#He refused to acknowledge it but also didn’t try to remove it.

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Preston, Deacon, X6, Danse, and Hancock: (All seated on little chairs around a table with tea party set up)

Jasmine: (Puts a handmade flower crown on X6’s head) “Hehehe…”

X6: (Remains unmoving and unbothered while he sips his tea)

Deacon: (Wearing clip on earrings and fairy wings with a tutu) “Looking good there pal, the colors really bring out your smile.”

X6: (Ignores him while turning on the radio)

Jasmine: (Eagerly dashed over to the counter to prep the treats)

Piper: (Leans in the doorway with a questioning look at the men) “Well, what’s going on in here?”

Preston: (Has a tiara over his hat) “Tea party, care to join us? The more the merrier.”

Jasmine: (Perks up with shining eyes and points to an empty seat next to Danse)

Piper: (Sits down and looks around) “So… is this some sort of dare? Or did someone pay you guys-?”

Danse: (Wearing a bunch of metallic beaded necklaces and pink sunglasses) “Shhhh.” (Puts a finger to his lip then gesture to the girl who’s happily skipping around)

Piper: (Raises her eyebrows) “Ahhh, I see.”

Deacon: (Offering a pot of tea to a teddy bear) “Care for some more tea, Miss Winifred?”

Jasmine: (Serving fresh brownies to her guests on pink plastic plates)

Hancock: (Has little bows pinned on his hat and one too many giant gemstone rings on his fingers) “Now this is what I call a real treat, thanks little sister.” (Generously puts a brownie on Miss Winifreds plate)

Preston: (Stirring his tea) “Pass the sugar, please.”

X6: (Wordlessly hands him the jar while munching on a brownie)

Piper: (Whispering to the teen) “You sure get away with a lot of stuff, don’t you kiddo?”

Jasmine: (Grins mischievously)

(Don’t tell me you wouldn’t join this little party. The brownies are to die for)

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Tracing Law’s Tattoos

Trafalgar D. Water Law X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Law isn’t taking care of himself, suggestive themes, steam, reader takes charge

Word Count: 1.5k

(A/N:) I’m reading the manga faster than I can watch One Piece and after seeing Law’s backstory and how much tragedy he went through I want to make him so happy. I love how One Piece can balance out it’s tragedy and comedy and with so many good characters I can’t wait to see what happens next for the beloved pirates of this series! So please enjoy this indulgence that I had to write. For some reason driving is good for the creative juices as I’ve been getting some good ideas to write while working! Hope the Law fangirls enjoy this piece! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess 💀

Law had been up for several days and it was beginning to show as the shadows under his eyes continued to darken. While you tried to get him to lay down and sleep, as soon as he knew that you had gone into deep sleep after you both laid down, he would get up and go back to his desk. The stack of books never dwindled and he was always careful not to wake you up. He barely ate and rarely took breaks. If he wanted to find something out or fix it, he would relentlessly pursue the knowledge until he collapsed or the mystery was solved. Whichever came first. He would brush away your concerns, giving you some sad excuse that he was fine. But tonight you were not having it any longer. You refused to let your husband grind himself into the ground any further.

The gentle waves lapped at the side of the boat as the stars twinkled overhead. Chill was setting in and the crew had taken to their quarters. You sighed deeply, your breath fogging in the air until you too went inside your and Law’s quarters. Naturally he was at his desk, reading away and scratching away in a notebook. You spoke his name but he didn’t even acknowledge that you had spoken to him. Your frustration levels climbing more at his lack of focus on his health. Without a word you went over and forcefully shut his notebook, leaving his hand sandwiched between the pages.

“Can I help you,” he sighed, finally giving you the attention you’ve been trying to receive.

“Yes you can,” you bit back. “You can help me, help you, and go to sleep. Right now.”

“I’m not tired,” Law replied starting to reopen his notebook. You slammed a hand on top leaning on it a little where it would keep his hand pinned.

“Law if the bags under your eyes get any darker they’ll have their own gravity field and start sucking us all in!”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Law was becoming angry. His lack of sleep was making his patience even shorter but that was something you were willing to deal with as long as he got the rest he needed.

“No you are,” you retorted. “You’ll be the one they call black hole face because you refuse to sleep.”

“Are we sure I am the sleep deprived one in this relationship?”

“Okay I may be a little tired too but it’s only because I’ve been so worried about you I can’t sleep well. So will you please come to bed with me,” if arguing didn’t work maybe pleading would.

He kissed your cheek giving you a tired smile, “I will when I’m finished here.”

Okay being gentle and sweet wasn’t getting you nowhere. Law could be the most stubborn man but you knew you could be just as stubborn. You also didn’t mind to play dirty either as he had finally left you no choice. You refused to move still keeping his hand pinned between the notebook. This time you slammed the book close that he was reading. That had his temper flaring and he opened his mouth to say something but you quickly went to the second step of your plan. You removed his hand from the notebook and placed it on your cheek. The warmth of his palm bleeding into your skin. Law watched curiously as you grabbed his other hand, trailing your fingers across every digit, tracing the callouses and scars. He shivered as you nibbled at his fingertips before interlacing your fingers with his. Law’s hands were so large but gentle when it came to you. His charm could make you giggle like a school girl but it was your turn to make him blush this time and to get some sleep. 

Leading him away from the desk, Law followed you a little speechless at your forwardness. You shoved him backwards letting him fall on the bed before you jumped in beside him. This time Law didn’t try to get up as you took the hat from his head, his messy black hair sticking in all directions. You kissed his temple while playing with the facial hair on his chin. He groaned in bliss as your plush lips made him forget everything while your long hair tickled his cheek. Normally he was the one to make the first move as your normally shy behavior took over. He liked this new side of you that you had kept hidden from even him. You sat back up taking his hand again with your slender feminine one, your fingers slowly and tenderly tracing over the inked letters on his fingers. Law shivered while you made your way up to the back of his hand. You only stopped to help him open his shirt and remove it so you could see all the tattooed lines that covered the majority of his body. His forearms were next and the muscles flexed under the skin as he reached his hands up to hold onto your waist. 

“Sleepy yet,” you cooed.

“Not even a bit,” he retorted.

You hummed a lullaby your mother always sang to you when you were a child before trailing further up his toned arms. You took your time at his shoulders as the patterns grew more complicated. Law could only grin as he let you take control. His research and work completely forgotten as he was at the mercy of your wandering hands. His skin becoming enflamed at every gentle touch and stroke. You straddled his hips causing Law to stiffen until you placed a tender kiss on his nose. Burying his face in your chest you giggled as he sighed in pleasure as his face sunk into your breasts. You shook your head, hoping that was a sign that he was finally relaxing and giving into your womanly wiles. You moved along to his back. 

