

finally, you could watch tales of the tardis (2023), a limited series produced to celebrate the show's 60th anniversary. each episode follows the same format: through a vaguely handwaved Palace of Memories plot, two much-aged characters from the classic series meet up and fondly remember one of the adventures they shared. the bookends with the original actors are mostly shameless fanservice, but the episodes they're reminiscing about are superbly edited down into a much more watchable format -- it works as a good 'sample platter' for most eras of the show (although, weirdly, there wasn't anything from tom baker's run!) and i think it honestly wouldn't be a bad shout to just start from tales of the tardis and then keep watching from whichever of the stories featured in it you liked most. that all said, if you want to start with classic who, i'd rank these jumping on points as follows:

spearhead from space > tales of the tardis > tomb of the cybermen > dragonfire > robot > an unearthly child

all that shit said it's fundamentally a very episodic show with very few exceptions like trial of a time lord and whatever moffat was doing seasons 6-7 so in the end you can basically just start with any episode and more or less get some of the idea. have fun and make sure to do the most important job of a doctor who fan, update the tardis wiki page for penis whenever one is mentioned

[flanaganfilm]

Hello Mr Mike! I LOVED Midnight Mass. And the Muslim representation in that show was just *chefs kiss*. So i was wondering, did you have anyone on set that was Muslim that helped or was it all just research? And Rahul Kohli obviously did such justice to Sheriff Hassan <3

We did our research during the writing process, but it was really the contributions of two Muslim consultants that made all the difference. The first was Mohammed Bouissa, who went through each script during the writing process and gave us feedback on the scene work. He happens to be a lifelong friend of Rahul Kohli, so it actually made for a very special dynamic. He helped us shape the character of Hassan in every detail, and some scenes - like the parent/teacher scene at the school - are a direct result of his input. He helped us so much with developing the character and making sure our dialog was on point. I personally learned an enormous amount from him. And then, we were lucky to have a man named Mohammed Hajem with us on set during production to make sure we were handling the production details correctly. He was a Vancouver local who consulted on a wide variety of things, including the set decoration of Hassan's house, props, behavioral details in individual scenes (like at the Crock Pot Luck), and the authenticity of the prayers, both in pronunciation and physical behavior. He was with us throughout production, and his input on the final beach prayer scene in particular was incredibly moving. I am so grateful for their contribution to the series. It was a wonderful education for our cast, our crew, and (I hope) some of our viewers, and it led to some of the work I'm the most proud of in my whole career.

[visenyaism]

I haven't read the main series yet and I'd love to know the lore behind Harrenhal, love see you and others post about it but I sadly don't get all of it 😭

sit down followers it’s story time. Once upon a time there was this guy named King Harren Hoare. and he was king of the iron Islands where he was from, but he decided he wanted to be king of more than that also. so he invaded the Riverlands and conquered it all which was pretty easy because they were fighting each other like they always are instead of him. but being king of two places wasn’t enough he also needed to have the biggest baddest castle in all of the land. So he rounded up a bunch of smallfolk in the nicest most central important location in the riverlands and got them to building it. In his hubris he got too into it and mixed actual human blood into the mortars of the castle. unlike other feudal castles, this one is both literally and figuratively made from peasant blood. 

but he got his castle and it is in fact the biggest in the entire seven kingdoms. It’s notable for its five huge (now wrecked) stone towers. A million men could march on that thing and slide right off. but he forgot to account for the WMD metaphor that being Aegon Targaryen and his sisters flying in on their big big dragons, wanting to conquer everything that he had previously conquered. he refused to surrender because he thought his blood castle would keep him safe and they burned him and all his sons alive in it.

Ever since then, Harrenhal is this half-burned wreck of a castle but no family has been able to hold onto without all dying for more than two generations. my fav occupant was danelle lothston, a girlknight cannibal blood witch who later got executed for bathing in too much peasant blood. in the main series, the whole thing about Harrenhal is that it was the site of this tourney that happened when the main cast were teenagers where jaime lannister got knighted, ned got a crush on a dayne maybe, and lyanna got crowned queen of love and beauty by a very married rhaegar targaryen, all of which set up their generation-defining war. Harrenhal is also this cursed deeply hunted liminal space where time seems to be a lot looser. everyone thinks it’s cursed. there are many theories as to why, including:

1) harrenhal is cursed because of harren’s hubris, which is like the hubris of the lords (usually un-landed) who get handed the castle because they think they can turn it around.

