#1) violence is often good/necessary. grow up!!!

[comradecowplant]

I don't follow blogs ran by people being racist about rap so I'm only witnessing the secondhand responses to the recent "discourse" and sadly 'tumblrinas being racist about their bad taste in music & low lyrical literacy' is exactly what I'd put on my 2024 bingo card for this steadily declining shithole....

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Granted the possibility that Eridan, Vriska and Aradia could be friends, by extension, could Eridan have the possibility to become friends with Tavros?

Unfortunately, no 😔 and what it comes down to is this: Eridan is REALLY STRESSFUL to be around if you aren't Karkat (even for people who like him, which is why such an important quality in his platonic friend group is an ability to set and maintain hard boundaries), and Tavros is REALLY BAD at dealing with stress.

Tavros often gets mischaracterized as being really sweet and kind, and I think that's a little south of where he actually is. His main character trait is avoidance, not acceptance. When the going gets tough, Tavros gets going, either physically (leaving Vriska to bleed out, or ghosting Gamzee after being put off by his offer to make out a little, or blocking Dave after getting scared by his sexual remarks) or mentally (his reliance on his imaginary friend, and the way he turns to them for comfort while being tormented by Vriska). He doesn't actually LIKE Vriska at all, and is actually pretty vocal about DISliking her, but he's too afraid of real confrontation to actually mount a resistance until well after it's too late, resulting in his death.

He's still a lot nicer than most of the trolls, but it's a low bar. And he deserved to be treated better, but that's also all of them. Let's not forget that once he really grows a spine after being combined with Vriska for a little bit, he flips her off. Even then, however, his response to things he doesn't like is still, like. Leaving. Growing a spine just lets him actually do that, instead of meekly expressing that he would like to, and then getting bullied into not.

And Eridan is just stressful to be around. He's basically a weeping geyser of emotional sincerity and neediness 24/7. Even the people in his life that like him need to set and maintain hard boundaries with him so they don't exhaust themselves, and this is even true of his romantic interests (with the exception of Karkat). Even Roxy gets stressed by him, even if it's good stress (excitement, fun).

And the thing is, even at his absolute best, most therapized, Eridan is still going to be the team's Murder Advocate. More intimately than anybody else, he understands the connection between sacrifice, duty, and the greater good. A lot of people seem to think Eridan's ultimate character arc should lead to him refuting violence, but I disagree; there are times where violence, and even murder, are necessary (for an easy example, killing Condy, and for a very personal example, killing lusii/trolls so his species/friends could stay alive). He's the teammate that reminds the rest of the team that violence and murder are viable, and sometimes the only, option; who offers to do the dirty work himself and shoulder that burden; and who has a powerful driving force of duty, responsibility, and - that most hopeful of qualities - CONVICTION.

His character arc doesn't lead to him refuting his prior beliefs, but gaining clarity on them: exactly what he believes in and why, disentangling it from his shitty society and the expectations it placed upon him. This inevitably leads to him having a very strong personality that clashes with a lot of his teammates, even post-character development, and unfortunately, Tavros is one of them.

So if we're talking Tavros before he grows a spine - they would definitely not be friends. Eridan would be able to trap Tavros into conversation, but if Tavros already doesn't like Vriska for being an asshole with empathy problems, there's no way he'd like Eridan, who's that turned up to eleven. I mean, let's be real, do you think Eridan "refuses to have fun and is also a hipster and also phrases things in a hostile and aggressive way as a default" Ampora would not wind up 1) insulting fiduspawn, 2) insulting tinkerbull/bringing up that he kills lusii regularly and that Tavros is really lucky tinkerbull is so small because it made them not a target, and/or 3) insulting Tavros for his spinelessness in an effort to pitch flirt, or even just as a factual observation?

And if we're talking Tavros after he grows a spine, all that would change is that he'd voice outright that he doesn't really like Eridan and doesn't want to talk to him. And then leave, probably.

And that'd be a problem for Eridan, before or after his character development, because he desperately craves attention, and Tavros's whole thing is avoiding the stuff he doesn't like. This is also why he wouldn't get along particularly well with people like Sollux or Equius; they don't really give him attention, good OR bad, and either tell him to fuck off, or fuck off themselves. Let's remember how Vriska ghosting him on accident led to him having an anxiety episode where he beats himself up for being SO STUPID!!!!!!! People who don't really like him and simply withhold attention from him are the people he feels the worst interacting with.

And that's BEFORE Gamzee gets added to the mix LOL

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Dragon Pt.2

Pairing(s): Daenerys Targaryen x Assassin!Reader, implied Daario x Daenerys Targaryen

Warnings: gore, blood, rampage, slight fluff, killing

Words:5535

Summary: Daenerys is good on her promise to make you more than a bloodthirsty assassin. She truly molds you into a dragon.

Part 1

Requested by many of you but in particular @alexkolax since they gave me the prompt 😊😊

In a short amount of time, your life had changed considerably. You were now considered one of Daenerys Targaryen’s most trusted member of her small court. Drogon may have been considered Daenerys’ ‘winged shadow’ but you were her actual shadow personified. She made sure to keep you close to her at all times not just for protection but also her genuine fondness of your company.

Growing to know the Silver Queen who was once your bounty, you’d admit you felt the same fondness.

No one would deny the utter beauty of Daenerys, but it was her authentic warmth that initially broke through your mountain high walls you built around yourself. They’d been a necessary growing up with four brothers. You built those walls so that nothing may break them down. Reinforced with your blood and nightmares.

As a child you had never known such kindness in a person. The people you saw on a daily basis were always less than kind and had ulterior motives up their sleeves.

Your own father murdered your mother after your birth. She was seen as defected since she gave birth to a girl. Up until then, she’d gifted your father with strong, healthy boys that were more than willing to carry on their father’s brutality.

He should have killed you right then and there. Despite all of your father’s flaws, he never killed children. Orphan them, yes, but he wouldn’t outright murder them like he had so many others. So he was stuck with you and subjected you to the same training all your other brothers had undergone prior to your existence.

Under their strict tutelage, you learned how to walk before crawling; such was the fury of their instructions that you aimed to do everything perfectly the first time to not receive their retribution. You couldn’t afford to mess up. Throughout your childhood, you aimed to prove to your family that you were just as good as them. And in all honesty, you were. You were the one to receive the best jobs; customers asked for you specifically.

Rage often fueled their actions, ultimately making them blind to reason. Such was the folly of men. You however were level headed. Anger was an inherited trait in you that you were always able to keep at bay until you needed it. You had full control of it and coexisted with it.

Happily you used the violence that festered in your soul to protect her, any means necessary.

You yourself had located the heart of the Sons of the Harpy swarm that was like a plague in Meereen. You’d earned the respect of the older men in her service that day when you slew the handful that had been surrounding you, Daenerys and Missandei. There had been doubt in you whether or not you could hold them off. They were coming from all sides and angles, relentless attempts to try and harm either of them resulted in a loss of a life or limbs.

Drogon was the true savior of the day. Dany took her rightful place atop of Drogon’s back, but not before she pulled you up with her.

Due to your occupation, you didn’t tend to feel the sensation of fear. It was trained out of you by your eldest brother Nakillos.

Being on top of an actual dragon?

You had never known a fear of heights until Drogon took off into the sky

Dany. . . Well you had Dany to thank for saving you. She revealed that she wasn’t just tenderness and warmth, but a force to be reckoned with. When the Dothraki horde accosted the two of you, you knew that you couldn’t slay all of them and get you and Dany to safety. She held your hand though and reassured you that everything would be alright.

She took things under control from then on. And what could you say? You admired the authority that shadowed her sweet features and she truly spoke like someone who had royal blood coarsing through them.

Not once did you regret leaving your old life behind to vow your fealty to Daenerys.

For the first time in your life you actually felt worthy of something. The deadly skills you had in your itinerary could be used for a proper cause instead of mindless hunger for more victims and gold. A monster that would never be satisfied. You cared not for your own happiness or that of anyone else.

Dare you even entertain the prospect that Dany brought so much light and meaning into your life. She had you feeling sorry for your past self that she didn’t know true joy until Daenerys Targaryen offered you her bloody hand.

When thee slave masters threatened to take Meereen from her control, you were right next to Grey Worm in a prompt execution.

First you happily forced them to watch their fleets be burned by her three children. Then you retrieve the specially made dagger Dany had gifted you and dragged it across Yezzan zo Qaggaz's throat. You may have been a little too happy about eliminating her enemies. The hot blood that splashed from their necks and onto your skin livened your own blood. Never had a kill been so delicious.

This was in tribute to your Silver Goddess.

Out of habit you presented the heads of the Slave Masters to her. Her face beamed with approval and delight at your morbid gifts. Even Grey Worm had turned his face away when you started severing head from necks. It was dirty work and not a pretty sight, but something inside of you made you do it. After presenting her with the head of the man who had hired you to kill her, you unconsciously made it a habit of giving her the heads of her enemies.

You promise her to do the same of her enemies in Westeros which had her cupping your cheek in the greatest show of adoration that had you weak kneed. You could tell she wanted to do more than just hold your face, but this was all she allowed herself. Other times when she was proud of you, Daenerys would toy with the Targaryen sigil that was chained around your neck. You never took it off.

The time for Westeros was coming. All she needed was a proper fleet of ships to carry her and the rest of her loyalists. It would be the first time her Dothraki horde had ever been on the water. They remained outside of the city for now along with Daario Naharis and his band of Second Sons.

The relationship between Dany and Daario was an unspoken one but you understood the truth of Daario's longing looks as you had taken his place by Dany's side. While he may have pleasure to offer her, she still preferred you as her personal sworn sword. Maybe it helped that you were also a woman. Either way it made you feel smug that you were superior to both Daario and Jorah in that manner. She didn't even trust Tyrion Lannister as much as she trusted your opinions.

Her council was in the middle of discussing how to build up their fleet and the options that lay in front of her.

You stand by her cushioned seat. Her council room was one of comfortable familiarity with plush chairs and couches. Wine was offered by those who willingly serve her.

Next to her sat Missandei who may as well have been the Westerosi version of a lady in waiting. You liked the former slave girl. She was kind like her queen and incredibly intuitive. Possessing great knowledge of diplomacy and the workings of Essos, Missandei was a great asset to Daenerys.

Across from the three of you were the men: Daario, Grey Worm, Tyrion, and Westeros' own master of whispers: Varys.

When first encountering the dwarf and eunuch, you had nearly killed both on the spot once you learned of their origins. To you, their presence was a threat to your queen and one you would quickly eliminate. They proved themselves to Daenerys and that was enough for you.

Talk of politics always bored you to tears as you stood there, form rigid and still as you took your job very seriously.

The way Tyrion and Varys droned on though about funds and potential allies made your mind drift and your eyes fell on the large window that looked out to the city. Such boredom brought you back to when you and your brothers were called upon your father to report your monthly body count and profit.

Garros, your father and the head of your clan of assassins, hated to give you praise and would spend the rest of the conference scolding your brothers. Why was a woman doing better than them?

Outside you watch the flight of her dragons as they lazily drift through the sky above the great city of Meereen. Since being released from their prison, Rhaegal and Viserion had grown in size but didn't make the mistake like their brother Drogon of eating the flock that belonged to the city. They took their hunting party far away from the city, following their large brother as he showed them better hunting grounds.

Drogon, while still unpredictable, became more docile toward Daenerys. A new bond had been established since she had officially ridden him .

A touch to your arm jolts you back into attention.

Dany only laughs at your abrupt alertness. They men were standing to leave, giving pleasantries to one another and a nod toward you. You stiffly nod back to them and watch them leave.

"Seems like I wasn't the only one bored from their talk." Missandei chuckles and pours a glass of wine for you, your signal that it was okay to relax with them now.

Gratefully you take it from her tan hands and take a sip while sitting between them. That's where they liked you. Since saving Missandei, you had gained her absolute trust. She would even call you 'my friend' when addressing you now. You'd never had a friend before. It was nice.

"I've never been able to follow political discussions." you sigh and let both of them lean against your shoulders. When the men were gone, all three of you were able to be yourselves. You knew it was hard being a woman with immense power. You couldn't let your guard down as any sign of weakness would be taken as an opportunity for those of the opposite gender. Daenerys constantly had to put up a strong front in order to maintain her power.

Dany nods in agreement, the side of her temple presses against your shoulder as she really gets comfortable next to you. Your stomach always flutters when she does such things like that. "Yes, it's not making me look forward to ruling the Seven Kingdoms."

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." You say, a phrase you'd once heard your father say to Nakillos.

Her hand finds your's and gives it a squeeze. She looks up at you from under her long, dark eyelashes. "The crown is not so much a burden, not with the two of you with me."

You and Missandei smile for the both of you were all to happy to serve her.

Missandei gets up and puts her glass on the table. "Well, I must get going."

"Yes, can't keep Grey Worm waiting." Dany teases her causing the poor girl to duck her head in a blush. You giggle, actually giggle, at the obviousness of her affection for the Unsullied commander.

Flustered, she leaves without confirming Daenerys' words to be true.

Still gazing from where Missandei had fled, you smile and shake your head. "I'm happy for her."

Dany's hand hadn't left your's. Instead, her small fingers weave between your own and you feel your own blush creeping up your neck. Every touch from her was scalding. In a good way. "Me too."

Defenses lowering, you close your eyes and concentrate on the gentle rhythm of Dany’s breathing. Everything she did was mesmerizing to you and damnit if you were intoxicated on the way she makes you feel.

These moments were rare where it was just the two of you. Only once when everyone left could you allow yourself to be vulnerable. You allowed yourself these small, insignificant little moments.

At least you tried telling yourself they were insignificant. Always coming up with realistic excuses to avoid the truth that you struggled to face head on.

You like how her hands fit perfectly into your own.

You like the soft, content sighs she lets out every now and then.

You even like how drowsy you got as comfort warms you.

How had you lived for so long without this feeling? It was downright nourishing to every cell in your body.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

Her question has your eyes popping open immediately and a quiet sort of panic seizes you. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked you to stay in her room for the night. Whether it was for comfort or. . . Something else. . . You always ran. You were a coward in that respect. Unable to face what you really desired and fighting the truth of your situation.

Again she looks up at you with those heartbreakingly beautiful eyes of hers. How could anyone be as gorgeous as she was? You didn’t even envy her beauty. Your own beauty had never mattered. You didn’t care what you looked like.

“Your Grace-“

She lifts her head from your shoulder with a scowl that knits her brows together. You hate when that expression is aimed toward you.. The last thing you wished was to displease her. “I told you, you don’t have to do that when it’s just the two of us.” Her hand leaves your’s and it goes up to the three-headed dragon pendant that had its home on your collarbone.

Since she released you, you’re on your feet and taking a step away from the couch. Pressing your lips in a straight line, you take her in. A storm of emotions plays out on her round face. “Dany,” you say softly and watch her become a puddle from you using her nickname “I don’t think that would be proper. I can go get Daari-“

You don’t finish as she stands. “Never mind. You’re dismissed.” She hastily says while turning her back to you. Her meticulous braids having held up all through her tenuous day. You’d spotted the red tips of her ears when she’d turned away from you. You hate yourself for doing that to her.

But her affections were misplaced, you were unworthy of her love.

For that’s how you both felt. You knew. You knew you were hopelessly in love with her. And Daenerys, for some odd reason, returned it tenfold. She showed you in every way possible. Daario was an infrequent guest in her bed now, had been for weeks now. Only on the nights when you turned down her offer did you spy Daario the following morning leaving her room.

Being the ever obedient servant, bow and practically leap at the opportunity to run to the door.

What a coward you were.

You stay on the other side for a while, back pressed against the council room.

You hated yourself as your cheeks burn along with your eyes. You wanted to cry, how pathetic was that? You hadn’t cried since you were a baby.

Highly sensitive ears pickup the approaching echo of footsteps. Hastily, you rub your eyes with your arm and look up to find Daario offering you a sympathetic gaze.

He inclines his head toward where he came from. “Let’s grab a drink, you and I. Yeah?”

Arrogant prick he may be, but you had to admit that you actually liked the Tyroshi. He had a charm to him, you’d give him that.

You nod. “Okay.”

“Oh just give into it already!” Daario slaps you on thee back enthusiastically once you were three drinks down. “You’re a pretty girl, she’s gorgeous, the two of you would have plenty of fun! And of course you can add me into the mix every so often.”

You snort out a laugh and shake your head. “You make it sound so easy. I’m a creature that is not used to things like love and sex. I’m not even used to physical contact but with her, she can do whatever she wants to me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Except fuck you apparently.”

Your face burns again and you know it’s not just from the drinks he poured down your throat. “I’m. . . I’m not pretty.”

“Yes you are. In a scary way. It’s sexy!”

The anxious feeling that was growing in your burst when he said that. You laugh exuberantly and Daario follows suit.

Then came back his more compassionate side that humbled him. “I only know a fraction of your past and what you’ve suffered.” When you shoot him a dubious look, Daario explains “Oh come now, even I know of you and your family. I’ve even met one of your brothers. Real twat he was.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. They’re all twats.” You comment making him chuckle in agreement.

“Comparing you from how you were when you first came here. . . I know you’re capable of love. I would have called you a monster back then. Before I got to see a peek of the real you.” You wouldn’t have considered Daario as astute as he was.

Maybe you could even consider him a friend like Missandei.

You ignore the smile that wanted freedom to be expressed on your lips. Instead you bring another drink to your lips.

“You sell yourself short. Enjoy in the pleasure our queen can give you. If it’s me you’re really worried about, don’t worry; what you and Dany have is more than lust.”

Now you were the one to roll your eyes at his ridiculousness. It was an endearing ridiculousness though. But if he could see the devotion you and Dany showed for one another, then everyone else could too. Tyrion, Varys, Missandei and maybe even Grey Worm.

“Love is the death of duty.” You murmur, eyes going dark from your turmoil. “She is my weakness. I can’t have weaknesses. You understand, right?”

Daario sighs not out of exasperation but out of melancholy. “Oh (y/n). They really did a number on you, didn’t they? No, love is what makes you stronger. It’s the fuel you reach for when you have nothing else left in the world. It’s a powerful weapon if you know how to wield it.”

You thought about what he told you long into the night until you went to bed. Your sleep was always dreamless. Preferred over having to endure more grief during unconsciousness.

Due to drinking so much the previous night, you slept far longer than you normally did. You woke up to Missandei shaking you.

Her eyes are wild, desperate even with tears unshed in her brown eyes. “She’s missing. Dany is missing.”

Your mind went blank for a moment. Her words float around in your brain before fully understanding what was going on.

Then you merely saw red. “Show me.” You knew there had to be a last known location. Security for Daenerys was of utmost importance to all of her council. It was impossible for her to go missing out of the blue.

You didn’t bother to change out of the clothes you wore the previous day. Missandei led you to her private chambers where the rest of her small council was congregated.

On her pillows was the bloody head of a lamb. Poor thing’s tongue was sticking out from the corner of its mouth. Dark eyes still open and staring blindly.

Your blood ran cold.

This was not a random abduction. It was deliberate. You knew exactly who did this.

The head of a lamb was your eldest brother’s signature. What a narcissistic dick.

You couldn’t breathe, merely staring wide eyed at it. No one had ever seen your face in such a state. It confirmed Tyrion’s worry. Powerful enemies had their queen.

Only Daario caught your gaze and really understood. He nods as you slip out the door. Missandei moves to go after you but Daario holds her back and whispers in her ear.

Furrowing her brows, Missandei watches helplessly as you make the long way ought of the pyramid and into the city. To get the answers you want, you had to go to the harbor. That’s where all rumors blossomed. Where you would get the most information.

A demon had overcome you and was now in control of your body. The only thing on your mind was finding the culprits that took your queen from under your nose. You blame yourself for not taking up her offer. Your brother would have never been able to take her if you were present.

It had to be Nakillos. If he wasn’t still in the city then he was close. You had to be quick and follow his scent.

The harbor master, while initially denying anyone with the description you gave, gave in once you showed him the savagery of your interrogation process. He only had two fingers left on his right hand before he finally caved in and told you all of what he knew. Nakillos and two other men had indeed been through the harbor.

You followed all hints. Anyone who refused to give you the information you craved was tortured until they submit to your will. You didn’t know what the members of Dany’s small council was doing, but you didn’t waste anytime in your rampage. You knew how the unsavory underworld of Essos worked. Knew all the ins and outs of even Meereen. How else could you possibly have found the nest that belonged to Sons of the Harpy.