Like you were scratching an itch that had been bothering him all day, Law relaxed further. His arms becoming laxed and he moaned, though it was muffled by your chest. You moved further away from the tattoo, leaving no spot untouched as you worked knots out of his muscles he didn’t realize he had. Sitting so long had taken it’s toll on his body but he had ignored his health for the sake of his goal. When you were happy with your work on his back, you focused on the last place that was his chest. The front of his body was the main tattoo, it started from his pecks and went all the way down almost to the waist of his pants. He peeked up from his spot before loosening his grip. You kissed the top of the heart on his chest making Law jolt. You eased him back down, going down with him as you nuzzled into his side. With one single digit you made the rounds, going over every bump of muscle to trace those black lines embedded in his skin. Law yawned and you felt victory so close as his eyes began to droop. You stopped right at his pants and he raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe later,” you promised. “First you need to sleep.”

He yawned again, “You win.”

You didn’t reply, as your thoughts went towards making Law as comfortable as possible. You left his side even though he tried to grab you and pull you back. Holding up on finger had him relaxing back into the mattress. You tugged the boots from his feet and placed his hat somewhere safe. Next you helped him wiggle out of his pants leaving him only in his boxers. You pulled on the shirt he had abandoned on the floor and with a little work you were both snuggled against one another under the covers. Stroking at his black hair Law began to lose the war on staying awake. He wanted to enjoy a few more moments of you pressed against his weary body, but exhaustion was catching up with him quickly. He held you close as he drifted away.

“I love you,” he mumbled while taking one more glance at your face.

You kissed him deeply going back to stroking his tattooed chest, “I love you too.”

The crew knew that their captain was finally getting the rest he needed so they were under orders not to interrupt unless dire emergencies. You watched Law sleeping peacefully and the worry that had been pressing on you finally lifted. With each rise and fall of his chest, you found yourself relaxing more and more until you too were drifting off to sleep. You wanted to give Law happiness that he never really got to have in his life. It was only fair since he had made you the happiest woman in the world, you only felt like you needed to return the favor. As you slept against the man you loved dearly you vowed to protect him and be there whenever he needed you most.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for breaking up with my boyfriend after uncovering his web of lies?

Ok. I’m going to try keep this as short as possible, and there’s some things I’ll keep out because I don’t want to accidentally reveal our identities. I (31, m) just broke up with my partner (35,m) of 3 years. We met on an app during Covid, and lived together for 2 and a half years of that. I truly loved him, he was a challenging person which sometimes led to fiery arguments that I hadn’t experienced in past relationships, but he also pushed me to feel more comfortable with confrontation and conflict which I needed. He was also really ambitious and supported my ambitions; I’ve had 3 promotions since we got together and I wouldn’t have dared to go for them if it hadn’t been for his encouragement. Basically, on the surface it all seemed really great.

That is until I discovered he had lied about his entire past - and some of his present. It all started when I stumbled across pics of “his home” online and discovered they were a museum (he claimed to be from a wealthy background). I asked him and he said it was to protect his family’s identity and swore there were no more lies.

I have never met his family, nor talked to them on the phone - they are in another country and he claimed they were old fashioned and wanted to meet in person, but Covid was in the way at first, and then his mum was unwell. After discovering the pictures were a lie, I started to really think about other stories he’d told me and what evidence I really had for them. The more I thought, the more I realised things didn’t add up.

A few examples: his mum and dad both apparently had high profile jobs but I couldn’t find anything about them online; he claimed to be from money but wouldn’t buy himself a car and borrowed mine; he claimed to have a brother my age but I couldn’t find any social media of his.

There was a lot more, but that was enough to make me question whether there were more lies. I asked him a few weeks later why I couldn’t find anything about his parents online, and asked to be introduced to his brother on social media. I told him that this felt like the most normal thing that would happen in relationships - I was very clear that I didn’t want to test him, I just wanted some contact with someone who knew him before I did. He said it wasn’t possible because he was more distant from his family than he’d led me to believe, due to childhood abuse that his parents had refused to acknowledge. I’m also a survivor of childhood abuse so this touched a nerve and the conversation shifted to me wanting to support him and make him know I believed him.

Anyway. Fast forward another two months and nothing has changed. Tonight, it came to a head in a discussion where he wanted to get rid of my favourite chair in order to make room for a new TV. I told him I wasn’t comfortable with this because I felt insecure in the relationship as nothing had been resolved. I went over my concerns again and suddenly his whole tone shifted. He asked if I was “ready for the truth” and asked me not to share it with anyone.

The truth turned out to be very different from everything he’d said over the past 3 years. Whether it is the truth, I don’t know, but he claimed that his mum was actually a drug addict and he hadn’t known his dad until he was 18, he was removed by child services at 14 and the character he created as his mum to me was based on the woman he lived with during that time. He never studied abroad as he had first claimed, and a whole load of other lies. The worst lie was that his mum had cancer - the reason why we couldn’t visit because she didn’t want him to see her while she was weak (this made sense with the strong character her created for her). It turns out apparently the woman who took him in died from cancer when he was 18 and he based it on that. Now, I don’t even know how much of this is true, but it feels closer to the truth than the original stories. The thing is, he’s cried on me about his mums cancer, and he’s told my mum about it (a cancer survivor), and regularly talks about it in detail. In fact, all his stories have had incredible detail - which is what made us all believe them.

Now, here’s where I may be the arsehole. After he confessed all of this, I said I can’t be in a relationship with him because I can’t trust him. But he took a big step in admitting it all to me and he’s clearly very unwell if he is lying on this scale. He clearly has had a traumatic past and he told me that his lies were because any time he opens up to people about his past he loses them. I worry that by breaking up with him, I’m reinforcing this cycle where he feels he has to lie to be loved. The thing is - none of what he told me in any of this was the reason why I love him. I didn’t care where he came from, or his claims of wealth, etc. I just liked who he was as a person. I really feel torn because on the one hand he is clearly in need of help, stability and love in order to heal himself so that he doesn’t feel the need to lie. On the other hand, I can’t foresee being able to trust him in the near future. So, AITA for breaking up with someone who is so desperately in need of love and support?

What are these acronyms?

[wolveria]

On Frozen Wings - Ch 1

Pairing: Crosshair x Hunter

Rating: 18+ only, Explicit

After Hunter nearly lost everything, his family is slowly piecing itself back together. Omega is safe, Echo might stick around for a while, and Crosshair... Well. Crosshair never makes things easy, but sometimes, he does make them simple. Crosshair wants him. Unfortunately, Hunter has no idea what to do with this information.

AO3

Hunter wasn’t sure how it was quieter with more people on the ship, but somehow, it was.

The tension on the Remora was a far cry from what it’d been on their way to Barton IV. That flight had been filled with a crackling thickness that forced a subdued atmosphere and silent ride.

This was different. Something had changed on the planet, and it wasn’t just that Hunter and Crosshair were on speaking terms again, though that was a small miracle itself. And to think, it had only taken Hunter nearly being eaten by an ice wyrm to make that happen.

Considering how their fights usually went, this one went rather smoothly. No black eyes, no broken bones. No one had even thrown a punch. Hungry beasts were tame in comparison.

Maybe that explained the strange space between them now. Strange, because it was peaceful. Deceptively so. Hunter once again found himself focused on Crosshair wherever he was in the ship, tracking him by scent, sound, and that unique bioelectric signature that belonged only to him.

But he wasn’t going to follow Crosshair like a lost pup, or the shadow Crosshair accused him of being. He wasn’t.