2) the harrenhal curse is an allegory for feudalism, a castle made from peasant blood that eats the grasping lords who get handed it whole.

3) the harrenhal “curse” it’s just that it’s too big to defend and it’s centrally located in the Riverlands, which is important in every single war so it just sort of gets chewed up all the time and there’s no actual magic involved.

4) the Harrenhal curse is just the fact that Aegon’s descendants (Maegor, Rhaena, Daemon, etc) do have a tendency to keep coming back to kill everyone there.

5) the Harrenhal curse is a freaky blood thing that has something to do with its blood walls and a lot to do with its weirwood and the nearby isle of faces, an old god island no mortal, has ever successfully gone to, but several people have died trying. the castle is hungry for blood. 

Ultimately it is a super important place and also this haunted torment labyrinth sometimes the author will just stick characters like daemon or jaime into if they need to be stuck in introspective agony for a while. The current lord is littlefinger so everyone manifest it comes for him soon. 

[head-empty-just-ace]

PART I: AU Dates & Kisses! w/ Ace, Luffy, and Zoro

As per stated in the title, this will be the first part of a short series I'll make which consists of characters going on a date with GN!Reader in a modern day setting. Here's the link to the masterlist to check out other ones!

CW: None. Pining, dates, kisses, and fluff.

Total Word Count: 2.5k

Portgas D. Ace

Amusement Park

Ace always had a major crush on you. It amazes him because the way the two of you met was purely accidental. He got into trouble and was chased around for it. Upon rounding on a corner, he crashes into you.

The people who were chasing after him are after you as well. Yelling that you were an accomplice. So, he grabbed your hand and made a dash for it.

Both of you are running around and laughing like idiots at his antics and attempts to get away from the people chasing him. You helped him get out of it one way or the other.

He found himself staring at you. Your windswept hair, cheeks flushed from the running, the smile on your lips, and your laugh. That laugh. Gods, he loved the sound of it.

You both got along easily. He found himself trailing after you with the lovesick look on his face. Ace would open the door for you, carry your things, listen to your stories with rapt attention, and anything to be in your company.

It took him months to ask you out. Give the guy a break, yeah? You were just so good. Kind, sweet, patient, and affectionate. There was something about you that always drew him in. And he loved your company. He was scared that you'd distance yourself if you rejected him.

He tried to be casual and confident while holding two tickets to the amusement park. Unfortunately, he still ended up stumbling over his words. Let out a loud whoop when you agreed.

Ace usually doesn't plan things out. But for your date with him? He had a whole plan and itinerary to makes sure it would be perfect. Made sure there was also breaktimes in between so you'd be able to enjoy the date better. Ofc, he did his best to make you smile and laugh at every chance he gets. Both of you went to every ride and place to visit. From the thrilling rides of rollercoaster to the haunted house. You were fairly reluctant to enter the haunted house but he saw that as an opportunity to tease to enter with him. Oh, you clung to him every time there was a jumpscare? He loved it. Even better if you let him wrap an arm around you and you lean into his touch. His heart swelled with pride. While navigating through the rides, he'd always find excuses to hold your hand. Weaving his fingers through yours and finding that your hand fit perfectly against his. Honestly, he just finds every excuse and reason to touch you. Helping you get down from rides, brushing that strand of hair away from your face, and placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you through the crowds. Finally, it was evening. You and Ace went to the final ride for the day-- The ferris wheel. You sat across from him, your gaze resting on the window to the sight. Soft and glistening lights of the rides and bustling stalls down below had a warm smile tugging onn your lips. His gaze was zeroed in on you. Ace drank in the sight of you. Captivated with you that he could gladly stare at you like that for hours on end. Gathering up the courage, he clears his throat to catch your attention before pulling out a small box from his pocket. "A gift," he says as he hands you the box. Inside was a bracelet. The intricate design had your eyes shining with your fingers brushing over the item. He gestures to the bracelet with a hand before slowly moving over to your side. Picking the item up, he wears it over your wrist. His finger brushing against your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. A shaky sigh leaves your lips when he continues to hold your wrist. His thumb brushing over your skin as he holds your gaze. Slowly, he raises a hand to cup your cheek. It makes his heart race when you lean into the palm of his hand. His adam's apple bobs as he swallows and decides to just go for it. Ace leans in closer as he brushes his thumb over your cheek. Eyes gazing into your own with an adoring look in them. "Is this alright?" He asks, his lips inches away from yours. When you mutter out an agreement, he could swear that his heart bursted from its seams in joy. The kiss is tender yet there's an underlying passion to it. As though he wills you to understand the depth of his feelings for you from that kiss alone. Ace finds himself chasing after your lips when you pull away. Pressing chaste kisses against them that had you giggling. It made you indulge him a bit, letting him wrap an arm over your waist and pulling you close. Both of you only stopped when someone cleared their throat. It was the conductor, discreetly reminding the two of you that the ride had already ended. Both of you are blushing from embarrassment as you usher outside. Meeting each other's gaze as you leave the ride to let out a laugh. Teasing each other as you walk through the crowds hand in hand.