A blood lust like this hadn’t risen in you since slaying the slave masters.

You went on a rampage as you scoured Meereen for Dany. Driven by pure rage.

By the end of the day, you’d found where your brother was staying as well several of his lackeys. You’d learned that your father had died a few months ago leaving Nakillos as sole heir to his empire which he took great advantage of.

He’d always resented you as he had been the one to bear the brunt of your father’s resentment since he was the eldest. Your father was not easy on him when you brought back better reports than him. And when you step into his makeshift lair, you see that he hasn’t changed one bit.

His face was the spitting image of your father, if not a bit younger than you last remember.

Gagged and in chains was Daenerys he glared daggers at him, unaware of the affiliation you had with this scum of the earth. They had taken over an entire building for this confrontation.

When she spots you, her lavender eyes glimmer with hope.

Nakillos leans forward with a terrible smirk. “Happy for you to finally join us.” His eyes scanned your body, drinking in the red stains on not just your clothes but also the skin of your arms. You hadn’t bothered to clean yourself up.

“I believe you have something of mine, brother.” Your words are clipped revealing the level of your patience which was none.

Dany’s eyes widen, shooting toward Nakillos whose grin only broadens.

He stands up, towering at almost seven feet. Anyone else would be scared, intimidated even. Never you though. Each step he takes toward you is a heavy thud.

“You’ve grown soft, (y/n).” He comments with a tilt of his chin. “It was quite easy to find news about you and your whereabouts. Not to mention that you’re now in league with the Targaryen cunt.”

You internally bristle at that snide remark but keep your features a void canvas. It pissed your brothers off the most when you didn’t react to their taunts.

That hadn’t changed either. His lip pulls up in a snarl.

His weapons are strung to not just his back but his hips as well. All assassins had a great arsenal of weapons no matter what the occasion.

His men seemed to close in on you so you were now stuck in a circle with your brother. Daenerys muffles words that were covered by the strip of fabric that wrapped around her head and blocked her mouth.

“You’re a fool to come here all by yourself.” Nakillos spits out while reaching behind his back to retrieve a blade from the sheath across his shoulder blades. “I’ll do what our father could never do: end you.”

In a monotone voice, you reply “You can try. Like you have so many times before.” Your own blade easily slipped from your sleeve to your hand. You too had quite the instruments hung off of your belt; some already stained with a crimson substance.

He’d been a bastard to you all your life. You would not mourn killing him.

On light feet, you sped forward; catching him off guard. Nakillos raises his arm, sword coming up to his defense. But your other hand though also wield a blade that he hadn’t seen until the last second.

You were able to slice a large chunk of his thigh and side before he slides away and begins his own onslaught.

Nakillos always favored in throwing his weight around. He did it with your three other brothers and yourself.

All of them lacked the speed and dexterity you had.

You lean way too back in an attempt to avoid the tip of his blade. Forced to complete a flip to guarantee your survival, you’re quick to block another blow from his sword. While you were confident in your own skills, Nakillos wasn’t your father’s heir for no reason.

Each of his offensive moves screamed of Garros. Like you were fighting your father instead of your brother.

He sliced at your shins then tried to slice your belly open in an upward strike with his right hand. Garros had trained all his children to use both hands with equal efficiency. It was one of the best ways to fight.

Even though it meant getting your ankle cut, you swiftly kick him in the face. Ignoring the searing pain that shot through your system. You clench your back molars to the point that they may crack under the pressure.

Nakillos is sent spiraling to the ground but he doesn’t so much as flinch. Blood trickles from his nose that he ignores to dodge you.

It was clear the both of you were equal in hand to hand combat.

You knew you had the upper hand though. Because you were fighting for her. For your Silver Goddess.

You let that quiet anger in you out of it’s cage. It stretched it’s legs before making your vision and thoughts go black.

You fed it with the blood of your brother.

Remembering every single time he was cruel to you. How he smashed your head into the ground and broke your arm when you were ten and one. Nakillos reveled in smacking you around. He even went so far as to have you train an entire day with glass in your boots.

Not realizing you were screaming until the fog in your brain cleared, you saw the damage you did already. His arms were cut up and there was a deep gash to his side that he held onto. The hand around his wound was already dripping with red.

Your own knuckles were covered in cuts varying from deep to superficial. That was the only area on your body he’d been able to scratch.

It made him furious. He let out a roar and charged. You wait until the last minute to fall off to the side and trip him with your foot.

When he fell face first into the floor, you leapt atop of his back and tried to stab deep into his spine. Nakillos however had enough strength and speed to flip himself over from underneath you.

He headbutts you right in the face.

Stars fill your vision as you tumble back. Your head was warm as you force yourself to regain your composure. In that time, Nakillos takes a swing at you that makes a large gash from shoulder to shoulder.

You feel the back of your head bounce off of the ground. At least your vision cleared for you to watch Nakillos sinks one knee on either side of your body.

He’s laughing a bit hysterically at your dazed eyes. “Did you really think it would end with me?” Nakillos smacks you across the face with the back of his hand as you struggle under him. “Even if you kill me, the others will come after you and your silver haired bitch.”

“Then I will do to them what I will do to you: I’ll kill them and present their heads to my queen on a gold platter.” You spit blood right into his eye and stab your blade into his cheek.

He howls, a horrible noise as he flings himself from you. His hands trembling to his face. The handle of your knife stuck straight out.

You didn’t waste time. Ripping a metal wire garrote from your belt, you swiftly loop it around his neck as you dance behind him. He gags before a horrible wet noise rakes from his throat. You tighten your grip and pull.

Nakillos kicks and fights against the sharp wire that was cutting into his neck. His fingers desperately dug at his muscular neck.

The others didn’t move, only watched in horror. They weren’t allowed to move due to Garros’ stupid code. One did not interrupt a fight. No matter who was winning or losing.

You grit your teeth as you viciously jerk back. It cut into arteries and veins alike producing a spray of blood to spring forth. His body is still jerking until you give the garrote one last twist.

Then all movement stopped.

Letting his body fall to the ground, you take a moment to finally get a proper breath. When you open your eyes back up they find Dany’s. Her face surprised you.

Instead of being in horror like everyone else, her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were flushed. Daenerys was breathing laboriously. Her pupils were blown out from the scene.

You take up your blade once more and get to the messy task of cutting into Nakillos’ neck; severing skin, muscle, bone and tendon. They left you to your macabre work although you didn’t miss the low murmurs.

Forced to switch out blades three times, you finally were able to lodge his head free. His skin was slippery from the red loss of his life.

You go to Dany who is smiling at you.

“Sorry I don’t have a gold plate for this one, but I hope you’ll accept it.” you get down on your knees and offer it up to her.

Her eyes were starting to fill with tears as she smiles happily down at you. Dany’s fingers brush against your stick ones when she moves to take the head from you. She tosses it aside and with both of her bloody hands on either side of your face, she kisses you.

You don’t fight back. Not this time. Daario was right. Why were you fighting? Because of fear? That was stupid.

Her lips were deliciously soft despite their hungry claim on your mouth.

Someone off in the distance clears their throat and you turn around in annoyance.

“You’ve killed your brother.”

“Clearly.” You scoff.

“Do you know what that means?” Another intervenes.

The first man takes back the conversation. “By right you are now leader of Garros’ clan. You defeated the eldest fair and square. All his money and land belong to you as well as his men.”

You wave them all off. “Split it amongst yourselves and my other brothers. I don’t care.” Quick hands already had Dany’s gag off and her bounds cut. “Just as long as none of you step foot in Meereen again.” Flicking up deadly eyes, they nod and don’t fight you as you leave to go back home.

There was arguing in the council room when you and Daenerys returned. Both of you had been quite the sight walking through the streets.

Daario was off to the side, watching them all with a bored expression before he noticed you and Dany. His eyes widen at the both of you drenched in blood but he smiled.

“We’re wasting time-“

“Where is (y/)?!”

“Are the Harpies resurfacing again?!”

Daenerys clears her throat loudly and everyone turns around. “Hello, sorry for the trouble but as you can see I am fine.”

Tyrion gawks. “The. . . The blood. . .”

“Not mine.” She’s all smiles as she brings you to her side. “But (y/n) and I will be requiring a bath. Together.” Daenerys looks at you with hopeful eyes.

This time you don’t say no.

[gloriesunsung]

Arcane Detail Dive: Story of Opposites

Spoilers for all of Arcane season 1.

Arcane is a masterpiece and I want to shout about all the things I've noticed on rewatching. So I am. Here is a breakdown of some cool bits from 1x03: The Base Violence Necessary For Change. Yes I am starting with episode 3, come sue me

When Powder is thrown from the blast, the blue colouring and slow motion of the shot makes it looks like she’s floating underwater. It’s such a good parallel for the shot of Silco in the beginning. Silco talks of that moment of peace where the water can almost convince you to let it in, let you drown. But for Powder, that moment is a rare one of triumph: she finally did something that worked! The sheer joy in her eyes is heartbreaking, because the viewer already knows the devastating results of her success. We know that the raging thing inside her that she will need to survive - to become Jinx - is still to come.

After Vi sees Benzo killed and Vander dragged off, she’s framed below a tiny cellar window in a way that foreshadows the Stillwater cell she'll be stuck in for years to come. She’s far from the camera and it’s the first time in the show that Vi truly looks small, diminished.

That window shape recurs at the very end of the episode, where Powder and Silco et al are framed by the gate and the camera pulls away from the scene, slowly turning upside down until it becomes blurred and unrecognisable. What a visual metaphor for the distance growing between the sisters.

The boys barring Heimerdinger’s door with Viktor’s cane. I just love this. The hextech explosion then shatters Viktor’s cane and there’s this wonderful image of it floating broken, electricity crackling between the pieces. Breaking the bounds of what limits him. This is the moment Viktor’s life changes forever.

On a rewatch, you can see how little Viktor relies on his cane compared to later. He stands up straighter and unaided more often than not in ep3 after befriending Jayce and taking on their project - and I don’t think it’s just because he’s in better physical health at this point. He’s been given something that makes him feel sure of himself and the mark he can leave on the world with the time he has.

I see Vander and Silco as two sides of the same coin, and boy oh boy is the coin-flip delicious in this episode. Even Vander’s fucked-up eye ends up on the same side as Silco’s.

(Not at all limited to ep3, but I love how Silco's left eye never fully blinks. He misses nothing.)

Oh, and Silco’s knife? The very same one he took from Vander in the drowning flashback. Silco has literally and figuratively been carrying that betrayal around with him ever since.

Vi truly breaks at the moment when Powder’s nose starts to bleed, when it’s her own sister’s blood staining her hands. A callback to Vander chewing her out in the first episode. And of course Vi can’t take it; she’s supposed to protect her sister. Vander’s body is not even cold and already in her mind she’s failing him. This little detail of the bandages gives so much weight to the crushing pressure Vi is feeling in that moment.

The swimming/drowning metaphors continue with the hextech explosion. The way Viktor and Jayce float makes them look like they’re in water, and the sound even muffles around them. (And the childlike delight in Viktor’s face when he gets to move so freely - UGH.😭)

You can see how quickly Viktor takes to it, how much more he moves around compared to Jayce. Here is another life-defining moment in which a person might either drown or thrive.

Back to the coin-flip of Vander and Silco. When he finds Powder, this time Silco is the one standing above the drowning person, the one holding the knife. But he wasn’t prepared for this girl. Powder launches herself into his arms, and the knife flies out of his hand. This broken little girl literally disarms him.

And when Silco embraces her, he is framed in almost exactly the same way Vander was when Silco questioned him why he couldn’t fight for the cause. He told Silco he was “not that man anymore”. Acting as a surrogate father has changed Vander — and these parallel frames gives us the hint that ultimately, that same thing will be what undoes Silco too.

In summary: GG, Fortiche. I'm sad now.

[mayday396]

"Terra is Future Earth and Boiling Isles" AU

Codename:

Belos

Name:

Simon Wittebane

Age:

25 years old

Gender:

Male

Race:

Liberi-Sarkaz hybrid

(He has Cardinal Feathers, he does not know why as Hybrids cannot be made unless through Artificial Means, perhaps there is another way?)

Birthplace:

Kazdel

Date of Birth:

15 August

Height:

196 cm

Infection status:

Infection confirmed by Medical Examination

Appearance:

A younger but spiltting image of his ancestor Philip Wittebane, that Excluding the Yellow and Red Cardinal feathers growing around his Face and body and the Horns growing out the sides of his head.

He has the mix of Brown and Red headed hair, tied in the Exact same way of his Ancestor.He appears to have a Stern and Intimidating look but actually he is one big walking Klutz with a tendency to wake up and choose Violence if he doesn't feel well.

Personality:

Despite coming from Hunter and Willow's line, he looks alot like Philip Wittebane, he gained Willow's Kind and Bubbly Nature but that is often Hidden by his Intimidating and Stern look, so under that he is a confident, laid-back and easygoing man and often has a snarky and Sarcastic yet Gentlemanly tone.

He is quite an inquisitive man that is shown in combat to be quite apathetic and Deceptive, when asked about it, he would say, "It has always been like that", almost as if it was a Hereditary Curse of some sort.

Clinical Analysis:

Infection rate

[Cell-Originium Assimilation] 0.01%

No physical sign of Infection

[Blood Originium-Crystal Density] 0.18 u/L

One of the Lowest Rhodes Island has ever seen, in any case he seem to be quite Normal

Radiological scans showed shadowy Outlines of Internal Organs, fortunately no visible abnormalities has been found, Originium particle tests of the Circulatory System indicate Oripathy.Thus this makes him Infected.

Infection Cause

[Subject's Infection was caused by Person-to-Person Transmission, which in many Cases is a rarity]

Physical Exam:

[Physical Strength] Standard

[Mobility]Excellent

[Physical Resilience] Standard

[Tactical Acumen] Above Average

[Combat Skill] Enhanced

[Originium Arts Assimilation] ???

Archive Files:

File 1

According to him, the codename 'Belos' is a forbidden name that is never to be used in his family for some reason. But now he has taken that for himself as he has exiled out of his Family due to his infection.

File 2

He seem to go solo on certain occasions in combat, due to his strange nature in such situations, making quite a hard person to work with at times, but most Operators tend to get along with him, especially Children like Popuka or Durin.

File 3

Another Operator known as Azura, seem to be quite wary of him despite never actually interacting physically with her, he is just as Confused on why she dislikes him.

File 4

"Ah you're awake....I made some Kubba when you were sleeping, have some"

He is extremely active in the Kitchen Unit, he cooks all sort of food that many from Sargon tend to enjoy such as Kubba, Tabbouleh, Mujadara and Sambusak, those are the few dishes he can make.

Dialogue(I made so far):

"Hello There, you must be Doctor, well good to see you, I hope taking me in wasn't too much of a Burden but since I'm here let me lighten the load"

(Recruitment)

"Doctor, deploy me whenever, I can take them on with my knife"

(Talk 1)

"Hm what do you need help in?"

(Choosing as an Assistant)

"Sleep, little bird, I will care of you even through the most Violent of days"

(Idle)

Style of fighting:

He has the same Zigzag knife of his Ancestor, often using the art of Cloak and Dagger, so he is fighting like Assassin staying true to his Apathetic nature.But when unleashing his arts, he can summon Sludge from his hands and can blades from said Powers in which he can cause Rot and decay, he only use Arts when absolutely necessary.

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

I made an Arknights x The Owl House crossover OC

This is a Crossover I don't think would EVER happen but it is cool to imagine.

I chose Kazdel as his Region and made him a Chimera because it's based off Philip's Character, who was a Puritan and a Witch Hunter then I subvert his traits to form a character.

Kazdel is known as a Nation without a Home relating to Philip even though he got back to Earth, it isn't the home he swore to return to.

Kazdel is based off the Holy Roman Empire/German Reich and the Kingdom of Israel, this is a Reference to a fan Comic I saw of Young Philip speaking German and his faith which originated from Israel.

The Region is also home to Sarkaz that are known as the Devils or Demons of Arknights, making this character a Complete Irony to Philip. As the Sarkaz are a group of people who are oppressed by the majority of Terra as Propaganda distort History on both Sarkaz and rest of the Terra's population.People call their Arts, Black Magic or Witchcraft.

Then the Liberi parts which are Cardinal Feathers which not only relate to Hunter but also Philip as he killed Flapjack.Basically Simon is all of Philip's Mistakes on Display, having Hunter's Descendant looking like the spiltting image of Philip is an extra, it's final kick of Vengeance against Hunter.

Simon is however Innocent in this context, someone that has to live with the Mistakes of others that he does not know.While he is, the way he is because of his personality, he is still in some cases, morally grey as he works as a Sarkaz Mercenary before joining Rhodes Island, I mean he has to be to even survive Terra.

If he were to Meet the real Belos, he would not hesitate to draw his Knife at him.

[thatdykepunkslut]

Because I wrote an entire essay for some guy on discord and I figured might as well put it somewhere someone might actually read it (some things are lacking context but just keep reading the arguments I'm refuting are mostly kneejerk reactions that will be evident from my response):

Capitalism does not address scarcity. It vastly, VASTLY overproduces cheap consumer goods (christmas gift type goods are made in the billions months or even years before the year they're to be sold in, completely divorced from market predictions) while completely neglecting or making unattainably expensive essential goods like high density housing, public transit vehicles, life saving medication, quality food, etc.

Capitalist profit-seeking drives unnsustainable food practices like intensive animal agriculture, monocropping, industrial fertilizer and chemical weeding. Causes cities to implode by building endless suburbs whose tax income does not cover the costs of road and utility maintenance as well as moving industry to areas with cheaper labor and destroying ecosystems with illegal or unregulated dumping and pollution. Insulin is VERY cheap to make and the patent was sold for $1 decades ago. It has gotten more expensive even relative to other expensive medications, soaring dozens of times faster than inflation would imply. After WW2, car companies that made absurd amounts of money off of building tanks and planes then bought up public transit across the US and literally stacked it in a pile and burned it. There's photos of hundreds of burnt out streetcars with Henry Ford (who inspired parts of Mein Kampf and profited off of Jewish slave labor before the war btw) smoking a cigar and looking rather pleased with himself in the foreground. These are just off the top of my head

[9:41 PM]Now for how non-capitalist economies differ:

When removed from the stress of having to earn a living and the desire to accumulate enough to give their children a better life, most people are often very willing to help each other out for free. Under the stress of capitalist workdays (which are literally designed to make you too tired to think, shorter workweeks and workdays have been proven to significantly improve productivity in all sectors), people don't have the energy to spare to help their neighbor. However, pretty much everyone expresses some desire to make the world a better place if they were able. What would you personally do if you didn't have to worry about rent or your next meal or clothes or transportation ever again? Maybe play video games and [redacted] for a week straight but after that? Pretty much everyone is gonna say "hang out with loved ones and cook food."

All necessary forms of labor/work are enjoyable or at least bearable in the name of the greater good to some people. There are people who fucking LOVE picking up trash, like being a sanitation worker is literally the only job they ever want to have. A pretty sizeable chunk of the population enjoys growing plants and taking care of animals and there are methods of farming that require remarkably little effort. Pretty much everyone has a hobby they either currently enjoy or would love to pick up that is required for people to have comfortable lives, but cannot dedicate themselves to it because it would not be profitable enough to live off of

[9:56 PM]decommodifying goods and services fixes this, everyone can do at least one of the things they like doing because there is no threat of violence if you don't work (violence meaning eviction, starvation, freezing to death, etc) In addition to refocusing labor on what actually makes people enjoy their labor, it makes it pretty easy to keep up with demand. "Oh we need more food? Ok well go give people some seeds from the seed library and tools from the tool library. Now we have more food." "We need more clothing? Ok tell the sheperds to let more of their flock have kids and the textile mills to work an extra thirty minutes a day for the next month" (side note, there's finally been developments in automating clothesmaking. Tailoring will be more important after capitalism to ensure clothes are better fitting and last longer but the general forms won't need slave waged third world workers anymore soon)

[9:59 PM]Without states or capitalists to bicker over resources, there's no reason for wars. There will still be some interpersonal violence but without needing drug money to make life bearable (or like, baby formula bc apparently it's violent crime for someone to shoplift baby formula) how often do you think there will be THAT much violent crime? (although various other forms of hierarchy will need to be torn down in order to stop hate crimes like lynchings, mass shootings, and rape)

honestly really the only refutation needed for this as you have worded it is paleontology. Some of our most ancient ancestors have signs of living decades after debilitating injuries that would have rendered them utterly useless to family and unable to care for themselves. This necessitates that they were cared for at great inconvenience for upwards of fifty years tens of thousands of years before the earliest hints of civilization, let alone the currency to pay for a hospice nurse

[10:07 PM]Also, even in the context of mineral mining, without the need for phone companies to sell phones every year, electronics will become much longer lasting and more selectively repairable, meaning less minerals will be removed from use and fewer minerals will be needed to support all the products that are never actually bought in the first place. Even more so with cars, public transit vehicles carry orders of magnitude more people for relatively similar requirements and they don't even NEED conflict minerals in some cases because of overhead electricity being a solution to the tyranny of the battery equation (has someone coined that phrase yet? it seems like a very obvious parallel to the rocket equation now that I think about it but anyways) ok I think I've completely poured my remaining braincells for the day into this I'm gonna take a nap now

[obnoxiousselfdiagnosedneurosis]

For the meme thing, Hashirama <3 (or madara if you'd prefer)

Pick a character I am likely to have Feelings/Opinions about and I will give and explain the top five ideas/concepts/etc that I believe are essential to accurately depicting them.