He just… happened to find himself in the same part of the ship as Crosshair. That’s all. Hunter wasn’t thinking about the questions left unanswered. When had Crosshair’s chip actually been removed, why had he killed an Imperial officer, and what had really happened back on that ice planet.

Hunter had watched him place the helmets one by one, arranging them on the crate like a memorial. Something… significant had happened there, and the way Crosshair held one particular helmet wrapped in old bindings filled Hunter’s chest with both a dull ache and a sharp, cold sting.

Hunter refused to think about how he’d never seen Crosshair so tender and careful before. These were strangers to Hunter, but not to Crosshair. He’d lived a whole other life, away from them.

Away from Hunter.

No, he definitely wasn’t thinking about that. He was not thinking about it so hard that he failed to notice Crosshair right in front of him in the corridor, a brow raised at Hunter’s errant wandering.

Or, perhaps, not so errant.

“Following me again, Hunter?”

Hunter scowled, but it was out of embarrassment rather than annoyance as he glanced away from where Crosshair stood conveniently in his path.

“No.”

The brows rose even higher.

“Really.”

“Yeah. Really.”

The silence begged for something to fill it, and Hunter did with a grumbled, “Was just… walking the ship.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hunter’s gaze snapped to his, but Crosshair’s expression was one of vague amusement. There was no resentment or anger. Hunter could admit it was a nice change.

Hunter relaxed, giving a half shrug and a little smile to acknowledge his answer was, perhaps, ridiculous.

“Our ship’s not meant to hold so many people. Guess I wanted to stretch my legs while I had the chance.”

“Didn’t get enough of that with the wyrm trying to bite you on the ass?”

A chuckle startled out of him. He’d missed Crosshair’s sharp tongue and scathing wit, especially when it was used for amicable teasing rather than ripping him to shreds. Oh, how Crosshair excelled at targeting all of Hunter’s weak points.

“That? That was nothing compared to some of the creatures we’ve come across,” Hunter said. “Last one almost swallowed the Marauder whole.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, his own posture relaxed as he leaned one shoulder against the corridor wall.

“How did you ever survive without me?”

Hunter’s humor faded. Not very well, he could admit to himself.

Crosshair’s amusement also vanished, studying Hunter’s face with closer scrutiny than he was used to. None of the others looked at him that way, or when they tried, like Wrecker had been the last few months, Hunter simply skirted around the observation and pretended everything was fine.

It hadn’t been, for a long time. Only within the past day, the past few hours, did Hunter realize his hope hadn’t been completely extinguished.

“Come on.”

Hunter blinked out of his daze, but Crosshair didn’t wait for him, slipping down the hallway until he disappeared from view. And like a second shadow, Hunter followed.

They ended up in the cargo hold, mostly empty due to Echo being between missions for Rex. There were a handful of crates around, and one was growing a collection of armor as Crosshair was in the middle of stripping off pieces.

Hunter stared, dumbfounded. Clearly, he’d missed a very crucial part of their conversation.

Crosshair looked over his shoulder and gave an amused huff at whatever face he was making. Hunter certainly couldn’t guess.

“How long’s it been since you’ve properly sparred with someone?”

Oh. Sparring.

“Well…”

He tried to think. They hadn’t had much downtime to begin with, but after Omega had been taken and Hunter had focused everything into finding her, he’d had too much time on his hands during their stints in hyperspace. Too much time to think about all the mistakes he’d made and the ways he’d failed. A distraction had been sorely needed, and sparring would have been perfect.

But since it had been only him and Wrecker, and they hadn’t been able to spar with Wrecker for years because of his enhanced strength, something they’d learned after he’d accidentally broken Tech’s collarbone…

So, not since Kamino. Not since… they’d left Crosshair.

“A long time.”

Crosshair hummed, the tone of it not indicating his thoughts one way or another.

“Here’s your chance,” Crosshair said. “Sounds better than pacing the ship, doesn’t it? Especially if we’re just going to keep running into each other.”

Hunter could hear the amused tint of the words, the way Crosshair’s mouth curved even if he couldn’t see it, and it was the kind of teasing that used to drive Hunter mad. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed it until he no longer had it.

Crosshair bent down to slip off his boots, and he chose that moment to look back at Hunter and catch him staring. Now that he’d been staring at anything in particular, he was just—

“Are you going to strip, or do I need to do it for you?”

Hunter looked away, grinding his teeth together.

Little shit.

Sparring did sound like a good way to get rid of this odd tension he couldn’t identify. It wasn’t a bad sort of tension, not the kind he felt after seeing Crosshair again after so long. That shock had been a punch to the gut, especially after the bone-deep relief of having Omega again.

To have her back, and on the heels of that, Crosshair dropping back into their lives had been like a plunge out of hyperspace with a broken hyperdrive.

Reconciling with Crosshair had been what they needed, and everything should be fine now, right? So why did his gut tighten whenever they were in the same room?

Yeah, maybe this was what he needed. A distraction and a way to work off excess energy.

Hunter hadn’t taken off his chest plate since the ice planet, and he did so now, along with his one remaining pauldron. It was hard to imagine all that was left of his old armor was his cuirass, helmet, and greaves. Even his bandana hadn’t survived the blood and violence he and Wrecker had waged for any scrape of information they could find.

His mind had wandered again—he didn’t even notice that Crosshair had moved closer, only a few feet away and stripped down to his blacks. His arms were crossed, but there was a lightness to his face, bordering on mischief.

“How many layers are you wearing?”

Hunter glanced down at himself. He’d gotten past the green vest, and the tan undervest, which left the brown long-sleeved shirt and his bicep pads—

“It’s protection,” Hunter muttered.

“There’s something else that does a better job of that,” Crosshair said, his eyes bright with silent laughter. “You may have heard of it.”

“Katarn-class armor isn’t exactly for sale at the local market.”

“So, you decided to go without? That’s much better.”

Hunter purposefully glared as he stripped the rest of his outfit. It was a good thing they were going to spar soon, Hunter would happily throw the first punch. Though with the amused tilt to Crosshair’s mouth, he wondered if that was the point.

Hunter pulled off his gloves and gauntlets next, making a show of the exposed armor under the maroon bindings. Crosshair rolled his eyes.

“Well, thank the Maker, your arms have protection.”

Little shit, Hunter repeated as he fought down his own smile.

The running commentary didn’t stop when Hunter removed his gun belt, and Crosshair said, “Didn’t realize you like to live so dangerously, Hunter. That thigh-strap is awfully close to your—”

“Are you going to do this the whole time?”

Crosshair released a sharp breath that wasn’t quite laughter but was close enough to fill Hunter’s chest with warmth. He still scowled at the boots he pulled off his feet, though.

“Not if you’d hurry up,” Crosshair purred. “We’ll pick up the reg before you’re even halfway done.”

Hunter let out a soft growl and turned away. His hands kept fumbling with Crosshair staring at him like that, lips slanted in unending delight at Hunter’s discomfort, but his eyes too narrow and watchful, as if each revealed layer required new scrutiny. Hunter fidgeted like a bug under glass.