Monkey D. Luffy

Fireworks Festival

You two are practically best of friends. He adores you because you always put up with him no matter what trouble he cooks up. Even when he's being loud and clingy— you're always so patient with him.

Luffy loved that he could have fun with you but you'd still keep him in line so he won't get in trouble. And even when he did, you'd help him out with a smile and laugh.Though you did scold him whenever he gets injured. You were gentle while tending to his wounds that it made it hard for him mind the scolding.

Well, sure, did he feel a bit sulky when you hung out with other people? Yes. He wanted you to hang out with him. Truthfully, you were the one with the biggest crush on him. But the guy seemed absolutely dense. Which frustrated you even more. You flirted with him? He doesn't get it. It goes over his head.

Sure, Luffy may have had feelings for you but he always brushed them off as just platonic. He always felt butterflies when you were around— told you that you were fun to be around with bc of it. Made him feel giddy.

Usually, whenever he invited you to go somewhere, you'd have other people come along and it'd become a group hangout. So, you didn't really think much of his invite.

The festival was packed with so many people. Stalls lining up by the pathways and lanterns hanging above. Crowds of people enjoying the festival before the fireworks show. You're waiting by a lamp post for Luffy. And strangely enough, you were the only one there. You were expecting the others to be there already since it was almost time. Your ears perk when he calls your name, eyes immediately track the origin of the voice. You can feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of him in a kimono with that charming smile of his plastered over his face. He walks up to you, and you could swear his eyes shined a little brighter at the sight of you. "Uh...so— where are the others?" You ask shyly as you turn to him. Gaze flickering around to see the supposed company for the festival. "Are they late or is the meeting place different?" Your brows furrow in slight confusion and curiosity. "What are you talking about? It's just us." He says, and you could feel that your heart combusted on the spot. His gaze flickere over your form and his smile becomes a bit more affectionate. "You look great in that kimono!" With that casual compliment, he takes your hand and leads you to the crowded street to enjoy the festival. "C'mon! Let's go have fun!" And fun did the two of you have. Enjoying the games and stalls. Him gobbling down and surprisingly sharing some of his snacks with you. He even got you a plushie that caught your eye in a shooting range (almost picked a fight with the stall owner for cheating). Maybe, just maybe you were overthinking it, but he seemed much closer than usual. Your shoulders brushing often as you stood beside each other on the stalls. You almost got lost once. So, he holds your hand while you guys found a nice secluded spot to enjoy the fireworks. Your eyes are glued to the scene before you. Splashes of colors in the inky sky. The loud booms as it erupts into various shapes and sizes. It takes your breath away immediately. "Luffy, the fireworks—" You turn to face Luffy, wanting to see what his reaction was. But you see, he was already looking at you. Has been ever since the fireworks started. There's that rare serious expression on his face. It has your heart pounding against your chest. Almost as loud as the fireworks in the background. He whispers your name, and it sends a shiver down your spine. "I feel weird." Luffy admits almost silently. He barely even notices that he's leaning closer to you. "It's like my heart is racing and won't stop." He continues. There was just something about you that he found captivating. "I..." With that, you lean closer to him. You ask him what he means by that. If he feels butterflies in his stomach. If his heart is racing his chest. If he wants you close to him. He says yes. Eyes flickering down to your lips for a moment. You take a leap of faith. Lips pressing against his in a hesitant kiss. His eyes widen in surprise. For a moment, you're regretting it when he stays still. You assumed and fucked up. Now, he's gonna think you're weird and hate you. But as you're about to pull away, he returns the kiss. Relief washes over you at his reciprocation. The moment you pull away shyly, cheeks flushed as you look for his reaction— he has that bright grin on his face as he lets out a laugh. It wasn't the mocking kind. It was that good natured laugh that seemed so infectious it made you smile a bit. "I think I like you." Luffy admits unabashedly. With a chuckle, he wraps his arms around you to capture your lips in another kiss.