Choosing Madara bc I don't think I have a solid grasp on Hashirama, much (also I'm sorry for answering this WEEKS late):

1) I was thinking of talking about what I think are his some of his core traits separately (caution, power, control) but I've decided to group them together because they're all derived from his relationship with violence and how it's shaped him as he grew up.

In a world where it's almost a miracle to grow past 20 and where he's already lost three of his siblings at a very young age, he's always going to be on his guard, always watching his back, because it's easy to be caught unawares and to lose your life or someone close to you's unexpectedly in his line of work. He's always observing, double-checking, making sure, questioning. And not even just on the battlefield! Even when he's given his "trust" to Hashirama and agreed to the alliance and to build their new village, he's still not 100% on board, he's still taking mental notes, preparing himself for and predicting outcomes; this is almost too good to be true, is this really going to work, is this really going to last, is this really the answer? Pretty fitting, really, that one of the first things we learn about him is that he's always watching his back.

And of course, he often turns to power. It's the only thing he knows, in their lives driven by violence, that actually, indisputably works. Growing powerful and winning battles, being feared for your strength and intimidating others into submission, those not only keep you alive but keep you thriving. Only those with the necessary strength can move anything around. Power is quick, easy and dependable, always.

Both of these tie into the need for control, because to be able to predict and expect where anyone might attack and to have the strength and ability to actually deal with it is to always turn the situation in your favour. He'll always make sure he has full control over a situation in the end, especially when in the end he feels that he has no one left to trust but himself.

All of this is fundamentally tied to having grown up a child soldier and having seen nothing else but violence even into his early adulthood. He was raised on it, and honestly can't see a way out of it.

2) He needs tangible proof that something works and/or is possible before he'll go along with it. He's not going to be convinced into agreeing to something he's certain is doomed to fail, and it'll take a whole lot to get him on board with something he doesn't see having a 100% success rate either. Ties into the caution thing a bit, but he's a planner. A good one? Arguable, but even if things don't go entirely as he's laid them out in his head, he generally gets the job done that way. And is it really "taking risks" if you're confidently powerful enough to offset the consequences of them?

3) He has a bit of a temper. You could call it a short-fuse when he was a child, but that's something you train yourself out of as you grow and as an adult you'd expect him less to fly off at you for sneaking up on him unexpectedly. His anger isn't any less difficult to deal with, though, it just comes less in immediate bursts and more in long brooding periods that are difficult to shake him out of without aggravating him more. He'll get over it... at some point.

4) This is true for every Uchiha character we see honestly but it's always important to point out that love and the loss of it are an important part of shaping who he is. They tie into a lot of his feelings of guilt, and duty for his clan.

That he wasn't able to protect his other three brothers that died always weighs on his mind, so that amplifies the protectiveness he has over Izuna, his last remaining sibling. Tying into point 2, it's why he chooses his brother and his allegiance to his clan over Hashirama, no matter how badly he would have wanted to stay friends with him; because, to him, it was the safer choice. He would rather stick to his own side and focus on protecting all he can rather than wade into the uncertain and face risks he couldn't control.

His insistence, also, that the Uchiha would be better off not in Konoha and his fear that the Senju would come to oppress them is heightened in part I think by Izuna's death and the fact that he came to agree to a ceasefire only after being defeated by Hashirama and that members of his clan were defecting. When Izuna's gone, all he has left is his clan and the fact that he's their leader and that their future rests on him. Inevitably, he's going to be more suspicious (and he wasn't entirely off on that either).

5) I think I've said everything that's important so to close it off. I just think you Get Him more if you acknowledge that he's gay.

[mysticdragon3md3]

Golden Deer fans: (freaking out at Claude's characterization changes in 3Hopes)

Me, a Golden Deer and Code Geass fan: Naw, I love him even more now. lol

You call this devious? This is baby stuff lol By Code Geass standards, he's still a goody goody.

And just kidding, about loving 3Hopes Claude more than FE3H Claude, because I'm fine with Machiavellian, but I love admirable good and altruistic more.

But also, he's still the same Claude.

I'm kind of confused by people in the Claude fandom freaking out over 3Hopes Claude being more devious than in FE3H. But he always had that potential, and I respected him EVEN MORE for having the capability to be ruthless if that is what it would take to protect the world/hope/people that he dreamed about, yet knowing to hold back on being devious until it was actually necessary. Someone once posted that Claude always having the potential for doing devious things, even citing hinted warnings in his canon dialogue from FE3H, proved that all us Claude fans who loved him for being benign, were all just naive and completely misjudged him. Apparently, Claude fans "didn't know who he really was", so they must have been "hero-worshipping an imagined altruistic pacifist from their minds", projected onto Claude von Riegan. But I say, Claude contains multitudes! He is both meme lord and advocate of important ideals! He's also both the guy who spends several canon scenes and Supports convincing people who disagree with him, to understand his perspective, through persuasion, patience, and a growing openness, as well as the guy who is setting up poisons, prepared to cheat, and uses mind game banter on the battlefield. The important factor being that he will TRY to solve problems through negotiation, understanding, and non-violence, and save the violence, death, and war, until it's unavoidable. Realizing now, how much self control Claude held over his capabilities to be more underhanded, makes FE3H Claude even more admirable to me. He is both good/altruistic/benign AND practical enough to be ruthless, but only when it's absolutely necessary. And he will TRY his darndest to make ruthlessness a far necessity. He will sit patiently through negotiations, meet antagonism with good humor, still calmly explain his arguments, and put in the realistic work it takes to make people understand/compromise with each other, rather than solving disagreements with violence. He holds hope in everyone's capability/potential to become their best selves, selves that will accept diversity and diverse ideas, because that hope and his defiance against the world trying to prove otherwise to him, is his motivation for surviving. He NEEDS to prove to himself that the world/people can be good to each other, so he keeps believing in it and working towards it. A person like that---a character like that, I can't help but admire. Because regardless of what he or the world/people are capable of in their potential, he still stives for realizing the good version of it all. And I think that essential part of Claude is still present in 3Hopes, as well as FE3H. ...3Hopes Claude just stumbled a bit so his character arc would be more obviously visible this time. But he got back up.

EDIT 1:53 PM 9/1/2023: After being reminded of canonical 3Hopes quotes, backed up by screengrabs of Claude, I sometimes think about deleting/Privating this post. It's embarrassing to think about how I said that FE3H Claude was the same as 3Hopes Claude---even if I was JOKING. Because joking often requires simplification, that can easily be taken out of context. And I was not looking forward to that possibility, especially now that my opinions have evolved after more solid proof, filling in the holes of my fragmented, chronologically mixed, and incomplete experiences of 3Hopes' Golden Wildfire story. But there are lot of tangents from this post that I want to keep public on my blog. And whenever I remember this post, I do also remember that when I said "Claude is still Claude", I primarily meant his signature, more casual personality. And since his warm personality was a major reason why he became my favorite character, it was all that was important to me. Delving deeper into his FE3H Verdant Wind character, quickly built him into a favorite, but it was all started on that foundation of playful warmth, that I think didn't disappear from 3Hopes Claude. …It was a little tarnished, but 3Hopes Claude does feel familiar to FE3H Claude.

FE3H Claude is still better though, in so many ways. From his emotional maturity, to his character apotheosis, to his uncompromised ideals, and the execution of his dream. I think I need to state that.

This post is almost as embarrassing as that time I reacted to a Tweet that said Edelgard was committing genocide, and I posted that we should be criticizing her for her actual flaws instead of straw-man stuff. …Then I recently found out she wanted to also kill Seteth and Flayn, in addition to Rhea, pretty much genociding the Nabateans. (But aren't there still some Nabateans from the paralogues, who refuse to take human form? Unsure. But isn't the climax of those paralogues, trying to kill them to obtain items? Unless I'm remembering incorrectly again, I thought the only reason some still live by the end, is because they turn out so much stronger than the POV characters. Seems like they survive by luck, and the player tries to and expects to kill them.) So many Edelstans jumped on that old post of mine, to Like it, that it creeped me out, and I Privated/deleted it right away. All they heard was "don't criticize Edelgard", instead of "hey, let's criticize the large amount of bad decisions she made, instead of this one thing that---at the time---I thought was just a made-up criticism". I did not want to feed the Emperor's blind-following, and I still do not. Yikes.

[midori-laboratories]

Flowers and Ash, Chapter 6

Book 1, Calendula Chronicles series.

Story synopsis: When the eldest daughter of Edward Ashford accompanies her father and brother on a last-minute trip in 1968 to secure their legacy, an act of spite turns into a boon for the family. When tragedy and scandal strike, the survivors will have to be clever if they are to live long enough to pick up the pieces of their lives. Pre-slash/Gen.

Chapter synopsis: Fast-forward a few years, and Marigold has learned to quietly balance her condition with a thriving career as an Umbrella executive.

For what happened between 1968-1973, Paper Tigers has a series of short stories available regarding Marigold's development and her decision to keep her condition a secret.

CW for eventual violence, implied death of family member, isolation, dissociation, and violence

Spring, 1973

The phone on Marigold’s desk rang, interrupting her reading. A number of conferences on virology had just been announced earlier that month. Reviewing the internal candidates to present their work to the international community was key, but more so was the need to see what the competition was up to. After a year or so of shadowing the European branch executives, the department had begun to grow dependent on her.

Tricell Pharmaceuticals had a waning influence in the market these days, although they were still pulling in top candidates on the strength of their strong brand. Her information held that they were intending to release a large number of stock shares next month and that some of the major stakeholders could be willing to part with their shares for a price. Spencer had approved a budget for her to proceed with getting a firm foothold established. The repeated bemused questions as to how she had picked up an acumen for business so quickly were growing stale for Marigold, but he seemed more pleased in his own hiring choices than anything.

Correspondence courses helped. Developing something close to an eidetic memory helped the process along considerably. Alexander had set up an account with a buyer in London to handle specific requests, and subscriptions to the academic journals in the field, as long as the ones with greater reach. She had little time to actually go to classes, of course. The directors she had worked with had attempted to use her as a glorified secretary, in the beginning, snidely referring to her work as a ‘rich girl’s hobby’ when they thought she couldn’t hear.

Really, finishing school had developed some marvelous reflexes for holding herself behind a coolly polite facade. She had hardly destroyed any furniture that first year.

Then Spencer would call to congratulate them on nabbing a contract they’d barely started the work on. Earl Beardsley would ask around as to who was managing the account with the major investor that none of them had dreamed of approaching. Little by little, they realized that the pretty society girl with the fixation on hygiene, who never took off her gloves unless absolutely necessary, was there to work.

Her little liaison department had started small, but now she had at least one representative in each regional headquarters, and often inside the labs themselves - someone had to be nominated on the local level to herd the scientists along and interact with the larger world, she had reasoned to corporate.

Early last year, she had begun to beg off going into the London office, claiming a need to rest and recover from ongoing health issues. Her schedule itself had a good deal of travel throughout the year, slowly delegated out to others under her regime. Mornings were for reading, studying, and more often than not, adding to the growing set of ledgers charting the course and changes stemming from her exposure five years earlier. Some early hiccups - executives who tried to get too familiar with her, interns who had cleared away dishes, staff at restaurants she had briefly tried to frequent - had led to those exposed becoming sensitized to her particular moods. Lingering too long at her door. Distance was safer for her, and for them. The reclusive air of mystery generated by the young heiress, steering the fortunes of a rising star in the pharmaceutical industry, made meetings with her a hot commodity in the community.

While there was nothing she could do for those working around the manor, they had grown used to it, and she had the power to rotate people out without raising questions. The office didn’t have the strict social hierarchy that the manor did.

She frowned at the telephone, then checked the time. Lunchtime had come and gone, and thus her time was fair game for her secretary in London to access. A tray had been left on the tea table by the door. With a sigh, she accepted her fate and picked it up. With an apology, her secretary asked if she had a moment to be put through to a Daniel Simmons, who had claimed to know her from school.

A few of the Americans she went to school with had ties to the Family. While everyone who operated at that level seemed to ‘know’ secret enclaves of the ‘true’ power in the world, the scope of contacts that Daniel Simmons seemed to have access to had put the rest to shame. His family seemed to have a particular interest in the tools and levers being developed to maintain American hegemony. Marigold had casually courted that influence during her short, rather abortive rise to prominence in polite society, knowing that her father had been working towards would require investment, in time, partners. She had enquired into the state of a notorious and hotly debated bioweapons law, one that her brother had been fussing over as a potential roadblock to his future while discussing Alexander’s work on a high level. Daniel himself knew little, but he had taken on a speculative look as they spoke.

Connecting to taking the call, Daniel’s East Coast accent came through the receiver. “Marigold, hello!”

She smiled in spite of herself. Cheerful sincerity and cutthroat directness were a difficult combination to balance. She liked that about Daniel, at least from a distance. “Daniel! It’s been ages, hasn’t it? I hope you got my wedding gift?” The nuptials had been in the spring, not six months after the passing of the 1972 Bioterrorism Act in the US Senate. The Umbrella logo had been present on the stationery of the card attached.

“Yes, Luisa was quite thrilled. No one quite knew where you had gone for a while, but you seem to be doing quite well?” Speculative, seeking an opening.

She laughed. “Well, it seems like there’s a good amount of crossover from managing events to running a business, so I get by.” A polite, obvious lie that wouldn’t be challenged. Daniel was fishing for something but didn’t want to do it over the phone. “Tell Luisa not to worry. How is she, may I ask?” He’d married a classmate of hers, one of the few who hadn’t jumped ship when Marigold had been forced to ‘take a break' from her budding social career. Possibly because Luisa was one of the few who knew, and would be the most damaged, by the truth getting out.

They’d been so very close, after all.

They made plans for lunch when she was back in the office the next week, and offered a tour, graciously accepted. The line clicked, and her secretary came back on the line. An afternoon was cleared so she could manage this one personally, with a representative she favored for backup.

Citing a headache, she asked the other woman to call Spencer’s office for any relevant talking points on the Stateside facilities that she’d need to be brought up to date on. Her weekly call with the older man would be interesting. Those facilities had a secretive element that gave her chills, with their banal, family-friendly presentation of perfectly ordinary biochemical research. Despite being critical members of the founding team, neither Marcus nor Bailey, now in Africa managing the cave facility, ever seemed to come up in company discussions. Most knew who they were, surely, but their work? Almost never.

She smirked. Getting Simmons on board would mean more trips Stateside, and Marcus seemed to barely suppress a panic attack whenever she came to the little town with the cute name, rapidly expanding to house and support Umbrella personnel flocking to the region. As much as the exposure situation was concerning, that particular case held a delicious degree of schadenfreude for her. Knowing the man, his staff likely appreciated the break every so often.

---

With international dialing finally being standardized over the last few years, a party calling in from the South Pacific did better to call a residence in southern England, most of the time, and relay the necessary changes in country codes. There was often a delay of several seconds and the reception was often awful. Still, Alexander and Marigold had agreed to a strict monthly schedule in order to check-in. He had hemmed and hawed when she had chosen to start working from home more often, but the reports from Umbrella seemed to assure him that she was managing- thriving, even, given her strict limitations.

Which was good, given how the Antarctic facility had begun to kick into full gear. Starting out with a skeleton crew, he had seemed to be mostly working by himself. The letter that he had become a father (twins!) a few years ago had been startling, but he had seemed to mellow just a touch in the last few years. When she enquired about the mother he had ducked the question, claiming he wouldn’t say more over the phone. Their combined paranoia - it’s not paranoia if they’re really out the get you- had effectively allowed that topic to rest, but she would get answers. One day.

A journal article detailing the latest bioethical debate surrounding designer genomes had arrived at the home some months later, with a note scribbled inside it: ‘Not your samples, don’t panic at me. Not up for debate. Love, A.” A doodle of the family crest gave her a clue into his line of study- he really *had* gone after the old bird. Frustrated but sated enough with breadcrumbs, she would wait.

She snatched the receiver from its cradle before it could finish its first ring. The voice of a little girl rose above the static of the poor connection. “Aunt Callie! Father scared all of the crows outside and now they are aaaallll sitting outside and yelling!” The two-year-old girl’s speech was crisp and articulate, but clearly amused by the imminent bird invasion. A little boy wailed excitedly in the background. They had agreed to call her Callie in front of the twins- short for Calelunda, a Latinized Marigold. They would explain the truth one day. Maybe. If their little house of cards held.

“Sounds like a most murderous murder on your hands.” Marigold intoned solemnly. Little Alexia giggled, and Alexander came on the line. “Sorry, I had to close the curtains.”

“Yes, plotting murders is tiring work I imagine.”

“Oh for…” A burst of giggles could be heard in the background. “At least they’re entertained.”

“Are we still on for Christmas? When should I expect you all to come up here?”

Silence on the other end of the line. “Mar— Callie, I can’t. I’ve told you that.”

She firmly swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “I’ll come to visit there then. You said yourself, I needed to do a follow-up. I can’t self-administer all of it.” Not quite true; the healing factor had increased to the point where she could manage her own marrow extractions. The first attempt had been…rough. Follow-up attempts had been done well away from any of the household staff picking up on her distress. She timed these extractions on fair days, when even the beleaguered family butler would smile and allow that she could manage for an hour or two. “Besides, I think I need to adjust my medications. I’ve had a few…episodes that I’d rather manage away in the future.”

Alexander was still hesitating, and the children- well, Alexia, who was accompanied by the toddler-patois of her brother- started asking when aunt Callie was coming, could she come, could she meet the crows- and she couldn’t help but laugh. “I have some news that will give you some space to breathe, if that’s the issue. There’s going to be far more focused on the American labs in the next few years, if I play the next few weeks right.”

They went in circles on the issue for a few more minutes, and Alex finally agreed to a Christmas visit…with strict rules for distancing and managing contagion around the twins. “Preventing” as a goal had been slowly falling out of use in these conversations- her condition was a huge boon for a lot of things, but not for those within her immediate orbit. She needed to get her data over to him, mostly to verify, but also to get copies out of her own home. 

At some point, with Alexander living in such a remote location and Marigold creating an island of silence around herself, they had fallen into a black box strategy to maintain their respective secrets. If they wanted to keep to that, fine. But it would be better to make plans where they would be free to talk, and to do so before the twins started forming solid memories, and repeating everything they heard.

---

“Lady Ashford?” Poppy, the head housekeeper, peered around the door of the study. Marigold looked up and saw the thin woman had come with a glass of scotch on a tray, along with a small plate of meat and cheese. “There’s dinner downstairs, but if you aren’t hungry again you should at least eat *something.*” After five years, the woman still seemed slightly scandalized at the thought of her mistress not eating properly, albeit most resigned so long as she didn’t waste away in the study.

The consistency was comforting. Marigold gave the woman a weary smile. “Thank you Poppy, it’s been a very long day. I may come down in a bit.” She eyed the drink. “I overheard the oddest rumour, down in the village, about a special cup that gets used for love potions. Do I need to start washing my glasses in the bathroom sink? We don’t need that sort of attention.”

Poppy blanched, but stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “I’m sorry miss, we...” She looked a bit lost for a moment. “A few people on staff got married this past year, and that means moving a bit closer to the grounds. It’s better for everyone if their sweethearts...join. Not ‘till the wedding!” She rushed to explain as Marigold furrowed her brow in exasperation. “But, they find us a bit strange, I think. And, we get renters sometimes. Some of them ask a lot of questions about the manor.”