He hesitated before pulling off his pants. The armor plating was attached to them, so he couldn’t leave them on. Traditionally, they always sparred in their body gloves, it was fairer and prevented any serious injuries besides what they could cause with their own bodies.

He sighed. It wasn’t anything Crosshair hadn’t glimpsed in the communal shower or even in their old barracks. It was fine. It wasn’t strange.

Hunter kept telling himself that as he shucked off his pants and pulled off the last layer of his upper body. What he wore underneath was… a very truncated version of a black body suit. The upper portion only covered his chest and his shoulders, leaving his arms and hands bare.

The bottom half was even more lacking, only covering his groin and upper thighs. It kept him from overheating with all the additional layers, but that wasn’t much of a reassurance when he felt Crosshair’s sharp eyes taking him in from head to foot.

“What?” Hunter folded his arms across his chest—not because he was trying to shield himself from that piercing stare. Definitely not.

“Nothing,” Crosshair said in a way that meant he had many thoughts he could share, none of them he would.

“Right.” Hunter rolled his shoulder, trying to shake off the new tension that had crept up on him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been such a bundle of raw nerves, but it had probably involved Crosshair. It always did. “Any rules?”

“No killing each other.”

“Thought that went without saying.”

Crosshair’s small but toothy smile reminded him of a predator whose hunger had been piqued.

“Just want to be thorough. Other than that, no boundaries.”

Against anyone else that might be good news, Hunter was deadly in close quarters, but Crosshair fought dirty. Suddenly, his bare skin felt a lot more exposed.

“Sounds good to me,” Hunter said, and he hoped none of his trepidation showed. Hunter might be more prone to biting under stress due to his enhancements, but Crosshair was more than happy to dig his teeth into body parts that got too close to his mouth.

Yeah. Hunter was probably coming out of this bloody.

They moved apart nearly at the same moment, their postures slipping into old fighting stances, comfortable in their familiarity. Too many of their battles these days involved blasters or short, brutal fights that relied on aggression rather than finesse.

Hunter was eager for this, he realized, but at the same time… he held back, hesitant, as they circled each other. The last time he’d fought Crosshair, he’d been trying to kill Hunter, cut him open with his own vibroblade. It wasn’t something he could forget, even if he’d forgiven Crosshair.

And he had. His resentment and bitterness had been buried in the snow of Barton IV. But that didn’t mean he knew where they stood now. The hope felt fragile, and he was afraid to break it with a wrong move or misspoken word.

If Crosshair was feeling any hesitation, he neglected to show it. He rolled his eyes and drew Hunter’s attention to the wide space between them.

“I thought we were sparring, not dancing.”

“Come over here, then.”

Crosshair’s lips twitched upward.

“You first.”

It was an invitation if Hunter was ever going to get one. Crosshair was okay with this, really okay with this, even if it got violent. Which… Hunter wasn’t actually interested in. Not that he ever was, but when it was Crosshair trying to force him into submission, all fists and teeth and lanky limbs, it lit a blaze in Hunter that made him more animal than human—

Air exploded from his lungs as Crosshair’s shoulder hit him hard in the gut, dragging them both to the ground. Apparently, the sniper got tired of waiting.

Hunter was quick, flipping Crosshair over his head and scrambling for him, less than graceful on the metal slats instead of their usual padded mats. He might have been hesitant before, but he wasn’t now, driving Crosshair back to the floor with a combination of thrown weight and gravity.

It was a messy, tangled struggle after that. Nearly all their sparring matches devolved into a contest of who could pin the other fastest. Hunter usually won if he didn’t allow Crosshair to grab him from behind. His height and longer limbs gave him the advantage when Hunter couldn’t reach him, though a jab to the ribs and a hook around his ankle almost always got them back on even ground.

Hunter should have won this round too, but there was an intensity to Crosshair that caught him by surprise, and when the sniper pinned him flat on his back, he stayed there. Mostly because he didn’t want to move and lose sight of Crosshair’s peculiar expression.

It was focused, as it usually was, but layered with a dark intensity that made Hunter’s mouth run dry. Crosshair straddled his hips, his fingers curled around Hunter’s wrists, holding them above his head.

Something about this felt… familiar. Back in their cadet days, sparring matches tended to be most often between them, as Tech wasn’t interested and Wrecker was getting too big for them to do it safely.

Not that anything Crosshair and Hunter did could be labeled safe. Their matches would quickly escalate to black eyes, bruises, and bite marks. Until one day it had escalated to something else.

Nothing happened. Nothing ever happened. They had just been going through the unpredictable swings of hormones during adolescence, a fact they only knew because Tech gave them almost daily updates on his own bodily changes, and Wrecker would enthusiastically contribute with his own.

Nothing had happened, except two sweaty cadets accidentally brushing their aching erections against each other. And then doing it again. Neither of them speaking about these accidental touches, and if they both hurried off to the showers separately afterwards, that didn’t need to be mentioned, either.

So Crosshair leaning forward and rubbing his hard length against Hunter’s equally stiff erection was a shock to his gut, equally familiar and not. They were no longer naïve cadets, and this was no accident.

“Crosshair,” he choked out.

“Yes?”

Crosshair purred around the word, but his eyes were watchful, nearly to the point of wariness, waiting for Hunter to speak. But he had no idea what the hell he wanted to say, frozen like the proverbial nuna trapped under the nexu.

“I…” Hunter finally stumbled out. “What… are you doing?”

Crosshair’s eyes narrowed.

“I thought it was obvious.”

A comment like that might ordinarily earn Crosshair a glare and sharp retort, but Hunter struggled to find where all his air went.

“We…” He swallowed to get his dry throat some relief. “We can’t…”

Hunter’s appeal for Crosshair to see reason might have been more effective if he didn’t groan when the sniper rolled his hips and rubbed their clothed erections together.

“We can, Hunter.” His eyes blazed, staring straight through him and leaving all his old yearnings exposed. “We can.”

But will you? was the unspoken question Crosshair didn’t voice. Hunter didn’t have an answer to that, either. He was still reeling from the idea that Crosshair even wanted him in this way.

And then Crosshair leaned down, so close that Hunter thought he might kiss him, and he held his breath, frozen. Hunter could—and had—faced down battalions of battle droids without flinching, but the sight of Crosshair’s lips hovering over his might be enough to earn his surrender.

At the last moment, Crosshair changed course, his lips tracing over the dark lines of Hunter’s tattooed jaw until his breath warmed his ear.

“Say yes.”

Hunter closed his eyes. He wanted to, stars, he wanted to. Every inch of his body ached with the need to say yes, but he couldn’t. They’d just gotten Crosshair back. He couldn’t do anything to risk that, wouldn’t do anything that might eventually make him leave.

There had been reasons why Hunter hadn’t given in to temptation when they were cadets or troopers. He could have, oh he could have, so easily with Crosshair. Or possibly with regs who had reminded him of Crosshair, but he hadn’t.

The reasons were different now. He didn’t have to worry about pissing off some Kaminoans with their frigid ideas of “appropriate interpersonal conduct,” and he was no longer a sergeant. No longer a soldier. He wasn’t even their leader anymore, not really.