Roronoa Zoro

Aquarium

Both of you are infuriatingly cute. The kind where everyone knows you guys like each other but neither of you are making a move. You're too scared he'll reject you and make things awkward. He's too hesitant and unsure of his own feelings to truly admit it even to himself.

You two met when he got lost on a tournament ground for a competition. Time was ticking, and he was almost late for his match. And you guided him back to where his competition was. Even cheered him on a bit.

Slowburn. The longing in each other's eyes when the other isn't watching. Lingering touches that last a little longer than necessary. Gods, he loves the way you don't confuse his silence as him not caring. It felt like you truly understood and saw him.

The guy loved listening to you talk. There was something about your voice that soothed him. Found it mesmerizing. It made him want to lean in a just—

He blinks as he snaps out of it. Without realizing it, he was already leaning in towards you with his hand mid-air. And just like that, he acts like he wasn't about to kiss you.

Will grumble about something getting stuck in your hair and brushing it away— calling you a klutz all the while. He will pull back and motion you to go back to what you were talking about.

Eventually, something in him caves in (he saw someone confess to you— well, you rejected them but still). He casually hands you a ticket to the aquarium and sets the date. Despite him trying to be calm, you can see the blush on his cheeks.

On the day of the date? With you looking so good in your outfit? He couldn't keep his eyes off you. No matter the animals or sights in front of him, his attention was solely on you.

He found himself smiling more than usual— which isn't a lot but you noticed those upward tugs of his lips no matter how small they were. It made you feel warm that he could smile like that in your presence.

There was something so enchanting about it. The way aquatics hues glow against your skin. How your face lights up when you spot your favorite animals. When you giggled at the petting zoo. Damn, he couldn't get enough of you.

Your eyes shine with that warm glow in them as you look at the shark, booping its nose against the glass where your hand was. A soft giggle leaves your lips and he immediately melts at the sight. He couldn't take his eyes off you even if he wanted to— not that he even wanted to anyways. "Havin' fun?" He asks, raising a hand to brush a strand of your hair from your face. Calloused fingers linger there for a moment before his gaze meets yours. There's a silent intensity to them. "Y-Yeah..." You let out, flustered by the tension lingering in the air. You notice it. The way his gaze flickers down to your lips for a moment and it has your cheeks heating up. A shaky sigh leaves you, and a sudden rush of confidence fills him. Zoro's hand moves under your chin to guide you to fully face him. You visibly swallow at his touch. Your heart racing in your chest as his hand slowly comes up to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin as drinks in your every reaction. He leans in. Close enough to press his forehead against yours. Gods, something in him just knew it felt so right to be close to you like this. His eyes shut closed as he brushes his nose against yours. Pride wells up inside of him at the shiver that goes through you. Another hand reaches out, thumb brushing over the outline of your lips as he indulges the feel of your breath against his. With an agonizing slowness, he closes the distance between you. To make sure to give you enough chance to pull away if you wanted to (not that you would). It was soft and chaste. Over before you even realize it. He pulls away to see if there's regret in your eyes. When he finds none, he leans in to kiss you again. He pours out his emotions into it. All the longing he felt for you. Pulling you closer with an arm around your waist while you melt into the kiss. When he pulls away from the kiss, he just looks at you in awe. As if to engrave the sight of you in his mind until he'd see it even his eyes were closed. Gods, he'd stay like that forever if he could.