Fantastic. Either someone was sending minders, or someone else was poking around her business. A thought occurred to her. “Poppy, there are enough cults in the news - I really don’t want one in my backyard.”

The other woman shrugged, setting the tray down in from of Marigold. “Honestly, I think you have suitors. They seemed rather interested in your social life, for one. Hasn’t that Beardsley fellow been sending you invitations to visit his estate?” Poppy reflected her exasperation back. “Even if children aren’t an option, you know how to run a household - more than that, from the look of all of this.” Poppy gestured vaguely to the study. “Your da, rest his soul, had his work to fall back on after your lady mother passed, but that’s not particularly common. I could easily imagine a few silver foxes sniffing around to get a look at what the mystery heiress of the manor is up to, sure.”

Marigold grimaced. “I try not to think on it much,” she admitted. It had been five years since she had first fallen ill, and she still looked nineteen. So far it had been fine - a well-rested woman of means looking a bit fresher than expected was something that could be mediated with a credible makeup routine. She was starting to worry about the next five years, though, if this kept on. She’d be expected to be receptive to that sort of interest. She also didn’t want it anywhere near her if it hastened discovery. As much as she avoided the idea of what would happen in the future, it would have to be addressed soon.

Poppy, almost preternaturally sensitive to her mistress’ moods, brightened. “We had a delivery in the afternoon, by the way. Bit heavy, and it clanked when Luther brought it to the back. Why on earth are you ordering railroad spikes?”

Marigold blinked at her, then smiled. “Ah. Those are for the range - my knives keep breaking.” She stretched her legs out under the desk to abate the stiffness. “I’ll need the range cleared for a few hours tomorrow morning. I could use a bit of exercise.”

A normal woman would have blanched at the request. Poppy had been in her company for years - the dreaming look had left her eyes, but that was more a matter of the locals building up a tolerance to her presence. She nodded in agreement but seemed wary. “Of course miss, but really. Are you planning to go to war?” Her voice was light- the lady was always so gentle with the staff, so kind and careful. Poppy couldn't imagine such a thing of her.

The weariness in Marigold’s eyes deepened, and her next words would haunt Poppy for the next several weeks. “Planning? No. Whether it will come anyways is the real question.”

[rayofsunas]

pretending you’re not his s/o. [1]

A/n: happy Thursday!! whew, the week is almost over thank goodness. I hope you’re all doing well and thank you for being patient while I knock out these requests <333 Scaramouche’s is long for obvious reasons (I simp) ALSO thank you for 800 followers, I hit that milestone yesterday ahagdwcsh omg I’m growing so much wtf. thank you all :) <33 

Summary: the boys having to pretend their s/o is their secretary, maid, friend, etc. (someone other than their s/o)

Parings: Childe/Reader, Venti/Reader, Kaeya/Reader, Diluc/Reader, Albedo/Reader, Aether/Reader, Xiao/Reader, Chongyun/Reader, Xingqiu/Reader, Scaramouche/Reader, Razor/Reader, Bennett/Reader, Zhongli (fem and gn mixed)

Warnings: violence tbh (in Scara’s especially chile), swearing, crack, angst?, fluff

Word count: 1.7k

Requested by bestie @mintydump​ 

Refuses (tells people you’re his s/o and compromises the mission)

Childe: for some odd reason, he was sent out by the Tsaritsa to retrieve a man who was impersonating one of the eleven harbingers and you were to go along. she said men were much more willing to follow along, if there was a beautiful woman promising affection, etc. the only problem was, to win over the impersonator, you had to pretend to be Childe’s co-worker. he hated this idea, and the minute he left, he reassured you he would not call you his partner unless it was romantically. so hell yeah, he’ll compromise the mission and will return without the impersonator. he does not care, you’re not his co-worker. he’ll just be like, “sorry, next time send me alone.”

Venti: jean why... ofc you'd be great company duh, but why did you need to be his babysitter on this expedition?!? sure, Venti may look like a child, but this was stupid! he’s loose-lipped anyways, so he’ll accidentally let it slip to whoever that you’re not his babysitter and that you’re his s/o. he’ll be like, “oops.” with the biggest shit-eating grin. he doesn’t care though, you’re not his babysitter grrr. 

Razor: he also accidentally lets it slip you’re his s/o. hunters were after him and his friends, you included (you’re human, he considers you family though, therefore wolf) and he just yells, “don’t touch my mate, GRRR” before ya know, ending them lmao. it never crossed his mind that maybe it wasn’t in his/your best interest to say what you were to him. other hunters could be nearby listening and then target you at a later date. but, tbh he will worry about that another day. as long as you’re safe now, he’ll always be there to protect you. 

Refuses (he doesn’t refuse the mission, but he refuses calling you someone other than his s/o/he won’t say if you’re his s/o or not.) 

Kaeya: he definitely won’t be calling you anything other than his s/o but he also won’t offer this mission to anyone else. he’s more than capable and he can do this without you having to be in danger too. if someone asks who you are, he’ll just cooly respond with, “none of your business.” and move on. he’ll use that whenever someone asks who you are. even if someone gets a little pushy, he won’t use anything to clue them of your relationship.

Xingqiu: he was supposed to borrow steal a book from someone. he needed it for personal purposes lol; it would be great for his collection. and from his understanding, the person who has it wasn’t using it. though you were confused on why he needed to break into somewhere to retrieve it. you just happened to be with him when he broke in, he says it was an accident that you were there, but tbh it’s all part of the thrill and his mischievousness. despite Chongyun warning him that he shouldn’t have brought you, he still did. and when the person who owns the book whips out a sword and then asks why you were brought along if you seemed timid and unreluctant to steal, Xingqiu’s response is, “well she’s my girlfriend! duh.” cue deadpan. legit no hesitation.

Scaramouche: this mission is happening no matter what. the Tsaritsa’s life is on the line; highly trained assassins from all over Teyvat were sent into Snezhnayan territory to kill her. she could protect herself, but Scaramouche was feeling feverish for battle; he was one of the more unhinged and dangerous harbingers, she entrusted this task upon him. he never turned down a mission. plus, it’s your fault you’re even here. why are you here again!? he left you home in Inazuma days ago. also... who the hell was looking after your daughter if not you...?? when you caught up with him once he was well away from Liyue Harbor’s docks (so he couldn’t force you to get back onto the ship, smart) you told him you weren’t some housewife and you missed the thrill of adventure, so you snuck on the ship too. he wasn’t sure how you got on in the first place without alerting The Kanjobugyo (you’ve snuck out before, so he’s told them not to let you leave, though he assumed you used your former title of a Fatui to gain clearance) let’s just say he’s not happy you’re here, but he’s not turning back now, he’s determined to end this. in the end, he kills all the assassins (ofc). on your way back to Liyue Harbor, arguing about why you’re here (you’re losing), another assassin comes out of the shadows; intent on killing the both of you. he’d managed to grab the end of your hair in his fist and was going to slit your throat. Scaramouche will say, “don’t touch my wife, you insolent scum.” he doesn’t have a problem telling those who have a death wish of your intimate relationship, because they’ll die in the end anyway; therefore to him, it’d be like they never knew. 

Zhongli: not many people know you’re his s/o anyways, so if he has something to do, especially dangerous you’re not coming along. he’ll make sure of that. on missions or something, he refuses to call you anything other than his s/o, but if he can’t/wants to keep it private he’ll call you by your name. if you’re facing off against someone, he’ll be like, “y/n, please watch out, I’ll handle this.” he never wants to put you in danger, and tbh even someone threatening who knows your name is a risk, but if they ever found out that you were not only his s/o but the s/o of an Archon? yeah, you’d be on a hit list just like him. 

Accepts (he will do this and won’t ask any questions)

Diluc: sorry y’all, but once this is discussed in full and you agree, he’s going to accept it. this mission is important. it’s not often people travel into Inazuma, so he was very lucky his wine is sold there and that he has a popular, well-known name. shipments of his wine weren’t making it into the borders and he was to find the culprit behind it; someone was stealing obviously. you were to go along with a few other soldiers and when jean told him it would be safer to call you his maid and not his fiancé, he agreed. you wouldn’t be a target that way. if anyone wonders why he took his maid, he’ll just say, “she’s to travel everywhere with me.” don’t worry, after the missions over he’ll reassure you he doesn’t think of you as his maid, definitely not. he’ll apologize profusely. “please don’t think of yourself that way, you’re not my maid, I adore you very much, sweetheart.”

Xiao: he already doesn’t go around calling you his wife or telling just anyone, only the Archons know and the fallen Yaksha once knew (you’re one of the female Yaksha) so being talked into this wasn’t a big deal at all. before, he didn’t run around Liyue telling people about your relationship because you both enjoyed the privacy. but now, having to call you his fellow Yaksha who’s been working alongside him for centuries, kinda feels like he’s ignoring or not acknowledging you. sure, you do hold the same titles (Yaksha) and yes you’ve known eachother for centuries, but really, you’ve been together for centuries. if you’re not bothered, then he doesn’t mind. but if you are? he’s very apologetic and will repay you in some way. “you’re not a weakling, you have no reason to worry.” he needs to do this task, he’ll never turn away from the people and if you have to be known as your Yaksha title to him and others, so be it. 

Chongyun: it’s not that he doesn’t want to call you his s/o. it’s just he’s a quiet guy and never has told anyone about your relationship; only Xingqiu knows. so he has no problem introducing you as his friend to absolute strangers, especially if you’re okay with it. if you’re not and tell him, he’ll be sure to never call you a friend again. he’s really looking out for your safety, people can be two-faced as he’s learned from Xingqiu’s fantasy books. he wants to protect and keep you safe, and if you need to be addressed as his friends a few times then that’s how it’s going to go. 

Accepts (he’ll accept but he has so many questions on why and hates it)

Albedo: he will accept if there’s a logical reason. for example, if you absolutely need to come because you’re his assistant or something and can offer your expertise, he will accept. but if you have no need? you’re not coming, please stay home. the whole time, he hates this. yes, you’re his assistant irl, but you’re his s/o, not just an assistant. it makes him sick that he has to call you that tbh, even if it’s your occupation. but it’s necessary for a lot of reasons you two have already discussed. after the mission is complete, he’s never going to stop apologizing. “love, please do not take what I said to heart, you’re not just an assistant.”

Aether: he has to be talked into this a lot. once kaeya and jean tell him the seriousness and importance of seeing his sister again, especially after all they’ve discovered about her, he’ll agree. no matter how much he hates calling you his travel partner, he has to. his sister has turned to the dark side for whatever reason and this meeting already is risky enough. if she finds out you’re his girlfriend, who knows how she’ll react; she’s very unpredictable now, a little unhinged even. but it does hurt to have to call you that, let’s be real. he never wants to say or hear that ever again.

Bennett: he knows he’s quite unfortunate, so you going with him on expeditions is just stupid and you could face something awful due to his bad luck. you go either way though, what a good s/o :) he almost slips a few times, especially facing off against a few lowlife Fatui. but then you remind him of the dangers of doing that and you’re immediately just a friend/member of Benny's Adventure Team. pls, he hates this so much, like why can’t he call you what you are?!? he’s constantly like, “well why can’t I just say you’re my s/o already? they won’t harm you as long as I’m here!” ?!?!?!? HE JUST DID?!?!?!?!

2.25.21, rayofsunas 

[arvandus]

Icarus (Overhaul x F!Reader)

Ah yes, once again so late on this. This one gave me grief because the characters kept deviating from what I had originally planned. >.< But I worked through it, and here we are.

This is for the BNHarem's “On The Job” Collab for May, which you can find here.

Also, don’t judge my super simple title headings for my fics 😂 I always do these late at night when I should be asleep, so generic background with fancy text is the best I got to offer.

Trigger Warnings: 18+ ONLY!  1 instance of aggression/abuse (hair grabbing/pulling - nonsexual), unprotected sex (fun in fiction, dumb IRL), mutual masturbation, overstimulation, bondage via quirk abuse, degradation...

I think that about covers it.  Once again, I’m terrible at TWs so let me know if I missed anything or if anything is inaccurate. 😬 I just kinda write what I want and don’t really think about the labels when I’m doing it.

Pairing: Overhaul x F!Reader

Word Count: 8281

You hadn’t meant to get caught.  Really, you weren’t even sure what had possessed you to do it in the first place. Desperation? Horniness? Stupidity?

 All of the above?

 All you knew was that it was a poor decision brought forth by the gradual culmination of a single annoying, unavoidable fact: you were disgustingly, shamefully, sinfully attracted to Kai Chisaki.

You weren’t exactly sure how or when it started. There was no “aha” moment, no “big bang” of desire.  Instead, it was subtle, gradually coating your unsuspecting mind like layers of sediment. A shiver down your spine when he spoke your name.  The quickening of your pulse at the briefest of eye contact. And the ever-growing presence of intrusive, curious thoughts.

 Like his hands.  You always noticed them, the white of his gloves drawing your attention like a beacon whenever he was within eyesight.  They were dangerous hands, deadly weapons that you’d seen in action firsthand.  They were a thing to be feared and avoided.  But some strange part of you couldn’t help but wonder... what did they feel like?  You imagined they’d be soft and perfectly manicured, oddly delicate for such a violent man; gentle hands packed with destructive power.

 Or his lips.  They were always covered by his mask.  You never, ever saw him without it.  You imagined what your name would look like on them as he spoke, how they’d feel on your skin.  Would his lips also be soft? How about his kisses? Would they be cautious and controlled, or rough and hungry?

 It didn’t help that he was, in his own way, very attractive.  Just like how his dangerous hands were hidden within innocent white gloves, he was the devil hidden behind a pretty face. A sharp, beautiful jawline. Smooth porcelain skin. A crown of auburn red hair, closely cropped, but still long enough to run fingers through.

 You bet that part of him was soft too.

 The one part of him that wasn’t soft were his eyes.  They were beautiful, certainly… as gold as Heaven’s gates and framed in long, perfect lashes.  But they lacked the warmth of Heaven.  Instead, they spoke of cold arrogance. And if you stared into them long enough, you could see a barely contained disgust lurking beneath their haughty exterior.

 The disgust didn’t bother you, not anymore.  Everyone disgusted Chisaki, and everyone in the Shie Hassaikai knew it. He even made his closest confidants, some he’d known since childhood, wear masks so he wouldn’t share the same air with them.  

 He had you wear a mask too, of course. Simple and white, it covered only your lower face, much like his own.  That much you were grateful for, considering some of the masks you’d seen others wearing.  Your only explanation for the slightly less coverage was that your secretarial position made you a frequent point of contact for those outside of the organization.  You handled incoming calls, visitors, and scheduled meetings between Chisaki and his affiliates.  No doubt he wanted to ensure you were making a good impression while still operating within his mysophobic requirements.

 First impressions were everything to Kai.  Even more so since he took the Boss’s place under dubious circumstances. Still, his long-held reputation for extremist thinking and violence preceded him, and not everyone was in support of his unexpected promotion.  As a result, many people within the organization parted ways following Chisaki’s rise to power... and soon after they mysteriously went missing, never to be heard from or located again.  You had no doubt that it was Chisaki tying up loose ends by sealing loose lips.  After all, they say the mouth is the source of disaster.  And Chisaki valued confidentiality above all else.

 The message he sent was clear: adapt or die.  When given such colorful options, the choice on whether to go or stay became a simple one.

 So, you adapted.  As long as you followed orders, kept your eyes down and your mouth shut, you were safe. After all, it was better to be the right hand of the devil than to be in his path.  The only person you really had to fear was Chisaki himself, and you knew him well enough by now to know how to stay on his good side.

 And all in all, it really wasn’t all that bad.  Sure, you had to orchestrate the occasional clean-up when he disposed of someone who displeased him.  But that wasn’t much different than what you’d dealt with when you worked for the Boss, either.  Sure, the aftermath was messier and it happened far more often.  But violence was violence, and when you worked with the Yakuza long enough, you got used to it.  And despite the odd working conditions and ever-present undertone of danger, you remained good at your job. As such, Chisaki brooked no complaint. He tolerated you, and you tolerated him. Interactions were brief, words exchanged were polite and respectful even though they lacked warmth.  But it was just a job, right?  You didn’t need warmth.

 So why did you feel so dissatisfied?  Why did you constantly feel that something was missing, a longing you couldn’t entirely describe?

 The need only ever waned when Chisaki was in your presence, whether it was to discuss upcoming meetings or simply passing by your desk to get to his office. The dissatisfaction would melt away into a warmth that extended deep into your fingertips whenever the cold-hearted man bothered to look you in the eyes. And when he wasn’t looking at you? It was like being thrown into a winter blizzard, the aching cold returning to pull the corners of your mouth down into a silent frown.

 You craved his attention.  It was shameful and pathetic and you could only imagine the scorn he’d give you if he knew, but you didn’t care.  To be graced with the attention of a man who cared for no one brought a different kind of satisfaction.  The rare treats of attention Chisaki did grant you, whether intended or not, scratched an itch that only he could scratch.

 As time passed, the intrusive thoughts became more frequent, evolving from odd curiosities to shameless lust.  They began to occupy your dreams, forcing you awake with a hot ache between your legs. That was when you really began to realize how in deep you were.  It wasn’t just a simple “attraction.”  You wanted him.  At first you tried to deny and ignore, suppress and excuse.  After all, this was Overhaul.  Wanting him was like wanting the sun in your hand, and just as dangerous. Apparently though, it made little difference to your hormone-addled brain.  It didn’t help that the secretive, forbidden thoughts brought their own special addictive flavor of the taboo.  

 You began to act different in front of him.  Nothing too obvious, of course.  After all, you knew Chisaki wasn’t the type to indulge in desperate women. To be honest, you weren’t even sure Chisaki indulged in women at all.  All you did know was that whenever women tried to gain his favor through flirtation, Chisaki quickly and harshly shut it down.

 So, it was little things... the extra second to release a paper from your grip after he’d grabbed it, the lingering of a glance.  You didn’t so much change the style of your attire – skirts and blouses were already the norm for your position – but you changed the colors. A blouse that matched the purple feathery softness of his jacket, golden jewelry that matched his eyes.  Little messages waiting in secret to be picked up, yet subtle enough that they could be excused as nothing more than coincidence. It was risky, but the thrill of the game gave you an outlet for your roiling feelings.  In the end though, it made no difference.  There was nothing about you that seemed important enough to turn Chisaki’s head more than was professionally necessary.

 Which is where the state of things were when you found yourself alone in his office one evening. You had thought he was still working at the time. You’d stepped away to shred some incriminating documents and burn the scraps in the kiln outside.  It was your last task for the day, so you’d entered Chisaki’s office to announce your departure for the evening.  Except when you entered, the space was empty, with all traces of him gone.  No papers remained on his desk.  His gloves and plague mask were gone.  With an annoyed huff you had stood there, bothered that you’d missed him.

 Quietly, you walked to his desk, and gently caressed the mahogany wood.  It was immaculate of course, free of dirt and fingerprints.  You knew it would be because he cleaned his space every evening before he left, and you cleaned it every morning before he arrived.

 You sighed as you retrieved the paper towels and cleaning solution.  No harm in giving it a second scrub to save yourself some time tomorrow morning. It wasn’t like anyone would be foolish enough to enter this space without Chisaki present anyway.

 You should have just left it at that.  But as you walked around his desk to wipe the surface with the damp towel, your bare legs just below your skirt bumped his chair. Soft leather, still warm from where he had sat, greeted your exposed skin.

 That should have been your first clue.

 But your mental alarms never sounded.  Instead, you figured you had just missed him.

 You should have just left, but you didn’t. The warmth on the chair was enticing you. He was gone, right?  Left for the evening.  What harm could it do to indulge just a little bit?  With your heart pounding with excitement, you carefully sat down in the warm leather. Immediately the scent of Chisaki’s body wash and clean clothes cradled you.

 That should have been your second clue.

 But you were already too wrapped up in your enjoyment.  You relished in the sensations, leaning back as you closed your eyes.  It was the closest you’d ever felt to him, as if his very presence was there with you. Your desire purred deep in your gut at receiving its first nibble of satisfaction.  If you closed your eyes, you could pretend he was there, holding you.

 Your kept your eyes closed as your imagination began to take root like weeds in your mind, making your skin feel hot.  Your fingers grazed the inside of your thigh, dipping beneath your skirt while your heart pounded.  What if those were his fingers?  The vision combined with the sensations of touch and smell were delicious, and you wanted more.  You dragged the pads of your fingertips up even higher, your arm starting to push your skirt up with it.  Your legs parted easily, as you let out a shaky breath.