But he couldn’t… they couldn’t…

The noise that came out of him when Crosshair pressed his mouth to Hunter’s neck was embarrassing, startled and needy.

“Say yes,” Crosshair growled against his skin. Hunter’s ability to think, let alone speak, was shot to hell when he sucked on the spot just under his jawline.

Hunter kept his mouth firmly shut as he tried to find the words to explain why this was a kriffing bad idea, but then Crosshair released his wrists and instead dug his fingertips against Hunter’s chest. He used the leverage to grind down harder, and Hunter could practically see stars.

He knew it then. He wouldn’t say no. He couldn’t deny Crosshair anything, not really. And he wouldn’t deny him this, not when it took all of Hunter’s strength not to flip them over and rut against Crosshair like an animal in heat.

So he kept his hands firmly at his sides, and even that was dangerous with them so close to Crosshair’s long, coltish legs.

Hunter tilted his head further to the side, a show of surrender. It was the best he could offer when a part of him still insisted this was the wrong decision, that neither of them were thinking clearly and Crosshair would regret his actions later. Wasn’t that how they got here to begin with?

But that was only a small part of Hunter. The rest of him relished how Crosshair purred in victory and sucked one last spot on his neck before he sat up. His pupils were blown, and his lips were slightly swollen from the rough treatment to Hunter’s neck.

They looked damned delicious, but before Hunter could consider what would happen if he kissed him, Crosshair shifted upright on his knees. He separated his body glove and tugged the lower half down just enough to free his cock.

He was longer than Hunter but not as thick, and he was already leaking copious amounts of precum. Hunter’s mouth watered at the sight, the scent of Crosshair’s arousal even more potent now, and it was a miracle he could keep his hands to himself and simply watch.

Crosshair pulled down the waistband of Hunter’s suit and pulled out his length. He stared at it with a devouring expression that reminded Hunter of what sometimes happens when he gets too close to Crosshair’s teeth.

And then he’s not thinking anything at all as Crosshair wrapped his long fingers around their shafts and thrust forward. The noise that Hunter made sounded almost painful, a ragged groan and gasp, and he failed to keep his hands frozen at his sides, instead gripping onto Crosshair’s calves as if to steady himself. Or keep him firmly on the ground before he floated off into space.

Crosshair kept going, setting a pace that was neither gentle nor slow. Hunter would have thought he’d been more teasing, drag it out just to watch Hunter squirm, but something in his movements were almost desperate. Frantic.

It was all Hunter could do to brace himself, pleasure zipping up and down his spine at a speed that would leave him ruined. Crosshair’s warm hands, the calluses against his skin, the shock of friction between their lengths.

Yeah, he was ruined.

The buildup was quick after that. Too much time apart, years of unanswered yearning and buried desires, Hunter wasn’t going to last long. His bandana came loose, and Crosshair tugged it off, twisting his fingers in the freed locks of his hair, and pulled.

It was nearly enough to hurt, dancing the line between pleasure and pain until they melded, and Hunter arched his back. He gripped Crosshair’s legs and thrust up once, twice, and spilled over Crosshair’s skilled fingers. Fingers that shook when holding a weapon but were steady now as he carried Hunter through his trembling orgasm.

Something gave way inside him, a dam burst after a lifetime of holding back. The grief of losing Crosshair, the piercing ache of rejection and betrayal, the agony of trying to keep Crosshair at a safe distance upon his return, none of it remained intact. The relief shuddered through him, a soft hitch like a sob in his throat.

Hunter didn’t feel the tears until they trickled into his hairline. He wasn’t… crying… or maybe he was? He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, possibly when he was a cadet. But something within him had cracked, and the released pressure made him feel boneless, warm, and wonderfully brittle.

It was good. Hunter knew that much. The tension was gone, his senses thrummed in a way that was almost overstimulation, and Crosshair—

—was looking at him with a wide-eyed expression of horror.

Hunter blinked stupidly. Not understanding when Crosshair pulled away, hastily rearranging his body glove to cover himself—and things certainly weren’t clearer when the sniper grabbed his gear and practically fled the room.

Hunter stared at the doorway, half-expecting Crosshair to come back. And wasn’t that a painfully familiar feeling?

He dropped his head, the back of it thudding against the floor, and reluctantly, he put away his softening cock. Hunter grimaced at the stickiness that coated the upper half of his suit, and then he stared at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the ship, waiting for Crosshair’s soft footfalls to return.

They didn’t. Hunter’s heart sank in his chest.

What had he done?

Next Chapter

[barefoothighlander]

spillways - the boy with the thorn in his side

-simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

-warnings: canon typical violence, descriptions of wounds, angst, mention of scars

-word count: 2.6k

-summary: you and ghost await backup from the safehouse before returning to base and learning more about who ghost is behind his mask.

prev chapter fic masterlist next chapter

a/n: finally some actual conversation between ghost and reader, also I do have a taglist for this fic so pls let me know if you'd like to be added (or removed)

Behind the hatred, there lies

A murderous desire for love.

The two of you spent hours in silence, waiting for the sun to peak over the horizon. Ghost spent all night on watch, refusing any of your attempts to take over claiming you needed rest, and that he was okay. The repeated orders from him to stop pacing were the only thing heard, you were certain the two of you hadn’t been followed but Ghost remained on edge, facing out the front window of the house, keeping watch for any sign of movement outside. Your ear had stopped bleeding, allowing you to properly clean and disinfect it, before bandaging it to the best of your ability, rejoicing in the fact that the wound didn’t seem to affect your hearing in any way. The graze on your cheek was tender, the pink flesh raised where the blood had stopped, you needed to get to the medical unit soon to stop any sort of infection from creeping in.

Once the sun had come up, bathing the terrain in a warm glow, you moved to the front of the house, positioning yourself near Ghost.

“Any word from Price on the comms?” you ask

“None yet, he should be calling in soon.”

You resort to twiddling your thumbs. leaning against the wall.

“Why do you think they came looking for us?” you ask, staring down at your hands.

Ghost turns to face you. “Not sure, could’ve just been doing perimeter checks”

You nod your head once in acknowledgement, satisfied with his answer. You turn to ask him another question but before you can form words, you hear a loud ringing from outside the house, quickly kneeling to look outside you see flares rising into the sky. You turn to Ghost.

“Any chance that’s Price,” you ask, eyebrows furrowing

“No”

Ghost bends down from his position from the window as rounds of bullets crash into the walls of the house, shattering the windows and piercing through the wooden door.

“Move behind the table” Ghost yells to you over all the noise of the outside

You move from your curled-up position on the floor toward the table in the middle of the room, flipping it to provide some sort of cover from the gunfire. Ghost follows closely behind, setting his back against the furniture, reaching for his own gun.

“Did you see how many?” you ask in a mild panic.

“Too many for us to take on” he responds shit

You start to hear the voices of the men outside, yelling orders at each other in Spanish, you can’t make out what they’re saying over the noise. Ghost suddenly kneels and begins firing at everything that moves outside the windows, you quickly follow his actions, doing the same. The two of you manage to kill a handful of men before Ghost stands, advancing to the front of the house to grab his rifle. You spot another man outside in the field but you’re too slow on the draw, he fires his weapon and you watch as Ghost stumbles back 3 steps, before colliding with the wall and sliding toward the ground.