 You shouldn’t be doing this.  Not here of all places.  But there was something so sinfully satisfying about it, the danger only heightening the sensations.  After all, the reward was only as great as the risk it took to earn it.  And this was the highest risk you could take, short of literally throwing yourself at him.  Besides, it wasn’t like your fantasies were ever going to come true. Maybe satisfying yourself - right here, right now – would be enough to finally give you the peace of mind you needed.

 And dear God, did you need it.  You could already feel the heat growing in your loins, the moisture dampening your panties.  Your fingers finally brushed against the warm cotton fabric covering your sex and you let out a soft gasp.

 What Chisaki didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  He was gone, right?  And you were going to clean up any traces of your little visit before you left.  He’d be none the wiser.

 Your fingers slipped beneath your underwear to meet the hot, slick flesh of your folds, your clit already plump and ready with arousal. You knew it wouldn’t take you long to cum, but you wanted to enjoy this, to savor it as the only opportunity you’d get.  You certainly weren’t going to do this again.

 So, you teased yourself, fingertips softly dragging slow circles around your entrance before dipping in.  A shaky moan left your lips, the quickening of your breaths matching the racing of your heart.  In and out you dragged your fingers, relishing in your sleek, sensitive walls, occasionally breaking your rhythm to spread your juices over your swollen labia. You revisited your clit and stifled your moan with a bite of your lip as you began to slowly massage it with practiced skill.  It felt so fucking good.  The scent of yourself mingled with the scent of Chisaki, and you spread your legs wider, leaning back farther into the seat.  You could feel the surge beginning to swell, and you knew it would be soon. Vivid fantasies danced on the inside of your eyelids, and you were fully enthralled, fingers skimming fast circles over your swollen bud as your other hand began to massage your breast through your blouse.

 “Fuuuuuckk....Kai....” You moaned.

 “What do you think you’re doing?”

 The familiar voice made you jump so hard, you nearly fell out of the chair as your eyes flew wide open.

 There was Kai Chisaki, staring down at you from across the desk – his desk. And there were you, sitting in his chair, spread eagle.

 Your breath was knocked out of you and you felt light-headed with panic.  You caught sight of the shoji screen behind him, wide open to the evening air.

 FUCK. Of course.  You forgot to check outside.  He must have stepped out for some fresh air before returning to his office.

 Shit. Shit, shit, shit.  You hadn’t heard him enter.  How long had he been standing there??

 “I asked you a question.” The man seethed through his plague mask.  His gloved hands were clenched into angry fists, and his eyes... eyes that you’d always craved to see you... well, they saw you now, and you were terrified.

 Immediately, you closed your legs and stood up from his chair. Your mouth babbled soundlessly before your voice finally came, tight and small.

 “I’m sorry.  I’m so so sorry.”

 “I didn’t ask for an apology.” He hissed.

 “I know, I’m sorry.” You blubbered.

 “Come. Here.” Chisaki demanded.

 You obeyed, struggling to adjust your skirt as you approached him from around his desk.

 “I didn’t tell you to touch your clothes.” His tone was quiet and constrained yet sharp as a razor’s edge, each word uttered with meticulous precision.

 You stared at him in shock as you slowly removed your hands from your rumpled clothing.  His eyes raked over you, top to bottom, and left you feeling... exposed.

 “Look at you...” he grumbled.  “Disgusting.”

 His mask was unnerving, blocking the lower half of his face and keeping you from being able to fully read his facial expression.  His gold eyes were threatening – predatory like a wolf.

 He was going to kill you.  You knew it was coming. He’d killed others for far less.  But you weren’t ready for it.  You didn’t want to die.

 You dropped to your knees and bowed low in front of him, shrinking yourself to fit beneath his harsh glare.  “Please, Mr. Chisaki-“

 “Overhaul.”

 “Overhaul!” you corrected, as you bowed your head lower to the ground. “Please forgive me.  I meant no disrespect.”

 “No disrespect?” he sneered.  “You debase yourself in my seat, my place of business, and claim no disrespect??”

 His left hand reached forward at lightning speed and grabbed you by your hair, forcing your head back until you were looking him straight up at him.  You winced against his harsh hold on you, yet clenched your teeth in an effort to keep your silence.  He glared down at you as his next words came out through what you could clearly hear as clenched teeth.  

 “Clean it up.”

 With that, he shoved you away from him. On shaking, clumsy legs you pushed yourself to your feet and made your way back to his desk, your skin hot with shame and your ears ringing.  

 You did as he commanded, grabbing the cleaning solution and spraying his seat before carefully, meticulously, wiping every inch of the rich leather.  Minutes passed in silence as you made sure that no spot went unnoticed, even ensuring that the table was once again cleaned as well. By the time you had finished, Kai’s temper seemed to have dwindled to a simmering flame.  His hands were no longer clenched in fists at his sides. Instead, they were tucked deep into his pockets as he supervised you.  It did little to comfort you though... you knew that Chisaki’s reflexes were faster than you could dodge.  He’d catch you before you even reached the door.

 Not that you’d try to.  You knew better.

 When the chair was finally pristine, you disposed of the last of the soiled paper towels in the wastebin and returned the cleaning solution to its home. The task was done, but you didn’t stop. You picked up the trash can with the intent of disposing of its contents; you knew Chisaki wouldn’t want it sitting in his office.  

 It was all to buy you time. Time to figure out what to say or what do to convince Chisaki to spare your life.  But you didn’t even make it to the door before Chisaki’s voice halted your retreat.

 “Where do you think you’re going?”

 “I... I was just...” you stammered.

 “I didn’t give you permission to leave.”

 You swallowed and set down the trashcan.  He approached you slowly, until he was a mere few inches from you. He was so close that you could smell his cleanliness and see the pupils of his eyes dilate as he stared at you.  Slowly, he grabbed the mask that was covering your mouth and nose and removed it from your head.  You stopped breathing.

 There was something... electric in the air.  You could feel it on your skin, making your hairs stand on end and your flesh tighten with goosebumps.  His eyes peered at you intently, taking in every subtlety of your face.  Your lips, your eyes, your skin... and beneath the weight of his stare, you could feel the fear start to transform, replaced by something else entirely.  Something familiar that’d been plaguing you for months, lighting your veins with fire and threatening to incinerate you if it wasn’t released.  After all, part of his allure was the danger. And he hadn’t killed you yet, which meant... something.

 Chisaki’s gaze began to wander beyond just your face, taking in your still rumpled clothes.  The top couple buttons of your blouse were undone, exposing the skin of your neck and the edges of your bra.  Your skirt was still askew, and although he couldn’t see it, you became acutely aware of your still-damp underwear trapped between your folds from when you had hastily closed your legs earlier.  You stared back at him, waiting for him to do something, say something.

 And that’s when you noticed it... a faint flush across his pale cheeks, peaking out from beneath his mask. His chest was rising and falling with each breath, and it was as if he were contemplating something, silently weighing a decision in his closed-off mind.

 A strange bubbling sensation began to build within your chest, foreign and oddly out of place.

 Hope.

 Finally, Chisaki spoke, his voice unusually calm considering the trouble you were in.  “Follow me.”

 Not one to disobey him, you did as he requested as he made his way over to his desk and sat down in his chair.  Then, with an open hand, he gestured at his desk.

 “Sit.”

 Confusion.

 “W-What??” you stuttered.

 “I said sit.” He replied.

 You did as Chisaki commanded, fitting yourself between his legs and his desk before hopping up slightly onto the surface you’d just cleaned. You were right in front of him now, your hands in your lap and your ankles crossed as you realized just how perfect this arrangement was for him to see directly up your skirt.  You worried your lip between your teeth as you watched him assess you.  His elbow was resting on the armrest of his chair, his fingers supporting his face along the jawline as he stared at you with his head cocked at an angle. If it were any other situation, you’d say he looked almost bored... but the glint in his eyes spoke of something else entirely.

 “Continue.” He stated.

 “What? What do you mean?” you asked.

 His eyes stared at you knowingly.  “You didn’t get to cum, did you?”  You shook your head, stunned at his words.  “Continue.” He repeated.

 “Right here?”

 “Where else?  It was good enough for you earlier.”  His tone dropped slightly as his eyes narrowed.  “Continue.”

 Your heart pounded in your ears as you uncrossed your ankles, and with shaky hands began to trace your fingers up your thighs just as you had done before. Except this time, the experience was entirely different. Instead of closing your eyes like before, you kept them open to stare at your observer, watching for his reaction.  So many times you’d fantasized about this... about his eyes being on you and only you... and you weren’t going to miss a moment of it.

 With your eyes locked on each other, you inched your way up to the space between your thighs, your legs parting to grant you access.  Chisaki didn’t look down.  Not right away, at least.  Instead, he continued to watch your face, his body still and silent.  With the heat of his gaze on you, you finally reached your center where your warmth greeted you.  It was still slick from earlier, your fingers sliding easily along your labia as you began to tease yourself for the second time that evening.  You let out slow, shaky breaths as your fingers rubbed slow, lazy circles over your glossy lips.  

 Chisaki still didn’t break his gaze from your eyes, and a part of you wanted him to.  You wanted him to acknowledge what you were offering him and know that he liked it. A small, devious smirk found itself on your lips as you pulled your fingers away from your pussy to show him the evidence of your arousal stretched across your fingers.  It caught his attention just briefly, eyes flicking to your display, before he watched you lick the glistening strands from your fingertips, the soft sounds of your sucking filling the empty, quiet room.

 Chisaki’s eyes narrowed, and the smirk on your face widened.  Soon your fingers were back between your legs, massaging your clit again as your skin began to feel flush with heat.  Round and round the pads of your fingers went, with painstaking slowness that you drew out just for him.  You wanted to show him how good his presence made you feel.  You wanted him to see how badly you wanted him.  Your lips became more swollen, your clit more sensitive. Already you could start to feel the tension build.  It was almost too easy, your body ready to surrender at the drop of a hat.  But you weren’t going to let it happen, not yet at least.  You wanted to draw this out, to savor it in case it never happened again.

 With half-lidded eyes you stared at him as you parted you folds for him, fully exposing yourself. For the first time, his eyes drifted from your face to stare directly at your desire for him – your tight hole open and waiting, every inch of your swollen cunt drenched in glistening arousal.  Chisaki was captivated and you felt your blood surge.  You needed more. With your fingers still spreading yourself open, you dipped your middle digit into your tight heat.   Pleasure bloomed within you and a soft groan vibrated from the back of your throat. With each draw of your fingers, your breaths quickened, your back arching as the tension began to build.

 You struggled to keep your eyes open, to watch Chisaki as you brought yourself closer to orgasm, but it became increasingly difficult. You were single-focused now, chasing your much-needed release with each plunge of your finger into your soft depths.  Your body accommodated it welcomingly, and so you added a second, once again relishing in the renewed stretch that caressed your inner walls. The faster you pumped your fingers, the better it felt until your nerves were singing that familiar hum.  You flowed seamlessly into the final phase, your wet fingers leaving your entrance in favor of rubbing hard, fast circles over your clit.  The finish line was in sight now as your body sprinted with tense, aching muscles and breathy moans.

 You came with a gasp, back arching and thighs twitching as you rode out your orgasm. As you neared the end of it, you dipped your fingers in one last time as your walls gave one last final spasm of pleasure.  Gradually the wave of your euphoria calmed, returning to the gentle, lapping waters of desire that still moved within you to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

 You opened your eyes to see Chisaki still staring at you silently, his eyes once again locked onto yours. The flush across his cheeks was very much apparent now, yet his posture remained unmoved. Still, out of curiosity, you dared a quick glance down to his lap to see his hand strategically placed over the bulge in his pants.  Was he trying to hide it?  Because he was failing.  Or was he stroking himself through his clothes when you weren’t looking?

 “Again.” He ordered.

 Your eyes bulged.  “Again?”

 He didn’t bother to answer, instead waiting silently.  You were a bird trapped in the golden cage of his eyes as your mind struggled to recover enough from the hazy aftereffects of your orgasm to think straight.  He wanted you to do it again?

 At first you were hesitant. You knew your body was still sensitive from what had just transpired.  But then again… your eyes stared at Chisaki’s crotch again as he waited for you.  No doubt he saw you staring, yet he did nothing, said nothing.  It almost felt like an invitation… or a dare.  Do it again and see what happens.

 Fuck. You’d already gotten under his skin... might as well see how deep you could go.

 Between your orgasm only moments before and the juices still coating your pussy, the sensations of your touch at first felt almost... numb.  Except for your clit.  That part was still sensitive, making your muscles twitch and your breath hitch in your throat as you moved your fingers over it experimentally. You kept your touch gentle at first, careful to give your body time to respond as you reawakened the lust that still lurked in your core.  With dark eyes you began to stroke yourself for him again, pulling soft pleasurable moans from your gently parted lips.  It was definitely more intense this time, and you could already tell that this next orgasm would surpass the one before it.  Still, you drew it out as you watched Chisaki.  Or, more specifically, watched his free hand.

 It didn’t take long... you watched his fingers grip around his hard-on through his pants, his hand slowly moving up and down his restricted length.  You bit your lip at the sight and immediately felt a generous wave of hot arousal bloom between your legs, your nipples hardening achingly.  It wasn’t enough to capsize you into ecstasy, but it certainly pulled a needy whimper from your lips.  

 You dipped your fingers into yourself, feeling your walls flutter as you imagined what it would feel like to have Chisaki inside of you.  With each curl of your fingers the heat grew, like the sun reaching its zenith.  You wanted it.  You wanted to cum so badly.  But you wanted to see him even more.  So, you neglected your puffy clit in favor of unbuttoning your blouse just enough to grant you access to your sensitive breasts.  You pushed aside the cup of your bra to free the plump flesh, the bud at its center tightly puckered.  With deft fingers you massaged the soft skin before rolling the nipple slowly between your fingers, pulling more soft gasps and gentle hums from your lips.  The more you groaned and teased yourself, the more Chisaki stroked himself as he watched you, his eyes glowing with hunger.

 It wasn’t until you began to lose yourself, your eyes beginning to drift closed as you moaned and whined to the ebb and flow of your pleasure, that your patience was finally rewarded.

 You could hear it over the sounds of your lewdity – the ‘click click click’ of a zipper being pulled down.  You opened your eyes, not even attempting to hide your eagerness, as Chisaki freed his cock from his pants.

 It was beautiful just like the rest of him; long with a slight curve, its tip red and shining with precum.  Veins stood out in relief, trailing his length like vines, thick and beautiful. You swallowed at the sight of it, desperately wanting to know what it would feel like to have that in you.

 You hadn’t realized your own movements had frozen until Chisaki’s smooth voice cut through your thoughts.

 “I didn’t tell you to stop.” He said, as cool and professional as ever as if he didn’t currently sit before you with his dick in his hand.  

 He was gloating, you knew it... your stunned silence at the sight of his cock stroked his ego just as much as you touching yourself for him did. And you knew that, above all else, Chisaki loved to have his ego stroked.

 “Y-yes Mr. Chisaki...” you whispered, before your fingers began moving again.

 You continued to stroke and play, penetrate and rub as you watched him take his long cock in his hand and begin long, steady strokes.  Even now, he still kept his gloves on, and somehow that made his every move even hotter.  He was no longer propping his face up with his other hand.  Now, he was sitting up straight, eyes on your needy cunt as you put on your show for him.  You could see it, the tension in his temple that came and went, hear the ragged, quick draws of his breaths through his mask.  Your own arousal grew in response, egged on by him searching for his own sweet relief at the lewd sight of you.  It blossomed like a watered seed as you drank in the man in front of you – his hand pumping, precum dripping.

 It was the push your sensitive body needed.  You came surprisingly fast, your orgasm crashing over your body with greater intensity than the first.  Moans and gasps ripped from your throat as your body spasmed, and you made no effort to quell your cries, too consumed by your own pleasure.  With eyes squeezed shut, your hips rocked as you grinded yourself against your hand, your entire body singing in unbridled bliss.

 You were given no respite.  As soon as the pleasure eased just enough for your hips to still, Chisaki spoke.

 “Again.”

 Your eyes, still closed, flew open to look at him with incredulity.  You weren’t even recovered yet, your cunt still twitching with the aftershocks of pleasure. You knew that touching yourself without some sort of break was going to lead you down a jagged, torturous road of overstimulation.  It made your legs start to close up instinctually in denial.

 Your mouth moved silently before you pushed the words out.  “B-But... I can’t....”

 Chisaki’s eyes narrowed, his brows lowering... and along the edge of his mask, you could see his cheeks lift slightly.  He was smirking at you. Cruelly.  

 “You can, and you will.” He said.  A wave of his fingers told you to reopen your legs for him, and you did, slowly, as if you were a puppet on strings.  “Again.” He repeated.

 Chisaki took a moment to remove the glove from his stroking hand before giving his cock a couple more languid strokes.  You stared at the exposed skin in awe.  It was everything you imagined it’d be... pale, smooth, nails clean and perfectly trimmed.  Between his hard cock and his ungloved hand, you stared in shameless longing as an excited chill coursed down your spine.  Maybe… maybe if you were good…

 You swallowed the dryness in your throat and returned your fingers to your core, flinching as you brushed against your sore, overstimulated clit.  Chisaki returned to pleasuring himself as you performed for him, his hand pumping steadily.  Watching him masturbate to you was delicious.  He didn’t rush, instead opting to taking his time, his hand moving smoothly from base to tip, occasionally pausing to run his precum over the head, the shine glinting in the light.  You subconsciously licked your lips, wondering what it would taste like. Would you lick it from his tip? Or his finger?  Maybe both?

 You matched your pace with his, letting his own strokes guide your hand.  The synchrony made your pussy ache more than ever, even as your body screamed for freedom – a break from the constant wave of stimulation that you were subjecting yourself to.  It made you feel closer to him, more connected - as if he were a part of your pleasure without actually touching you.

 But dear God, you desperately you wanted him to touch you.

 He continued his strokes, slow and easy.  Whether it was for him or for you, you weren’t sure... you weren’t even sure if he was aware that you were pacing yourself with him.  His speed gradually quickened, the muscles of his forearms tensed and twitching as he pumped his hard cock with growing fervor. It was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, his eyes starting to roll back in his head as he began to lose himself to the pleasure, legs twitching slightly as he came close... Your heart pounded with excited anticipation as you dipped your fingers into your core, feeling your walls flutter with need.  It was happening... he was going to cum...

 But he never did.  Instead, his pace began to slow as his eyes refocused on you. That was when you realized….

 Chisaki wasn’t trying to cum yet… he was edging himself.

 Maybe he was waiting for you.  Or maybe he had his own agenda.  But either way, it was clear to you that he was delaying his orgasm.

 The hypocrite.

 Still, you wanted to please him. You wanted to give him want he wanted, because then maybe he could give you what you really wanted.  But no matter how hard you tried, no matter how fucking hot the entire situation was, your own orgasm evaded you.  

 It was more than just the repeated orgasms and overstimulation.  The real issue was that your fingers no longer satisfied. Not after seeing what he had to offer, and certainly not after seeing how horny you made him.  You wanted him to touch you, to put his hands on you, to feel his cock in you... A frustrated whine escaped your lips as you felt your resolve break.

 “Please, Mr. Chisaki...” you begged.  Chisaki’s eyes left your open pussy to lock with yours.  Their golden depths burned holes into you, and you licked your lips under the heat of his stare. “Please touch me...”

 Chisaki froze mid-stroke.  “Touch you?” He said it as if the idea repulsed him, yet his eyes betrayed him as he looked back down between your open legs.

 “Please,” You begged.  “Don’t you want to?”

 His brow was deeply furrowed, and you knew he was having his internal debate, just as he’d had before.  After all, what you were asking was no small order.  You knew how he felt about touch.  No doubt he would have already been balls deep in you had it not been an issue for him.

 But that was why you begged. And pleaded.  And groveled.  Anything to make him set aside his golden rule, even if just for one night.

 “Please...” you whined one last time.  “I’ll do anything.  I need you, Kai...”

 Something about you using his given name did something.  His eyes widened slightly, his flush reaching down to his exposed neck.  Then his eyes narrowed, as he stood from his seat.  You watched with a mix of excitement and trepidation as he carefully removed his jacket and loosened his white tie.  He towered over you, his stare pinning you somewhere between his contempt and his hunger as he undid the cuffs of his black shirt and rolled up his sleeves to the elbows. It made your pussy throb and your heart pound as you stared back at him, completely vulnerable.  He stepped forward slightly, filling the space between your legs with his presence.  Even just the graze of his pants against the inside of your knee was enough to set off fireworks on your skin, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.  His cock was still out and hard, mere inches from your tight, needy cunt, and it took every ounce of willpower not to scoot down and close the gap between you.