“Shit! LT are you okay?” you yell out, no response. Your body moves faster than your mind, leaving your spot behind the table to cover Ghost. Quickly assessing his wound before turning on your heel and firing another 6 rounds through the window. Your mind freezes as you see another 2 truck fulls of men, unloading and approaching the house. You decide to turn your full attention back to the Lieutenant.

“I need to lift your shirt, please just-”

A deep groan leaves his mouth as you pull his shirt from its tucked position, setting atop his ribs. Angling around his stomach you try to find any sign of an exit wound.

“The bullet’s  still in there, I- I have to get it out” You look up at him

He locks his eyes onto yours, a silent confirmation, before bracing his hands against anything he could grab. Ghost was no stranger to pain, he had spent most of his life enduring it, but that didn’t make facing it any easier. You take a deep breath before using your fingers to fish around in his wound, eyes flicking between his face and the hole. All impending sense of danger is wiped from your mind, all you can focus on is getting the bullet out of his stomach so you can save him.

“Okay- okay I can feel it just, just give me a second” He reaches up to grab your free hand, squeezing it hard enough you were sure he had broken a few fingers.

“Just a second LT, I’ve almost got it” you reassure him, trying your best to stay calm.

“Simon, agh, if I’m gonna bleed out at least use my real name”

“Fuck alright, just hold on- got it” You drop the bullet onto the floor and he releases your hand. Tensing it at the lingering pain of his being in his death grip before applying pressure to his stomach.

“I can’t reach my kit, I need you to push on this,” you tell him 

He turns his head to face you but makes no effort to move his arms, he’s lost too much blood, he’s barely conscious. You curse under your breath, trying to figure out a way to stop his bleeding, while the sound of gunfire is getting louder, you can hear the bullets whizzing by your head.

“Okay, it’s- it's okay Simon,” you say covering his body with yours, trying to stop any more bullets from hitting him. You don’t know what to do, you can’t have another teammate die because you weren't able to help them, tears brim your eyes as Ghost reaches a hand up to hold your cheek, turning your head to face him, he stares at you with heavy eyelids as your tears begin to fall freely, gathering over his gloved hand. You narrow your eyes, silently conveying an I’m sorry. Your eyes close as you hear the men outside about the breach the door of the house when your ears start ringing with the sound of violent winds. You open your eyes to see Simon facing the window, following his line of sight you see a black helicopter emerging from between the mountains. Simon moves his hand from your face to place it on top of yours, holding them against his stomach. You hear rapid, loud gunfire from a distance, forcing yourself further toward his body, trying to shield you both from it.

The noise stops after 2 minutes, as Simon brings his free hand to hold at the back of your head, urging you to move up. His head falls back against the wall as you turn to see someone bursting in through the door.

“Steamin Jesus”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, laughing to yourself, Soap crosses the room the kneel beside the two of you.

“I’ve got a man down, need medevac asap” you hear him say into his comms. You swear at that moment, you could kiss him. Soap grabs his kit and urges you to move so he can wrap Simon's wound, the two of you placing yourself under his shoulders, helping him off the floor as you slowly make your way over to the helicopter.

“How far is evac,” you ask, yelling over the sound of the helicopter blades whirring.

“10 minutes out” Soap responds

“That’s too long, he’s been down for almost 15,” you say, Soap nods, helping you lift Simon into the seat of the copter. 

The ride was quiet, in the silence a lingering fear shared by all of you.  You sat across from Simon, never taking your eyes off him, fearing that the second you did he would stop breathing. As the helicopter touched down on base, Soap helped the medical team get Simon on the stretcher, rushing him to the hospital unit nearby. You stood there, on deck, paralyzed, your mind flashing a hundred different images, the sounds of the base suddenly becoming overwhelming as you heard every buzz, every voice, every clatter. You stood there alone, watching as Simon’s body was pushed through the doors of the building.

“He’ll be okay, it’s the cartel we have to worry about now, they know we’re here”

Price’s voice breaks you from your trance, as you stare at him. Without responding you rush yourself to your room, ripping off your gear and turning your sink on to the highest temperature. You stand there, scrubbing your hands till the skin is red and raw, unsatisfied you turn on the shower and step in, letting the hot water cover your body. You look down and all you see is a stream of crimson, every part of you was covered in blood, and none of it was your own. You brace your arms against the tile wall as your tears begin to fall, violent sobs choking your throat.

You collect yourself before stepping out of the shower into the steam-filled room, the mirror is fogged and the air is thick. Your skin is raw from the heat of the shower as you wrap yourself in a towel and make your way to your closet. Throwing on a pair of pants and a t-shirt, the weather in Mexico was far more humid than what you were used to at home. You glance at yourself in the mirror, your eyes are puffy and red, taking a moment to try to calm your skin down so it wouldn’t appear as though you had just been sobbing. You make your way to the infirmary before being greeted by Soap near the doors.

“You alright lass? Need to get checked out by the doctor?” he asks in a worried tone, quickly scanning your body for any signs of injury.

“I’m alright, just need someone to check out this” you respond, gesturing to the streak of pink on your cheek.

He nods and steps aside to allow you to push through the doors, the room is almost a blinding white, a stark contrast to the dark room you keep yourself in most nights. You glance around trying to find the doctor but they seem to have left. Huffing a breath to yourself you turn on your heel to leave, before catching a glimpse of a large figure, clad in black. He sticks out in this environment, everything crisp and clean, while he lays on the bed, covered in dirt and blood, his skull mask removed so only his balaclava adorns his face. Your feet start moving before you can even think, making your way to his bedside, he’s asleep probably the first rest he’s had in days, but he’s alive. You pull a chair beside his bed, sitting yourself down, elbows braced on your knees. You sit in silence, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, blaming yourself for the position he’s in. You drop your head, nails scratching at the base of your neck.

“It’s my fault, I- I should’ve been quicker, I’m so sorry”

A slight groan pulls your focus toward him, you’re greeted by his dark eyes, weighed down by his lids.

“S’not your fault doll, you did what you could,” he says, there’s an air of sincerity in his whispered tone.

You laugh to yourself, “No, it is my fault. Everywhere I go, people die, not just the ones I catch in my crosshairs but the people who get close to me”

You lean back in your chair, focusing your sight away from him and onto the floor, “This- this darkness, it follows me or something, it’s always there, looming. I can’t outrun it, it’s like it’s chasing me, it has no end” 

He moves his hand to the edge of the bed, palm resting up, eyes gazing at you. You lift your arm and place your hand on top of his and he squeezes it.

“The world is cruel, but it keeps moving,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. “You are not dark, or cursed, whatever world this is, we exist in it together”

You furrow your brows at his remark, “You don’t know anything about me, Simon”

“I know who you are. Now you have to figure out who you are” he says, giving your hand another squeeze. You maintain your gaze on him, trying to find any semblance of a lie before the voice of a woman stops your thoughts. Quickly retreating your hand from his hold you stand up as she approaches.