 You waited.

 “Touch you...” he muttered through his mask, his voice low.

 Chisaki’s eyes raked over you, taking in every inch of you.  Your trembling, parted lips and large pupils; your exposed breast with its perky, hard nipple; your swollen and glossy cunt framed in ruined underwear that was carelessly shoved aside; the sweat from your thighs coating his desk.

 “So fucking filthy.” He breathed.  The profanity sounded strange on his lips, almost more like a prayer than an insult.

 He stared at one of your thighs as he slowly placed a warm, gloved hand on it. You reacted immediately, gasping at his touch, and his eyes darted to yours.

 “...And needy.” He added.

 From your peripheral you could see his other hand grip his cock and begin to pump it. You tried to watch... you wanted to watch.  But the heat of his hand on your thigh made nearly everything else fade away until it was all you cared about.  Your breaths began to come in hot pants as your body trembled beneath him.

 “I didn’t realize that you were so desperate for me.” He said calmly as he continued to stroke himself.  His gloved hand squeezed your soft flesh until you were moaning from the mixture of pleasure and pain. “Pathetic.”

 You were pathetic.  But you didn’t care.  You’d say anything, do anything, just to have him keep touching you.  And if he wanted you to beg?  To cry? To humiliate yourself to earn his cock?  You’d do that too.

 His hand slowly eased its grip as it began to move up, up, up until his thumb nestled in the crook of your thigh, just shy of your sensitive, swollen folds. Your hand immediately made way for his as you laid down completely onto his desk, your world spinning.  A warmth fell over you like a blanket, every fiber of your being pulsing at a low hum; you were a glass vibrating at a frequency just shy of shattering.

 Chisaki’s voice floated through your haze like a faraway song carried on the wind. “You were so eager at first.  So willing to shame yourself – shame me – to get what you wanted.”  He scoffed. “Now you can’t even do as I say.”

 You could feel his thigh twitch against yours as he began to pump himself faster. His cock was so close to your pussy that it was torturous.  It made you want to cry.  You could feel the warmth of fresh juices begin to flow from you, coating your entrance in invitation, as you prayed to all the gods above and below for him to enter you without mercy.

 But it never came.  And his hand never ventured further.  Slowly, your thoughts trickled back ever so slightly, and you realized he was waiting for you to speak.  Slowly, around a heavy tongue, you made clumsy words.  “I... I’m sorry...I’m trying... is hard...”

 Chisaki tsked.  “You’re afraid.  Afraid of pushing past your limits. So now I’m going to help you.”

 His gloved thumb crossed the threshold to your swollen bud, and your world exploded into color as a sharp zing of pleasure erupted from between your legs. You cried out, your body spasming, hips writhing to escape his touch. It was too much...

 “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

 Then he did something you didn’t expect – his bare hand released his cock and slammed down onto the desk.  The surface rippled beneath you, transforming until smooth arches of dark mahogany wrapped themselves over your arms, effectively pinning you down.

 Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, your breaths coming out in quick, panicked gasps.

 “Kai!” you protested.

 He bent over you and grabbed your jaw in his gloved hand, his plague doctor mask inches from your face. “You wanted me to touch you,” he whispered.  “Now you’re going to get what you asked for.”

 The look in his eyes wasn’t as controlled as before.  Sure, the disgust and hunger were still there.  But there were more emotions now, peaking through the cracks of his practiced façade.  Anger, contempt, fear, desire, longing... and something else; something wild and unhinged.

 Something within him was on the verge of breaking, of being set free, and you were the one responsible.

 He straightened himself up and returned his gloved hand to your sopping core, his cock once again in his bare hand.  His thumb found its home again, nestled firmly against your engorged clit.

 He wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t slow.  Instead, his thumb ran swift, relentless circles, the digit igniting every frayed nerve. Each swipe had you crying out as wave after wave of sharp, jagged pleasure assaulted you, without so much as a second of recovery in between.  And as Chisaki raced you towards that inevitable cliff, his own hand pumped himself hard and fast.  His strokes began to become erratic, his composure slowly slipping as you began to unravel before him, your whines and cries luring him to follow you to the point of no return.  You could feel his own legs began to spasm against your inner thighs, his hips beginning to jut forward with each drag of his palm along his hard shaft.  The gap between your two bodies began to close, until you could feel the tip of him brush against your core. In that instant, you came undone beneath him with his name spilling from your drooling lips.

 The temptation was too much.  He entered you as you came, his cock burying itself within your clenching walls with a single thrust.  Your legs wrapped around him instantly as your body exploded into a mess of tears, shrieks, and trembles.  With one hand on your hip and one working your clit, he fucked you through your orgasm as you cried and panted, his own grunts joining your one-person symphony as you felt every fiber of your being shatter with white hot pleasure. It was all-consuming, disorienting.  You weren’t even sure you were a person anymore.  You could feel nothing else, see nothing else except the man inside of you, hovering over you, filling your existence.

 It didn’t stop. Even after you were a blubbering mess, tears streaming down your cheeks, your thighs and cunt sore, Chisaki kept going, his cock reaching new depths as it dragged against your spasming, sensitive walls.  His breaths were heavy, each pant labored until he ripped his mask off his face.  It was like a switch had been flipped, changing Chisaki from a man in control to nearly animalistic.  Teeth bared, sweat beading across his forehead, golden eyes absolutely feral. His thrusts took you past your orgasm, unrelenting, and you cried and babbled for him to stop, it was too much, your body couldn’t take anymore.  But even as your string of incoherent words begged for the end, your body spoke of a different kind of freedom, your legs tightening around Chisaki’s waist in an effort to pull him impossibly deeper into you.

 Chisaki snarled, releasing his hand from your cunt as he continued to fuck you, and removed his remaining glove with his teeth.  Suddenly, the white fabric was being shoved into your mouth, gagging your broken words behind its white cotton that smelled and tasted of you.

 “Shut up.” He growled.

 You could see the hives breaking out across his damp, flushed skin now at the contact, but it no longer seemed to matter to him.  And it didn’t matter to you either.  You were wrapped up delirium, your eyes glossing over and rolling into your head with each drive of Chisaki’s hips. Your hips couldn’t even keep up with his thrusts anymore; his movements were too rough, too fast.  All you could do was lay there and receive him as he pounded you without restraint.  That familiar knot was forming again, a dark beast built from the broken pieces of the last. It was a terrifying thing, a formidable presence that you felt building within yourself that would surely decimate you.

 “This is what you really wanted, isn’t it?” Chisaki grunted through clenched teeth. “You wanted me to fuck you senseless, to ruin this tight pussy of yours like the greedy, selfish bitch you are.”

 His words washed over you and you gave the faintest of nods, your mouth still gagged.

 “So, you’re going to take what I give you. You’re going to cum when I say, as often as I say.”  His cock hit deep as his thumb gave a final press against your clit. “Now.”

 You screamed around the cotton in your mouth, back arching and arms straining against the wood trapping you as the tension finally erupted.  It tore through your veins, making your fluids gush and your pussy clench like a vice around Chisaki’s pumping cock.  Not a moment later, you heard him groan followed by the hot sensation of his cum coating your walls.  It only enhanced the waves of pleasure still wrecking you and your pussy milked him greedily as he emptied himself in you.

 The comedown felt like it would never arrive. Your nerves still sang too loudly, the aches echoed too deep.  But finally, Chisaki’s hips stuttered to a stop and your own body lay limp beneath him. It felt like you were submerged under water, every sense dulled or muted, as you stared hazily at the ceiling.  Chisaki was still in you, his dick twitching sensitively each time your body gave a weak aftershock. You had thought he would pull out, leave you there like the ruined mess you were to go clean himself up.  Now doubt he’d return to his senses any moment and be repulsed by what transpired.

 But he never did.  Instead, he braced himself over you, his heavy, hot breaths coating your exposed skin as he settled through his own comedown while you warmed his cock.  You felt the desk ripple beneath you and suddenly your arms were freed from their restraints, the wooden surface back to its original state.  A moment later, he filled your view as he leaned over you, and you had a brief moment of panic, wondering if you were next. Was he going to overhaul you now? After all, he got what he wanted...

 But he never did that either.  Instead, he removed the glove from your mouth as his eyes traced over your face, marking every feature, every nuance.  Your parted, chapped lips... your glossy, sweat-stained skin... the exhaustion in your eyes...  His thumb came up to wipe away at the tears drying along your cheekbones before running the smooth pad over your lower lip.

 Then he did something you didn’t anticipate, something that surprised you above all else. He bent down and captured your mouth with his, his wet tongue gliding into your stunned, open mouth.  It was strangely slow, uncharacteristically tender, and entirely unexpected.  The fog you’d been swimming in a moment before lifted slightly, and you began to kiss him back, your arm wrapping up around his shoulders before tangling your fingers into his damp, auburn locks at the base of his neck.

 Whatever it was, it was short-lived.  He brought a hand up to grasp the hand you had around his neck, his fingers twining with yours as he placed your hand back down on the desk, pinning you within his hold. He pulled away from the kiss and stared down at you with a dark smirk tugging the corners of his wet lips.  And his eyes... his eyes burned gold like the sun. Not a beautiful, gentle gold that kissed open delicate flowers and melted winter snow.  No, this was a force of unrelenting destruction, the kind that burned deserts, scorched forests... and melted wax wings.

 You were Icarus, fueled by foolishness and arrogance. You’d flown too close, fueled by a false sense of confidence that you could handle whatever it was that lurked within him, that your lust was enough to match his.  But you were quickly learning you couldn’t.  His fire burned too hot, his hunger too deep. He was going to devour you until there was nothing left.  And really, what did you expect from a man who denied himself every human urge in his quest for perfection?  

 The sun could never be controlled.

 And Pandora’s box can never be closed.

 Slowly, he lowered his face next to yours until you could feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

 “Again.”

[lesbianakaashi]

The Forgotten Shounen: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

This is not a “Why you should watch/read khr” or anything like that. This is just me going into the deep dive and throwing my findings at you. I’m making this because khr used to be my favourite series when I was 15 (I had plushees, posters, tradingcards, the art book etc) and now as an adult I constantly find myself baffled at how unknow it seems to be.

1. Okay first what is khr?

Katekyo Hitman Reborn! or just Reborn! is a series by Akira Amano which was published in Weekly Shounen Jump from 2004 to 2012 (with 42 volumes) and got an anime adaption which run from 2006 to 2010 on Tv Tokyo (with 202 episodes and one OVA).

2. What’s it about?

Khr is a parody of the italian mafia and plays in a world where the mafia is heavily influencial. The protagonist is the japanese middle schooler Sawada Tsunayoshi who is known as “No good Tsuna” because of his failing grades, general weak and cowardly personality and weak physics.

He becomes aware of the mafia world when a 2 year old baby called Reborn arrives at his house claiming to be the greatest hitman and declaring himself his home tutor. Reborn was send by the 9th head of the Vongola famiglia who is ready to retire and looking for a new heir. Which of course, is supposed to be Tsuna and now it's Reborns job to shape him into a worthy sucessor.

Tsuna rejects the violence of the mafia world and refuses the position as the 10th. Thanks to Reborn and his general craziness Tsuna meets different people and starts to make real friendships. Reborn wants 6 of those friends to be Tsuna's future guardians, basically a group of people which will be closest to him in the vongola famiglia. Tsuna might have no interest in those positions but the friendships he builds with them become really precious to him.

Reborns arrivial also brings in the enemies of the Vongola family which leads to Tsuna being forced to engage in battles. Generally Tsuna openly avoids fights and prefers to run away but will put himself in danger for his friends' sake or because of something Reborn did.

Through out the series Tsuna matures and gains strenght but he never becomes a power fantasy. He's just a guy with many flaws who grows through the human connections he makes.

Personally I think the relationship between Reborn and Tsuna is one of the best student teacher reltaionships in all of manga only topped by Mob and Reigen from Mob Psycho 100. Especially the last arc really underlines their unique relationship to me.

Furthermore, khr offers a new and unique battle system: The flames. I'm not gonna go into to too much detail but the general idea is that one fights with their dying will flame which basically turns off your the savety switch so you can fight with everything you have. The flames are seperated into different categories such as: sky, storm, mist, rain, sun, lightning and cloud and have different attributes asigned to each one. Tsuna's use of the sky flame and his transformation when using it is still one of my favourite shounen transformations to this day.

3. What happened?

The series did really well and then not so well over the course of its serialisation. After the manga got an anime adaption it increased in populairty and video games, light novels, and other products such as CDs were created based on the series. Reborn is one of the best selling series of Weekly Shōnen Jump and has sold around 30 Million volumes overall. It was and still is very popular in Japan but rather unknown in the west.

According to the article "The Rise and Fall of Weekly Shonen Jump: A Look at the Circulation of Weekly Jump" khr was the 10th bestselling series in Weekly Shōnen Jump, with a total of 7 million copies sold in 2007.

This number increasing to 15 milion in 2008. Which placed khr into the 4th best selling series of 2008 in Japan.

Between 2008 and 2010 those sales declined but still kept strong with khr as the 6th top selling manga in 2009, 8th best selling in 2010 and then 24th best selling in 2012.

In November 2014, readers of the Da Vinci magazine voted khr number 17 on a list of Weekly Shōnen Jump's greatest manga series of all time.

After the anime came to an apprupt stop in 2010 for unknown reasons the manga sells took a visible hit. (Apparently the studio wanted to put the anime on halt because they were busy with other projects and give Akira Amano time to develop her story but I couldn't find any source for this claim) Furthermore, the rushed last chapters of the manga in 2012 declined the popularity of the series even more. There's no offical statement as to why the manga was ended in such a way but it's reasonable to assume that Jump either cut it considering the decreasing sales or Akira Amano choose to end it for personal reasons.

Nontheless, Tsuna not being included in Jump Force (a fighting game where you can play as different characters from Jump) in 2019 even tho he made it in earlier Jump Stars games also underlines the decreased interest in the series.

Rumors on a reboot or anime adaption of the last two arcs surface from time to time but are genereally unlikely. Artland the studio which made khr has gone bankrupt around 2015-2016. It might be taken on by another studio but rather uncommen especially with such an old series.

4. Art style

The khr anime ended over 10 years ago and the old art style might not be appealing to newer audiences.

Especailly because the anime adaption follows Akira Amanos old art style which heavily developed within the years. Here a picture comparing characters in the new art style:

A modern anime adaption in the new art style would be aesthetically pleasing. It would probably look similiar to Psycho Pass since Akira Amano did the concept art for this series.

(My personal art student hot take is that both art styles are unique and fun. Up to this day Akira Amano still has my favourite art style and even if the amount folds in the characters clothing is a little extreme I love it dearly.)

5. Criticism

The show is not without flaws and even if I greatly enjoy it it wouldn't be right not to adress them.

Daily Life Arc:

A lot of people view the first 20 to 25 episodes as fillers and quickly lose intererst in the series. This is due to the fact that Akira Amano inteded the series to be a gag manga and focuses the first chapters on world building, character introduction and comical narratives. It's rumored that the decision to develop the story into a battle shounen was made because the sales weren't doing well enough at first. So the first chapters/episodes may seem titidious but are necessary for the story and the development of the characters. The tonal shift from a more gintama like gag manga to a darker battle focused story can also be offputting to some viewers.

Either way a lot of people blame this arc when discussing why khr never got an english dub or didn't end up on Toonami. I've also read that the manga never finished serializing in the north america. However, it finished in other western languages like german and spanish.

Censoring:

The anime censors A LOT. From Gokudera's smoking habit, Yamamoto's whole character arc which deals with heavy themes such as depression and suicidal thoughts. The general bloodiness of the manga was censored and sometimes whole chapters and characters were left out even if those were important to the devolopment of others.

Filler episodes:

Out of the 202 episodes the anime has around 29 filler episodes which makes roughly 14 %.

Sexism:

Even if Reborn was written by a woman most female characters are rather flat and their storylines often tied to a male character in one way or another.

Genereal things:

Khr, like many other long running series, is sometimes criticised for a lack of world building or unpopular narrative choices.

6. Hope?

Khr isn't exactly dead. As stated before the series is still very popular in Japan and still gets new merch pretty regulary. There are also petitions floating around for a reboot or a new anime season but those never get a lot of traction. Furthermore #Reborn2期アニメ化 (#Reborn2ndAnimation) used to get some traction on twitter not too long ago. Last year the Anime News Network did a poll on which anime the readers would like to see a rebooot of and khr placed second.

Either way here's a collection of recent khr things I could find.

- In 2018 a new bluray set was released in north america

- The khr stage play reached yet another new season

- A mobile game was released last year

- Currently ongoing anime cafe event called "Concerto di Vongola"

- Last month there was an event with the former VAs and stage play actors where they discussed their favourite khr episodes.

- There has been an increase in blind reacts to the openings on youtube which might bring in a new fan base. The biggest one I could find had around 90k views and was made in 2019. On this note check out the soundtrack. The first openeing Drawing Days by SPLAY still makes me go insane (but I'm biased of course)

There also renewed hope for a new season/reboot because Shaman King, Inuyasha and Bleach got anounced for new seasons after a long hiatus. It's important to keep in mind that the circumstances for those series are differnt tho. For example bleachs new anime is often tied to the immense success of the gatcha game.

7. Conclusion

Khr is a series which used to be a flagship for Weekly Shounen Jump and is deeply beloved by it's fans, especially in Japan. It influenced other shounen series like bnha. It would be nice to see it gaining a bigger fanbase in the west :)

[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 1

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever. 

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.3k chapters: 1/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. Open the read more and CTRL + F, search “content warnings” to skip to detailed trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter.

Cleaning rich people’s vacation homes hadn’t been your dream job growing up. You had such high hopes when you were a kid, well into your teens, of becoming a zoologist. It had started off like most kid’s dreams—in kindergarten you wanted to be a veterinarian. That grew into wanting to become a herpetologist, but then you wondered, why limit yourself? As a zoologist you could be around tons and tons of animals, studying their behaviors and ecological impacts. It was about half way past your fourteenth birthday that you realized none of your dreams mattered.

You woke in the middle of the night to a crippling pain in your stomach, an unbearable heat boiling under your flesh. You must’ve been screaming, because your parents burst in frantically—only to stop dead upon stepping past the threshold. At the time you had no idea why, but it had been shock. Omegas were rare nowadays, more and more betas were being born while the number of omegas dropped. It was a point on contention; betas could breed with alphas, rendering the omega almost obsolete but alphas, especially ones with packs, wanted omegas.

Personally, you figured that evolution had decided to take things into its’ own hands. Everything about omegas spat in the face of adaption; they were small and delicate, hardwired to obey alpha commands even to their own detriment, experienced a full weeks’ worth of being completely and utterly incapable of survival on their own—

Well, unless one acquired (through whatever means necessary) methods to prevent it that one. Heats, a homegrown threat guaranteed to commit acts of violence at least twice a year. By the time your first had worn off, your parents had already jumped into action. They had three different packs bidding on you. Your mother had been bubbling with glee, talking about how wonderful it was that she had produced an omega when she herself was a beta. Your very existence was about to rocket them into both fame and fortune. So, you ran away. That same night.

It had been shockingly easy to locate illegal suppressants. They taught all about them in school, how they were horrible and taxing on an omega’s physiology. Suppressants masked an omega’s scent, prevented their heats, and (in your opinion) were the best invention of the twenty first century. You couldn’t have given a flying fuck about what negative impacts they might’ve had on your body—death would be a reprieve. Unfortunately you’d yet to have any of the widely touted negative effects (effects that you were pretty sure were made up to keep omegas afraid and compliant) and so you found yourself cleaning rich people’s vacation homes just over the Canadian border.

You’d been living out of your car since you first bought it at sixteen, for five hundred dollars. You gave a creepy beta a blowjob to get your license forged. It was the best investment you’d ever made (not that you had the opportunity to make many) and the clunker was still getting you from point A to point B and that’s all you needed. You had to move constantly, staying in one place too long meant people started to notice you, especially in the small towns you frequented in Ontario. But there was so much forest surrounding you that every once in a while you could just drop off the face of the earth, camping so deep in the woods no one would stumble across you. It made staying anonymous so much easier.