“Okay Lieutenant, you’ll be alright, just need to take it easy for a little and- Sorry? Did you need help with anything” Her train of thought is obstructed when she looks up from her papers at you.

“No, I’m- I mean I just needed someone to check over the marks on my face.” 

“Alright just wait over there I’ll be over in a minute,” she tells you.

You make your way to the other side of the room, setting yourself down in a chair as Ghost's eyes linger on your form, watching you leave his side. The doctor continues talking to him about his condition, but all he can focus on is how empty his hand feels without yours in it, he tenses it trying to shake off the sudden loss of warmth you provided him.

“Sound good?” the doctor asks him

“Yea got it, no fieldwork for a bit”

The doctor nods and turns away to make her way to you. You’re sat in the chair nervously picking at the skin above your nails.

“Okay so,” the doctor says before putting on a pair of gloves and grabbing at your jaw. She turns your head to let it sit closer to the light, examining your cut before pulling your hair away from your ear to give it a look.

“It doesn’t look too bad, it’s shallow so you won’t need stitches, but I’ll give you some cream to try and stop it from scarring.

“No” you say turning to face her. “Let it scar it’s fine”

She takes a beat, “Okay, well, your ear is a little worse off, hearing seems fine but you’re missing a pretty big chunk of flesh, best I can do is bandage it to stop any sort of infection, it’ll have to heal on its own”

You nod, allowing her the space to clean and bandage your cut. You want the scar, you want the reminder of your failure, some sort of physical marker that resembles how you feel inside, torn and ugly. The doctor finishes up and you leave the infirmary, making your way back to your room you sit on your bed, in silence. All you can think about are Ghost's words, I know who you are, how could he. He doesn’t know the first thing about you, you’ve done nothing but ignore his presence for over a year and yet, he’s only shown kindness towards you, you don’t understand why. You skip the evening brief, aware of what will happen the next day when Price eventually corners you, asking you all the things that happened in the safe house, why you missed the team meeting, et cetera. You don’t care, all you care about is Ghost, your actions almost cost him his life, another person almost died, directly by your hand. 

Your brain feels scattered, your anxiety is weighing your body down, you don’t have the energy to move, resorting to laying down in your cot, waiting for sleep to overtake your mind. You just want to stop thinking, about him, about this mission, about your past faults, about every person whose life ended because of you. You close your eyes, urging your body to relax, and after a few minutes it does, you fall asleep, alone, in a room drenched in darkness.

tags: @kerst666 @lialacleaf @thychuvaluswife @lostinsideourminds @lauraliisa @embers-of-alluring @babybooday @revengze

[jojikawa]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘽𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝘿𝙞𝙤: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙙 𝙒𝙚𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 | 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧

WICKED HEARTS

MASTER LIST

Author’s note: This is a POC FRIENDLY blog. I am a black girl and I want to write more fics that don’t leave the reader racially ambiguous. This is self-indulgent and I’m just sharing it with you. Jojo is far from realistic. So, I don’t need to be either. Please don’t leave hate! Thanks!

This is a DARK romance so there will be toxic relationship themes, NSFW themes, descriptions of violence, and gore. There will also be unintentional sexism and racism from the characters toward the reader. The reader is canonically black in this AU but it is written for people from all walks of life to enjoy.

dividers by delishlydelightfuldividers

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

An awkward silence filled the room. You were sitting at the vanity dresser from before, as still as a statue. You were unable to bring yourself to move. You pondered on your situation. Out of everyone in this world, why did you have to be the one in the eyes of Dio? Not in a million years you would have predicted such an outcome. Without even realizing it, you acknowledged your appearance in the mirror. Dio’s rose was still in your hair, which you removed. You lifted your upper lip, inspecting your new fangs. The fangs you penetrated Dio with. 

“What is your name?” You let go of your lip and spoke to the terrified girl in the corner of the room. She was supposed to be helping you into a wedding dress Dio had come across but she was too scared. You didn’t make her help you. Not that you needed any at all.

“A-Aya.” The little girl answered nervously. Her voice was still firm as she tried to hide how scared she was and failed spectacularly. “How did Dio get to you, Aya? Why were you not inside? Did he take you from your home?” You tried to manage your hair, moving as slowly as a snail. This situation was hitting you so hard. What was the future supposed to look like for you? You’re getting married to Dio and there was nothing you could do about it. A part of you felt like he would only be more destructive if you refused. He’s never raised a hand to you but he had no remorse for taking his frustrations out on innocents as a means to an end. 

“I-I was looking for my little brother, P-Poco. He’s always missing curfew and my father asked me to go find him.” She choked out, another cry was coming on. 

You sighed. “Well, Aya, it’s safe to assume that Poco is probably dead.” You bluntly stated, not thinking at all about what you were saying. It was harsh and inconsiderate. This only pushed her to cry. Once you realized what you had done, you stopped trying to fix your hair. You sighed again, getting up out of your chair.

Aya noted that your aura and demeanor didn’t feel as threatening as Dio’s. You looked beautiful in your dress. The fabric was a deep red that made your skin look amazing. The color was as if Dio harvested it from the blood of his enemies. Your hair wasn’t perfect but its messiness almost looked to be intentional. Your soft nature clashed with the razor-sharp teeth that only showed themselves when you talked. “I’m sorry.” You looked at her with half-lidded eyes. “Poco could’ve gotten away or hid. I’m just…bitter.” You informed her. “Now, can you help me get this corset on, please?” You asked politely, voice still laced in sorrow. Aya didn’t need to be a body language expert to see that you weren’t happy at all with your situation. She instantly knew this marriage was forced. 

The girl sheepishly nodded, gaining the courage to finally stand and help you. She assisted with your corsets and layers of fabric. You always imagined yourself being married—just…happier. After spending a long time with Dio when you were young, the only man you could imagine yourself marrying was him. You also imagined yourself wearing something purer like a bright white. Aya helped bring your hair up into a neat updo style, you tucked the clip of the red veil into your hair.

During this whole process, you didn’t speak. Not much or even loudly for that matter. Your replies and directions to the girl were always hushed and hurried. Your body was adjusting to your vampire transformation. Some lights were too bright. Even the light of the moon. Your ears were noticeably more sensitive and you found your eyebrows always being subtly knitted together as your mood became permanently annoyed. The same way one would get when they feel a headache coming on. 

Aya had only just finished helping you before the silence broke. Dio entered the room, his outfit not at all different from before. Perhaps, he felt as if he didn’t need to dress for such an occasion. 

“My goodness. You look so much more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.” Dio made his way towards you, pushing Aya to the side as if she were a peasant getting to close to his trophy. You stayed silent, not at all greeting your soon-to-be husband. He grabbed your face, tilting your head upward so that his lips were only inches away from yours. You held onto his arms as he held you like glass. The man wanted nothing more than to kiss you right here. Oh yes, the idea of kissing the woman he’s been deeply in love with since he were a boy. He knew that women would claw each other’s eyes out to be with someone like him but he wanted you. He thought himself an honorable man for being so loyal during a time he didn’t have to be. 