That was actually the current plan, after you finished cleaning this last massive cabin; to abscond into the woods for a while, until you’ve faded from everyone’s memory. You won’t return to this town for at least a year. You’ll spark recognition when you return, but not enough for anyone to consider you more than an outsider in their close-knit community. The kind woman who lets you work for her cleaning company so sporadically will remember you when you ring her, the only person particularly thrilled to hear you’re back for a few months.

You do an excellent job and you do it fast��� you can thoroughly and perfectly clean a 6 bedroom mansion by yourself in less than 10 hours and you were paid under the table so you didn’t require overtime, which Mrs. Hunt loved (there was no tax to be taken from an unreported cash payment though, so it was a fair trade in your opinion). You would work yourself to the bone, 10 hours a day everyday there was work available for at least three months and then dip without any expectations until the next time you returned, when she was gushing over the amazing reviews your work had gotten the last time you were around.

It was symbiotic existence—you were paid well for your efforts, more than enough to sustain living out of your car for months at a time, and your performance drove her online reviews into the 4.9 stars range and made it feasible for her to raise her prices. Mrs. Hunt didn’t ask any questions either, even when you requested to only work alone and couldn’t provide any identification beyond a driver’s license.

You were finishing up the kitchen in what was definitely one of the nicest places you’d ever cleaned when your phone went off in your back pocket. It made your skin prickle. Very few people had your number and you couldn’t think of a single reason they’d ring you instead of texting unless something was wrong.  You propped the mop against your shoulder and dug out the phone, frowning at Mrs. Hunt’s name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so glad I got a hold of you! How are you doing?”

“I’m well, Mrs. Hunt,” you answered, your voice coming out semi-robotically as you strained not to sound panicked while continuing the conversation like a normal fucking person, “I’m just about done here, I was finishing the dry mop in the kitchen when you called and then all I need to do is pack up.”

“Oh perfect! I was calling because the owner just rang me, apparently some of his packmates will be arriving a bit earlier than anticipated—potentially within the next hour. Something about someone getting caught up at work, I’ll spare you the details. But if you’re almost done then you’ll probably be gone by the time they arrive.”

“Certainly Mrs. Hunt,” you’d immediately started frantically dry mopping the moment the words ‘within the next hour’ escaped the woman’s mouth, phone clamped between your ear and shoulder. “I’ll be gone in the next few minutes.”

“Now even if you aren’t its okay,” the concern in her voice meant that your own had betrayed you, waivered when you responded without your knowledge. “I always warn the owners that if they arrive before the scheduled time that there’s a possibility the house won’t be done and/or there might be people actively working in the house. You won’t get in any trouble, okay?”

“R-Right, thank you ma’am,” you swallowed heavily, finishing the last swipe across the tile in the kitchen and hustling back into the foyer. “I really won’t be but a minute though. I always keep all of my equipment put away and together if I’m not using it, so I really just need to pack up the mop.”

Which you’d already shoved into the rolling cart you picked up each morning that held all of your cleaning supplies provided by the company.

“Don’t forget your bucket too!” Mrs. Hunt sounded smiley again, “I’ll leave the key under the mat so you can stow your cart tonight. Have a good one swee—.”

“You too!” You might’ve hung up a touch too soon to be considered polite, shoving the phone back into your pocket and running into the kitchen. There was no time to dwell on manners. 

The mop bucket was sitting on the counter, already washed and dried and waiting to be put away. You’d started keeping your things completely put away at all times the same day you’d been accosted by a homeowner who arrived home earlier than expected while you were still trying to pack up. You’d tried to put your notice in that night, a couple of years ago now, but Mrs. Hunt begged you not to—promised it would never happen again. This must’ve been her best attempt at preventing it. At least you had already planned to leave town tonight anyway.

You nearly sprinted back to the cart, haphazardly tossing the stupid bucket on top and wheeling it towards the huge front doors. You’d just stopped to reach around and grab the handle when the knob turned and the left door was pushed open, nearly hitting your cart.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he was a beta, curly haired and dark eyed with pale skin, wearing a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Did I knock anything over?”

“N-No, sir,” you pulled the cart back a few steps, nearly trembling with the effort it took not to blast right past him, especially when you noticed him carefully scenting the air. "The house is all clean, I was j-just leaving.”

“Thank you, for getting everything clean for us. We don’t get to come out here as often as we like, I’m sure the place collected a lot of dust in our absence,” he smiled, looking both parts shy and calculating to your well trained eye— and you had no time for such consideration.

“Not too much, h-have a nice night!” You could feel your pulse racing and that was bad. Even the good suppressants, the ones that most of your money went to, had difficulty completely masking the scent of panicking omega.

“Did you use bleach?” The question caught you off guard and you almost jumped when he put a hand on your cart, glancing through the array of chemicals.

“Y-Yes, in the bathrooms. I wasn’t informed of any sensitivities—”

“Nothing a little fresh air won’t take care of,” you wanted him to stop looking at you like that, like there was some pale flash of recognition behind his eyes. “Would you go open the windows in the bathrooms upstairs? I’m afraid my nose is pretty sensitive, several of my packmates are similar.”

You did not like that his nose was especially sensitive and you hated that his packmates were similarly afflicted. It felt like getting punched in the face with a fight or flight instinct, your brain immediately demanded that you leave the cart and run past him—fuck the cart, fuck the job, you could find something else.

“Oh, and do you have the key to the front doors? I might as well get them from you now instead of us having to go down to the office tomorrow.” Your hand immediately dove into your pocket, yanking out the single key and dropping it in his palm. “Thanks— and the windows? Sorry, I just can’t go up there until it’s aired out.”

He wasn’t a huge man but the way he filled the doorway made you second guess trying to run past him, even if he was greying at the temples and looking a little rumpled. It was strange, you wouldn’t usually have such an intense reaction to a beta, but something about him was vaguely unsettling. So instead of trying to make a run for it, you turned on your heel and forced yourself to calmly walk up the stairs. There were four massive bedrooms in the cabin, each with its own bathroom and you’d need to go through and open the windows for the three bathrooms that had them. It meant darting into huge bedrooms, dodging expensive furniture and knickknacks and trying not to dirty the freshly mopped and swept hardwood floors in the process.

It took about five minutes but you felt like you’d run a marathon, your heart was pounding and there was sweat at the nape of your neck. All you wanted was out of the stupid fucking house, immediately. You dashed down the stairs and turned the corner, seeing your cart right where you left it. The door was still open too, but the beta was no where to be seen. You immediately darted forward, grabbing the cart tightly and beginning to push it past the threshold—

You were stopped in your tracks at the sight of two unnecessarily broad alphas. Both were tall, the white man standing just an inch or so taller, with a full beard and blond hair. The black alpha had facial hair too, a cleanly edged goatee to match a faded cut. Both were incredibly attractive and putting off waves of pheromones, to the point that your head floated for a moment.  Your lips clamped shut on a whine, instinct trying to push through and alert the two powerful alphas of your presence. Instead you ducked your head and continued out the door.

“Hi there, sweetheart.” Your gaze snapped up, immediately locking with a pair of dark brown eyes. “You the housekeeper?”

“Yes sir,” you answered quietly, stopping short in front of them when neither moved out of your way. “Sorry to have been here so late. Have a good evening.”

Both were still smiling, still pointedly not moving.

“My name’s Steve, that’s Sam,” the blond’s nose twitched, just slightly, and you realized he was very discretely scenting the air. “Nice to meet you. Do you live in town?”

“N-No, please excuse me,” you nudged the cart forward just an inch but they still didn’t budge and panic began coursing through your blood with renewed vigor, “excuse m—”

“Your scent is… confusing,” Steve’s head tilted to the side, “I don’t mean to be crass, of course, but I couldn’t help but notice.”

“It’s always been this way,” the response was automatic and your brain began shutting down all unnecessary functions; you were about to have to run and hope your omega physiology would make you faster than them.

“You smell almost like an omega,” he continued, both hands coming to rest on his hips, emphasizing the width of his shoulders. “But not quite?”

“I’m a beta.”

“Are you sweetheart?” Sam’s voice was a rumble, his head tilted to the side while his dark eyes burned holes into your skin.

The tone an alpha used with naughty omegas was deliberate and tightly controlled, the same as a command or a purr or a growl. It was on purpose, an attempt to nicely draw out the correct response. He wanted you to admit you were an omega, to tell them the truth of your own volition. The fact that your hindbrain desperately wanted to comply was a completely different issue—one you didn’t have time to address right now.

“Positive,” you breathed, clenching your fists tightly around the handles of the cart for just a second before deciding to leave it behind; you’d never be coming back here, there was no reason to worry about preserving your job.

Your eyes were quick and indefinitely perceptive. Being an omega was one step up from being a prey species, it came with inherent instincts that made you especially good at predicting behaviors. After all, an omega was only as good as their ability to please and soothe packmates. One of the single upsides to being an omega was that you were fast though—fast enough to outrun most alphas. And you only needed to go about a hundred and fifty feet, once you were in your car you could certainly get away. So the second you realized the pair was about to shift, moving to face each other more than you, you darted around the cart and dodged to the left.

It wasn’t your fault, honestly. There was no way you could’ve known you weren’t dealing with normal alphas. The blond was so fast that he almost moved between blinks—one moment he was still, the next he’d wrapped his arms around you and tugged you back into his chest. His arms were like steel, one wrapped around your torso to keep your arms pinned to your sides while the other carefully held your chin. Your hindbrain was screaming now, submit, submit, make alpha happy and you bit down on your tongue to hold in the whimpers, the omega sounds your throat was trying to produce.

“Shhh, shh, calm down,” it was half a tone away from being a purr and you continued to squirm while you still could—an alpha command was coming, you could feel it in your bones.

“Let Steve smell you,” Sam was rumbling instead of talking again, a similar half purr to how Steve had started speaking. "Everything’s okay, omega.”

You felt a nose nudge down your neck, towards your scent gland and you bared your teeth at the man in front of you. “I’m not an omega!”

“You smell like omega,” Steve’s breath ghosted over your skin and you fought a shiver. "Sort of. It’s buried, under… beta… sour beta?”

“What sort of suppressants are you on, sweetie?” You startled as the beta from earlier emerged from the house, wiping his hands on a dish towel absently. "Are you cutting them with anything? Heroin, or coke? It’s okay, you just need to tell me.”

“Tell Bruce sweetheart,” Sam coaxed, automatically moving to roll up the sleeves of your shirt, evidently looking for track marks. "Where do you get them?”

“I’m not on suppressants!” Your voice was almost a shriek at this point, desperately imitating the behavior of an angry beta rather than a terrified omega. “I’m a beta! Get off of me!”

“Okay, okay, here then,” Steve’s arm around your torso tightened, the one on your chin beginning to work its way down towards your jeans. "There’s only way one to tell for sure.”

Shock and fear and humiliation; an array of emotions swarmed through your body as his hand popped the button but those were the three you could identify and you immediately started thrashing your legs—he was going to check if you had an omega ridge and then everything would be over. It was a defining physical characteristic that couldn’t be passed off as anything other than what it was: a boney protrusion meant to catch on an alpha’s knot so they could be locked in place. In females it was found in the vagina, prominently featured directly before the g-spot so a knot would cause persisting pleasure. For males it was similarly positioned next to the prostate.

“Calm down, calm down!” Sam crooned, hands coming up to cup your face as while Steve’s slithered down the front of your jeans and into your panties. "It’s okay sweetheart, no matter what. Whatever Steve finds, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll keep you safe.”

The thrashing was doing nothing but tiring you out, you’d already been intensively cleaning for the past 9 hours without a break and it certainly wasn’t dissuading the hand slithering between your folds. You bit down on your tongue harder, until you drew blood to prevent the whimpers—you couldn’t make that stupid sound, you’d never make that stupid, pathetic, whiney noise, you couldn’t. Not even when a long, thick finger penetrated and sunk knuckle deep. Not even when the pad of said finger brushed your g-spot before hooking onto the ridge, tugging gently in a way that would’ve caused blinding pleasure had you not grounded yourself with the pain of biting your tongue.

“There it is,” Steve’s voice was soft, finger carefully running the length of the ridge. "A nice deep one too.”

“How long have you been taking suppressants?” Bruce prodded quietly, coming to stand next to Sam. “I need to know what sort of damage we’re looking at.”

When you didn’t respond Sam sighed, fingers brushing gently over your chin as he directed you to face him. "Please don’t make us use an alpha command, sweetheart. We just wanna take care of you. Tell Bruce how long you’ve been on suppressants, please.”

You regarded the handsome alpha for several short moments before spitting a mouthful of blood directly into his face.

 content warnings: assault, noncon vaginal fingering

edited 7/9/21 - still on hiatus

[sweetpickolwarrior]

The Three Times You Didn't Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 1)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

TW - canon-typical violence, description of fighting, blood, gore, swearing, sexist language, description of injury, descrioptions of anxiety/panic attacks

Fic summary:You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing.

Chapter Summary: The first time Jaskier and Geralt heard you sing. This was not planned. Tis a big deal for you.

Jaskier had grown used to Geralt's constant pining for silence, his rumbles of discontent and years of “shut up” and "fuck off" while he plucked away on his lute and let melodies fall from his lips. Though he knew that under all the furrowed brows and bitter growls, the witcher appreciated him.

Truth be told, coin had often been halved, quartered or suddenly 'stolen' away from lords, knights and nobles alike rendering them incapable of paying the witcher even after monsters had been slain...that is until the ballad had started to follow him like flies after shit. Since then, some noblemen would actively seek him out for any twig crack in the woods to then invite the trio to a throwaway dinner party so they could show off the white-haired champion if they caught word of him within three towns.

Naturally, he resented the very idea of lingering about these people any more than he already had to, being talked about, sung about, danced about, treated like some sort of trophy workhand for these tittering idiots. And of course, Jaskier leapt at the opportunity to perform for the more rosy-cheeked, satin clad crowd, and you often just went along with whoever won the squabble, enjoying either a night of Jaskier singing atop a table in a tavern or atop a table in a banquet hall. (Though the latter often left you with a heftier rattle in your pouches and warm beds, baths and linens for a few more nights.)

How you would have wanted that a few months ago.

About six months earlier

It was bound to happen sooner or later, travelling with two men and often having to settle for a bed on the ground. Not that you often minded, but that night, after a longer than necessary altercation with a couple of alghouls, you had crashed into your bedroll, not bothering to clean the blood off your face let alone off your arrows and out of your clothes.

You woke that morning to aching bones and a musty stench you wanted to be rid of as soon as possible.

The grass was dewy and sweet-smelling as you turned to the other side, letting the sun stroke your cheek good morning. You saw roach tied to a nearby tree and had concluded that your companions had wandered to the next town for supplies. You had been running low on a good few essentials for a while now and were grateful that your companions had let you slumber away, knowing you didn't fuss too much over anything they would get from the market.

You opened your pack and grabbed two lumps of soap before heading to the river that had lulled you to sleep that night. The first, a dry lye soap made simply and quickly, good for getting "blood, shit and grit out" as Geralt so elegantly put it. And the second, still wrapped in wax paper, the last few crumbles of a soft, fragrant lavender soap you had made yourself. You had saved so many dried flowers from where you could, hung and dried them on the side of your satchel, scraped the bottom of vials clean for drops of various oils into your little bottle, olive, sunflower, even a little of Jaskier's special coconut oil. Cooking a soap over the campfire was a waste of wood in Geralt’s eyes, but you could tell the soft scent calmed him as it wafted through the air that night.

You smiled to yourself as you finally stepped into the river, the edges warmed by the kiss of the sun.

You peeled off your trousers and walked further in, letting the water lap at your thighs growing used to the cold quickly. Rubbing the soap into your trousers, you watched as the blood slowly swirled out in front of you and saw as your fingers started to go from angry splotches of red and black back to that natural, warm brown. Your shirt stuck to your skin and hair, caked crimson. After all this time, you still could not believe how much things bled. Your mind flashed back to the alghouls from last night as your fingers worked through cleaning your formerly beige overshirt.

It should have been easy. Just two. You were only there to watch how Geralt wielded his sword for a few, usually weak opponents. His silver sword heaved thick strokes through the air, his feet danced around his opponents and you let your arrows loose from afar, aiding your friend as another got too close for your liking. The specially made silver tips slicing through skin and bone, causing a shriek. It turned and caught another arrow in its shoulder, bounding toward you. Frantic, you simply held out your next arrow in your hand, ready to impale it as it drew near enough. But you froze. Was this one of the ones you had to get in a specific place? Drive it through the heart? The head? Why was it still running? Surely two silver arrows should have been enou-

shhhlllck

Geralt unseamed the creature through it's abdomen from behind and drew his sword up and through it’s head as its blood gushed over you and the last few gurgles escaped what was left of its throat as it crumpled before you in a horrid mess.

"You're too slow up close. It would have had you."

He was right.

As talented as you were with a bow and arrow, able to get a man in the eye from half a field away, your experience with close combat was laughable. Usually, you had time to think, plan out your shots, you didn't even have to deal with blood until you retrieved your arrows. You probably would have had your face ripped off. Or your throat torn out. Or something.

You place the sopping shirt next to your trousers on the bank and scurry back with the lavender soap in your hand. Once you've thrust yourself back into the gentle river almost chest level, you start to hum a soft tune, trying to ignore the murky red all over, instead focus on the light scent of lavender and the gliding of the soap through your hair. You close your eyes and let your mouth fall open, a melody plucked from a memory now dull and faded, the sound clear and bright.

Losing yourself in the rises and falls in the melody, voice opening and notes falling out as your muscles remember what it is to have sound flow and gush from your belly out into the world. No body, no mind, no cold, no blood-

All of a sudden, a loud brightly coloured heap burst through the foliage and breathlessly plunged into the river, flailing erratically. You attempt to preserve your unmentionables with your hands, your lilting voice turning to shrill yelps. You submerge yourself lower, shoulders barely peeking out over the disturbed waves. In contrast, the intruder, exploding out of the water as frantically as he fell in, spluttering and coughing “Y/N! You can - cough - sing! You can sing!! - cough -”

Oh, thank the Gods.

“JASKIER! GO AWAY!”

“But Y/N! -cough - You sounded lovely! I-”

“I’M NAKED JASKIER FUCK OFF!”

Jaskier slapped his hand to his eyes immediately and scrambled back up the bank, stumbling as he managed to regain his footing and ran off, his back to you whilst still covering his eyes.

You had not expected them to be back so soon. Truth be told you had not known how long they had been gone when you woke but then why hadn’t you heard them coming back?

Not focusing again. Fuck! You know you can’t afford to get lost in your own head again, stupid girl. What would have happened if it had been someone else hearing a-

He heard. Geralt too probably with his enhanced senses.

Fucks sake.

It had just been so long since you had let your voice be free. You hadn’t let your companions hear you so much as hum on your travels as you were sure that it would make you come across as a silly little girl. With Jaskier it was different. He is a poet, a bard. He had been studying it for many years whereas you had pipe dreams growing up like every other lass in the village. You sang in school with a wide smile and a voice that rang like a bell, you sang on holy Fridays with fingers interlaced and the plume of your mothers rouge on your cheeks. Nothing compared to the grand halls and festivals that Jaskier would perform at. Gods you hoped he wouldn’t speak of it again. You were sure that they would take you even less seriously now.

You’ll show them

Just go back to camp and pretend it didn’t happen. Say there was a girl wandering nearby and Jaskier should go and chase her before she is lost to the woods forever.

If this carries on, get yourself killed or someone else hurt. You know that Geralt can’t let that happen. He’ll probably drop you off in the town and wish you luck because you’ve become more stress than your skills are worth. You get it, you do.

It will just be so hard getting used to being alone again.

Your head is spiralling again. You need this to stop. You think of the meditation that Geralt showed you. You can't meditate, you're still naked in a river! Tears escape your eyes as you just can’t organise your thoughts into any kind of action. You can't run naked through the woods, you can't turn up in your sopping wet clothes, you’re no help on hunts, you’ve let your biggest comfort turn into your biggest embarrassment because you just can’t think straight.

“Y/N! I - I’m not looking! I have your clothes you left them back at camp”

You look up to see Jaskier was inching closer, eyes covered by one hand, your dry pair of clothes draped over his other forearm. He was inching closer, his toes probing to see if he had gone too far. Once his foot had felt the sploshy bank he stopped and held his arm out. You were sure that he had not heard you cry but you didn’t want the lump in your throat to give it away. You rose out, plucked the clothes from him and he promptly scampered off, one hand still across his eyes for some reason. You let out your breath, finding it had slowed due to holding it in for so long. You wrung out your hair as much as you could before flinging your trousers and shirt on with shaking hands. You were sure you could sleep right on into the next day.

At camp

Jaskier had fumbled back to camp, drenched and squelching till he could hear the soft wooshing of roach’s breath. Geralt was sat, sorting the things they had brought from market.

----------

Jakier was stumbling giddy from when he had first encountered the river, his mind rushing as he made his way through the trees.

That voice! Hesitant, yet rich and full and resonant. Thick with the weight of being tied inside her chest, it would take some practice to let her voice flourish and fly like he knew it could, but that was no matter! With his brief but busy year being a professor at Oxenfurt under his belt, he scoured through the plethora of exercises and scales that he had stored away. Her warm tone, he thought, would contrast beautifully with his chipper and airy voice.

In his head flashed scenes of the two writing together, performing together, studying together. Jaskier, Poet of the continent accompanied by-

“What did you do Jaskier”

The voice came firm and gruff, as opposed to the often exasperated or gentle (rarely was there anything in between) tone his witcher friend usually employed when he was addressing the bard.

Jaskier’s ear wide grin faltered as Geralt towered over him.

Knowing the flirty way of Jaskier and seeing him dripping before him, hearing the shout of “IM NAKED” and honing in his ear, he was presently hearing the soft gasps of Y/N, he could not help but draw himself to conclusions, knowing that human men, even those whom one trusted could turn to be worse than the monsters in his quests. When the fathers and trusted lovers of innocent women could turn as quickly as the page of a book, what was a loose and often unashamed bard that he happened to know for a few years?

He grabbed the young man by his soaking collars

“What the fuck did you do”

Somewhere between a growl and a roar, the words seethed from Geralt as he heard Y/N’s sharp breaths mix with sobs she was trying to silence.

After that night, he knew his small friend would need some time. They had both been exhausted, his head pounding from the potions he had used, he didn’t speak much to her apart from some abrupt criticism after the last alghoul was taken care of. He didn’t know much about teaching or guiding, or comforting for that matter, but he figured letting her sleep in would do no harm and he had bought some apples for her to feed roach. That helped him. The thought that she should be thrust from one horrid altercation to another at the hands of his first companion filled him with rage. These thoughts raced through his head while he attempted to decipher Jaskier’s words through this sudden wave of protectiveness.

Jaskier was chuckling, almost about to pat his massive friend on the head like an overreactive hound,

“I fail to see why you’re so wound up, dear witcher. I simply sought to find the source of the singing, and it turned out to be Y/N! Marvellous isn’t she?”

“Why are you wet.” Geralt demanded.

truth be told, he was so used to hearing Jaskier’s voice or lute, he simply dumped the noise into that category. Thinking back, it was different. Still musical, but different. Jaskier’s sound seemed to sit on the wind and flit and glide like a bird while this new sound was earthy, full, round, blending with the flow of the river and almost raw, coarse and slightly unsteady like a horse that had run for the first time out of market.

“I was simply mesmerised, Geralt. " he sighed, sagging slightly in the bigger man's grip " I was convinced it might be a water nymph, that I might catch it, steal some ideas for melody and- and then let the poor thing go of course, but”

“Why is she crying Jaskier”

The girl’s sobs had subsided slightly, but her breath was shuddering and shallow. He knew when she got like this, it was hard to get back down. He had expected it sometime today but usually, he could smell the fear rising, notice the scrunching up of her small frame, and make sure the trio were alone, quiet, ready.

“Crying? Whatever do you mea-”

The focused and worried look on Geralt’s face clicked in Jaskiers’ head and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him

“Oh gods, shit. Shes alone. What do I do Geralt? Can you hear her?”

The stream came pouring out his mouth as he paced around the camp, his eyes landing on a pile of neatly folded clothes.

“ Jaskier go back and give them to her. Slowly. She’ll come back in her own time”

Geralt listened intently while Jaskier went to return the garments. It surprised him that the sound of his younger companion trying to catch her breath like it was a feather in the wind was the same person who had made such a pleasing sound not very many minutes ago.

It stopped.

He couldn’t hear her breathe, but Jaskier was calm. He heard the rustling of clothes and the damp footfall of the bard returning. He turned his attention back to her again. He was afraid that after the episode, holding her breath would cause her to topple back into the river. Stupid. He should’ve thought of that beforehand. She didn’t. Strong lass. He heard her breaths less shallow as her hair dripped and her clothes were back on.

He was reassured now and started to take out the apples from the small fruit sack.

“Well if she was crying, she isn’t any more” stated Jaskier, almost reassuring himself that his clumsiness couldn’t have hurt his friend.

He proceeded to look for his woollen blanket, laying it out carefully, waiting for his friend to return.

A/N

Thank you so much for reading! Its the first time I've started writing after a long time, if you have any constructive criticism please leave it in the comments :)

I've started a new AO3, Tumblr page and page on Fanfiction.net which will hold my fics too. same username :)

I am very pernickety when writing which is why it's been hard for me to upload anything in the last few years and why it might take a little time for me to upload new chapters but please stick around :D

PART 2

mwah x

[daughterofzagreus]

The Astrological Signs of "Avatar: The Last Airbender" characters

Part 1 - Team Avatar

♎ Aang - Libra

Libra is an air sign and Aang is an airbender. More than that, though, Libra (represented by the scales) is the sign of harmony and balance. As the Avatar, restoring and maintaining balance is Aang's primary duty. Aside from all that symbolism though, Aang's personality is a lot like a Libra.

Libra is the opposite compliment to Aries, a war sign. Libra don't really like discord (at least, they don't like to be IN the discord and chaos). They're lovers, not fighters, so they tend to be peacekeepers. This is Aang to a T. Aang is not only one of the youngest characters in the show (and therefore, the most likely to be uncomfortable with violence), but he is also a monk, raised by other peaceful monks.

He values peace and all life. Even his fighting styles are evasive and are more about using an opponent's strength against them, rather than attacking. It's something that is brought up in the Book 2 episode "Bitter Work", when Aang has trouble learning earthbending from Toph. Libras (depending on the rest of their chart, of course) often tend to respond to conflict in a similar manner, by being avoidant.

You see the pacifist in Aang anytime he needs to mediate a conflict. Examples include "The Great Divide" in Book 1, where Aang has to mediate between the two tribes (as well as Sokka and Katara). He does so by telling them that "Harsh words won't solve anything. Action will". Of course, when that doesn't work, he just lies and makes up the alternative story of WeiJin and JinWei. I don't think Aang is a big fan of lies, but it was for the sake of peace, a means to an end. Very Libra.

Another thing that makes Aang a Libra is the fact that 1) Libra is ruled by Venus and 2) Libra rules the 7th house, which is essentially relationships. Aang's relationships (platonic and romantic) mean EVERYTHING to him, and there's a reason why putting one of his loved ones in danger is initially the only way to activate the Avatar state. He's a very friendly, charming and loving kid (like most Libras) and he's the first one from team Avatar who believes they can make it through the secret tunnel, because of how strongly he believes in his love for Katara. The final point is Aang's reluctance (or sometimes downright refusal) to cause harm to others unless absolutely necessary. While others use violence, Aang is more likely to want to befriend his enemies, and that's actually a good thing. It's Libra's superpower.

♋ Katara - Cancer

Cancer is a water sign that is ruled by the moon, and Katara is a (very powerful) waterbender who draws her powers from the moon. In astrology, water signs are known for being on the emotional side. And with Cancer's ruling planet being the moon (the planet of emotions and also the celestial body that pushes and pulls the tides), Cancers are known to be so emotional, that they're often just archetyped by it. Katara is similarly emotional (see the Book 3 episode "Ember Island Players"). However, Katara being so in touch with her emotions also makes her extremely emotionally intelligent. Like Cancers and most other water signs, her heightened sensitivity allows her to almost psychically sense how others are feeling, and to know how exactly to respond to and comfort them. There's a reason why Katara has such great chemistry (when it comes to her one-on-one conversations) with so many people (Aang, Haru, Jet, Zuko, Toph). Her emotional intelligence also makes her very mature for her age and allow her to see things clearer than others, or to foresee things that others don't.

Cancers are often either family oriented, or they love and value their home (this can either be their childhood home, current home, or the city, country or culture that they came from). This applies with Katara. As a waterbender, being from the water tribes is a big part of who she is, and she has a deep love for her culture. We see how being the only waterbender in the South Pole and having no one to show her the ways of waterbending saddens her, and how happy she is to hear that Hama is willing to teach her (the only other waterbender from the Southern water tribes that Katara has ever met).

With regards to Katara being mature for her age, she's also very motherly. The Book 3 episode "The Runaway" (as well as most of her interactions with Toph) demonstrates this. The moon (which rules Cancer) is The Mother in astrology, and so most Cancers have a significant relationship with motherhood. Katara was very close to her late mother and her death still affects her.

Following the death of her mother, Katara has basically had to become everyone else's mother and hold things together. You see this as well (in a more positive light) in the Book 2 episode "The Desert". In this episode, Appa is missing, Aang is too upset to think or act clearly, Toph can't see properly because of the sand and Sokka is high off cactus juice. Katara is the one that is keeping everything together in this episode.

On the downside, Katara's mothering can turn to nagging sometimes, but I don't blame her. She's a child that's had to grow up way too fast. She has a lot of pressure on her. With water, that pressure can build up, until it bursts like a dam wall (which it's likely to do). It's the combination of this, as well as Katara's strong and fearless sense of right and wrong that lead to those cataclysmic outbursts that both Katara and water signs are sometimes known for.

♋♐Sokka - Cancer sun, but with a lot of Sagittarius aspects in the birth chart

Okay, let's start with the Sagittarius side of things. There are a lot of elements of the Sag personality in Sokka. For one thing, luck. Not only does he manage to survive (and thrive) in the entire series WITHOUT any bending powers, but that boomerang ALWAYS comes back! That's some Jupiter-luck energy if I've ever seen it.

Sokka was originally going to be a more serious character, but the voice actor decided to improvise and add some of his own humor to the role, which created the Sokka that we know and love now. I mention this because the voice actor (Jack De Sena) is a Sagittarius. Sokka has the kind of personality that provides humor in difficult times and can lighten up the sometimes very heavy atmosphere in the group. He doesn't just make people laugh, he likes to laugh as well (at his own jokes and even at his enemy's jokes). In the book 3 episode "The Ember Island Players", heeven goes to the effort of getting Suki to sneak him backstage, so he could give the actor playing himself some tips and extra jokes (and low and behold, the crowd actually laughs at them). In his words, he's "just a guy who loves comedy". In fact, I think he's one of the only ones there who just decides to kick his feet up and enjoy the show (by basically turning the situation into a date night for him and Suki). Sagittarians love to laugh and make people laugh. They're optimists who like to have a good time, and are likely to be the make-lemonade-out-of-lemons type.

He's also one of the smartest and most competent characters on the show. He has excellent problem solving skills, and isn't afraid to look at things through a different angle and try new things to expand his worldview and knowledge. This is relevant, as Sag rules the 9th house which includes, amoung other things, higher learning, truth and knowledge. He can be a bit tactless and insensitive...a little slick at the mouth, but it's largely ignored by others, as he is likeable and funny enough for others to let it go. That's quite a Sag trait.

The Cancerian part of Sokka's personality is less pronounced, but it's there. He's VERY protective of his loved ones, even before the situation with Princess Yue. He is family oriented in that he admires his dad and the traditions and customs of the water tribes. He loves and is just as proud of his culture and home life as Katara is, but just in a different way. He also always looks out for the other members of team Avatar. He can tell when a member of the team needs support and immediately jumps to action (for example, the way he immediately grabs Toph's hand to guide her in "The Serpent's Pass", in "The Desert" and on the air ships during the final battle in the series finale). He's also very loving and protective of his sister, despite how often they fight. Also, quiet as it's kept, Cancers are one of the funniest signs in the zodiac.

♉♈Toph - Taurus sun, but with a lot of Aries aspects in the birth chart

Let's start with the Taurus aspects. Taurus is not just an earth sign, it's FIXED earth. It embodies the firm stance and hardheadness of not just Toph, but earthbenders in general. Tauruses are very stubborn and like to do things their own way at their own pace. Combine that with the independence and confrontational nature of an Aries, and you've got Toph.

Aries value their independence, sometimes to the point of being selfish, which is what we get with Toph in the Book 2 episode "The Chase". In this episode, it's Toph's first time riding with the group, but it's also her first taste of freedom. Like an Aries, she hates the idea of seeming weak or helpless, and has to learn that freedom doesn't mean that she has to do everything alone.

As Toph shows us, there is, however, power and strength in valuing independence, so long as you're not insecure about independence or projecting. Toph is a wealthy, sheltered child who is blind, which, in most cases, would make her vulnerable. But it's not the case. Toph ran away once before when she was little, and that's where she learned earthbending from the giant blind moles. She learned earthbending not just as a martial art, but as an extension of herself and her senses, and as a way to see. She would have never been able to master doing that (nor would shehave gone on to do even greater things like train the avatar and discover metal bending), if she didn't have the will, bravery and self assurance to run away in the first place. That little pilgrimage (her life changing adventure, if you will...but still not with Zuko, I'm afraid😔) showed the value of independence. Of going out on your own journey of self-discovery. Much like how Zuko needed to be be alone for a while during Book 2 for his own journey of self-discovery.

Oh, speaking of "Zuko Alone"...

♈Zuko - Aries

Zuko's arc in the show shows us the transition from a dark-sided, low vibrational Aries, to a high-vibrational Aries at it's best: passionate, brave, protective, strong, innovative, a good leader, driven, energetic and independent. Zuko embodies many Aries (and general fire sign) traits, both good and bad. He can be impulsive, and doesn't always think things all the way through. Aries is cardinal fire, so it's about getting up and going, just DOING something. Zuko is known for never giving up. These are things that that Iroh, Sokka and Ursa have mentioned. Zuko is an impatient person and is very fiery, hot headed and reactionary even for a firebender.

His reactionary nature makes him prone to a bit of melodrama (and I imagine that's why it's so fun for Azula or even Iroh to get a rise out of him). This is definitely the case with Aries. They're not the only sign with a temper, but they are the most likey to cause a scene and storm off in a huff about it. Or challenge you to a fight. Zuko can't refuse a fight for the life of him. At least not until he evolves and figures out his ✨true destiny✨.

One the other hand, he also keeps that same fiery energy when it comes to defending those who can't defend themselves and fighting for what he believes is right. In these cases, he refuses to back down. Even if his chances of winning are low, he'll still keep pushing forward. That's the will, energy and drive of cardinal fire. Zuko just needs to chanel all that power into something useful and constructive, like creating change for the greater good, and not distraction. Like with fire in general, Aries (and Zuko) is useful and powerful, but requires direction, guidance and purpose, so as to not risk letting the fire run wild to cause destruction and devastation.

[fereldenturnip]

But Don’t You Ever Let Me Go

Primo Nizzuto/Majid Zamari Sugar Daddy Fic

Part 1 / ?

(Part 2)

Dedicated to @ournextdoorneighbor

Signor Don Primo Nizzuto is a man of great talent and grave importance. 

The man singlehandedly brought the entirety of Southern Italy under his thumb before the age of thirty. Towns simultaneously hail Primo a hero, then quake at his passing shadow. He has only known Primo for all of three days and here he is, under the warm Mediterranean sun, offering Majid his own vineyard with a bat of his eyes. As if he has several already and gifting them away to strangers is just another Tuesday. 

They loop around the hilly fields, dallying through rows of burgeoning grape plants. Primo, his personal tour guide, comes to a halt in front of one particular bush. In the shade, his fingers trail along gnarled branches and pluck a ripe, dark fruit off the vine. He presents it to Majid with a smile, and he feels a lot like Persephone eating the pomegranate. 

Twenty-four year old Majid Zamari is no man’s fool, and he knows power and danger when he sees it.

Majid has done this same song and dance before. It nearly got him killed. After a three-month stint rebuilding his broken body, Majid left the hospital and fled from the cold-grey gloom of the Netherlands. He made a new home in Rome, learned the language, got a real job, and swore to himself he’d never fall for the same tricks again.

Somewhere in his early to mid-fifties, Primo exudes a predatory aura that’s tempered with genuine interest. He tugs another fruit and gleefully tosses it in the air to catch in his mouth. Easy on the eyes, his floppy hair is streaked with grey, as is the manicured goatee on his square face. The colour of his eyes oscillate between green, blue, and grey depending on his mood. Green like a care-free spring day. Grey like hardened steel set to strike. Majid sees green directed at him more often than not. 

Coming under Primo’s radar was a fluke. Shaking the man’s hand and spending time with him was, honest-to-God, not Majid’s original intention. But Primo is no Hakan. He doesn't hide behind a fatherly veneer and withhold his affection when disappointed. Charming though he may be, Primo’s brand of violence is centre stage for all to see and Majid to marvel at. 

While Majid can appreciate that honest, no-strings-attached personality, he's weary nonetheless. One burn is more than enough to keep his hands from the flames.

They amble back up to the villa, the tall cypress trees casting long shadows--it’s getting late and there’s still the long drive back to Rome to look forward to. Majid digs his hands into his jean pockets, suddenly regretting not snagging his jacket on the way out. Primo leads them up the patio staircase with the terrace overlooking his domain. 

“I was serious,” Primo chuffs, “It’ll be easy transferring the deed into your name.”

Majid shrugs, scratching his head. He’s been thinking about growing his hair out again, really embracing the change. It’s so easy to imagine himself standing here, hair long and casual, barefooted and sipping coffee. Every morning a true treat, a real dream come true… 

…If he deserved it.  

"Thank you, Signor Nizzuto, but I'm afraid vineyards are rather useless to a Muslim." Liar, he thinks, you're a good Muslim like Primo Nizzuto is a good Catholic. Just two wolves in sheeps' clothing. All they’re good for is blood and violence.

Primo leans back on his elbows over the railing, the gorgeous Italian countryside a stunning backdrop. His salt-and-pepper hair is haloed by gold fields, green trees, and blue skies. The man squints, surely thinking something devious, then brooms it all away to smirk at Majid. 

"Alright, I understand," Primo says magnanimously. Majid doesn’t sigh in relief. "My driver can deliver you back to your flat, unless I can't... tempt you further?" A piercing, heated look. Although Majid is taller than him, he nevertheless feels small under the Don’s keen gaze. He braces himself and, oh Primo could certainly try, but at what cost? 

Majid shakes his head. The man stands and brushes his bespoke suit clean, spotless and breathtaking as the day he met him underneath the arches of the Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere. Fortuitous fortune or catastrophic calamity? The jury is still out on that one. Majid’s hesitancy is just due-diligence. 

"Until next time," Primo tips his head and saunters away, only to return with a lascivious quip, “and please, call me Primo.” 

Heels click, fading away on Tuscan marble. Majid’s lips thin. Of course there'll be a next time. Sharks can't stay away once they've sniffed blood in the water.

****

What Primo wants, Primo gets. 

Through any means necessary, even fire and blood. Satisfaction is not a delayed gratification when you own half a country. 

Thirty years. That’s how long it’s taken to build his mighty empire, and he sits high and mighty on his throne. Some would say it's assembled from the skulls of his enemies, innocent and evil. Primo scoffs at such triteness. He's earned his place at the top of the food chain, fair and square. 

So when a sweet thing like Majid comes along, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Primo wants. He wants all of him, and not the ‘naïve foreigner’ façade Majid’s keen on exuding to the rest of the world.  

Those sombre eyes of his are exquisite, wrought with pain and suffering that peaks Primo’s insatiable curiosity. Just what exactly is the boy hiding behind those inky depths? Still waters run deep. The young man may have fooled everyone else (possibly even himself), but Primo’s been playing this game longer than Majid’s been alive. He can sense the violence, can feel the feral nature buzzing beneath that supple young skin of his (and what an attractive thing he is to behold). 

There lies an entirely different person and Primo chomps at the bit to meet him. Primo wants to electrify him, make the blood in his veins sing, wind him up and watch him go because he can already picture just how beautiful Majid would look bathed in sweat, come, and blood. 

So, when Majid denies him, Primo should feel frustrated. He should demand and take, break him over a hard surface until he's howling for release, as is his due as King Shit on the Mountain. 

He, in fact, does the opposite. He walks away. See? An old dog can learn new tricks. 

Majid is a welcome challenge. One Primo never knew he missed until he left him standing by his lonesome on an open terrace. For the first time in his long life, Primo thrills for The Hunt. He'll have Majid. One day. 

Patience is a virtue, Nizzuto. Majid will come begging, and then he'll beg to come.