You averted your eyes, too saddened and nervous I receive his “loving” stare. “I-“ You opened your mouth to speak when he quickly presses his lips to yours. Even with your new vampire strength, Dio still proved to be stronger than you, holding you close and not at all allowing you to resist his love. Almost abruptly, he let you go before licking his lips. “Much more savory than I remember.” Is what he would’ve said if he hadn’t seen the sullen look on your face. It gave him flashbacks to the day the two of you “broke up.” 

Why did you look happy? You’re getting married to him—you should be happy. Overjoyed even. 

“What is wrong with you?” He narrowed his eyes at you. “Don’t you love me?!” He blurted out, startling Aya who was already making herself small in the corner. 

“I do love you do. Or, at least I did.” You whispered sadly. “I barely even know what’s happened to me but I already know it’s permanent.” You removed your hands from his arms, having them retreat back into your body as you hug yourself. “You betray your own father and turned yourself into a monster. You stole my future away from me by turning me into a monster too. Now I’m stuck with you.” Your face began to burn with distress. The air you exhaled was hot like fire as you fought back tears. 

Dio took offense to your words, seeing it more as a plain insult rather than an expression of what he was doing to your psyche.

“Stuck with me!?” He repeated, putting so much emphasis on “stuck” like he was disgusted with your choice of words. “I’ll have you know that any girl born to slave parents would be honored to-“ 

slap!

Dio held his cheek in awe. If one didn’t know any better, they would’ve thought Dio had been stabbed in the heart just now. Never in a million years would he have thought you’d raise a hand to him. You were always so kind, so gentle and so, so very patient with all the vile things he would conjure up in his mind. 

“Don’t talk about my parents.” Your voice cut him like swords and your eyes burned holes into his body, stronger than any amount of Hamon ever could. All Dio could do was stare at you, his eyes were now doe-like, reminiscing at how you used to be and what you could’ve been if it weren’t for him. “If it weren’t for my father, you wouldn’t even know me.”

Dio only knew a little bit about your father. You rarely spoke of him, but he remembered the story you told him all that time ago. Your parents were slaves. Your father wanted a better life for his pregnant wife and worked himself to death, buying her freedom. Even then, it still wasn’t enough. The Pendletons took you off the streets.

“You will NOT do that again.” Dio declared. It was hard for him to be angry because he was beginning to realize that he liked it when you would raise your voice at him. “You are lucky that I am above hitting women.” He hissed before turning on his heel and leaving the room. When his presence was gone, you sighed. It felt like you had been holding your breath forever. You didn’t know what came over you. You didn’t want to be like him and react with violence. You also forgot that Aya was still in the room. “Aya, after the wedding, I will get you out of here.” You suddenly said. “Now, come.” You directed her to take the long end of your dress and hold it as you walk. The girl obeyed. 

As you exited the room, waiting for you was a disfigured creature. It meekly held a bouquet of flowers. You took it from…it before continuing on your way to find Dio. He disappeared rather quickly. “Wh-Where is your master?” You questioned it, trying not to show the fear you harbored for its appearance. 

“Lord Dio waits for you.”

Its voice made you sick to your stomach, reminding you that you were speaking to something that was no longer human and craved flesh specifically. “Take me to him.” You replied lowly, trying to match Dio’s energy and commanding them the way he would. You turned to Aya before saying “Stay in the room. I will come and get you as soon as I can.” You promised her with pleading eyes. The girl shuddered and grimaced at your request. The girl reluctantly nodded. She didn’t like the idea but she had to trust you. 

The creature did as you asked. As you followed, you thought of all the possible ways you could get Aya away. You didn’t want a child slave. No child should be a slave at all, let alone a slave for you. You knew what it was like. Going along with Dio’s marriage was your only hope of bringing some clarity to this situation. Perhaps, as his wife, you could talk some sense into him? Let the girl go, you’d tell him. Get rid of these monsters, you would say. 

But it was all just your way of coping. There was no way to get ahold of Dio. 

As you entered the room, your heart felt like it was frozen as you held your breath. Your mind was still back in that dark room, combing your pretty hair with your pretty white dress. 

Or was it red?

“I always knew red would make a better color on you.” 

His sly voice reached your ears, pulling you back to reality. Within a second, Dio was only inches away from you. His hands inspected your curves. The tips of his claws brushed the thin thread that held your corset together. They traced up to your bust where, again, your chest was practically bursting in the small corset that you were given. “This looks tight.” Dio growled at you with a grin. “I must loosen it for you.” His claw tugged at the ribbon that held your top together with your bottom. You narrowed your eyes. “Dio.” You placed a hand on your chest, preventing him from going any further. “Let’s just have the wedding.” You said quickly.

The room wasn’t elegant enough for a wedding and nor was the castle. The fire burned bright in the corners of the room but it was nothing compared to the moonlight that illuminated your features in the night.

“Eager to be my bride? You never cease to amaze me.” Dio took your hand in his. He imagined himself as the ultimate prince—no, God, finally claiming what would be his forever. “I’ve given you a gift no man ever could. Your beauty will forever be eternalized. What we had as children can transcend the bonds of time…”

You listened to Dio ramble about his “love” for you. It was hard to believe this was even real. You kept hoping that you’d wake up and then scold yourself for sleeping for so long. Then you would ponder on why you’d have such a vivid dream. 

“But I have one more question. You must answer honestly if you intend on being my wife and carrying my seed.” Dio brought his index finger and thumb to your chin. He made you look up at him, baring his fangs at you. “What is it, Dio?” Your eyes began half-lidded. Your mind almost left the conversation again before he spoke.

“Were you in love with Jonathan at all?” 

Your eyes narrowed. “Wha-“

Dio’s voice deepened. “Did you ever love him?” You looked into his eyes. He was serious. Was he…jealous?

“No, I was never in love with Jonathan. Nor was he with me.” You answered, honestly. “He was always in love with Erina.” You added. Dio let go of you. He remembered the time Jonathan let it slip that you had taken care of him after his fight with him. He saw you come to his football game, cheering for Jonathan of all people. Hanging off of his arm as if you belonged to someone else. 

“As you say.” Dio took a step away from you. “Bring me our rings,” Dio commanded the fused monsters around him. A disfigured zombie with no jaw and rotting skin brought Dio the two small pieces of jewelry. “Who did you steal these from?” You asked innocently. Your goal wasn’t to offend him but it was Dio. He was always offended. “I didn’t steal them. I had them made. What do you take me for?” Dio slipped the ring onto his finger. You purse your lips, preventing yourself from retaliating any further. Talking to him was…so hard now. It wasn’t the same. It could never be. 

Dio hesitantly reached for your dainty hand. He rehearsed this moment in his head for such a long time, even before the mask. He wanted nothing more than to finally have. Words couldn’t describe the euphoric feeling that ran through him. The anxiety that once would get when first confessing their love. It was something that was so foreign to him, yet so pleasant. His thumb rubbed the back of your hand only for a moment before he gently placed the diamond ring on your finger. It sparked in the moonlight and could even glow in the shade. Though his wedding band was dull, Dio did not care. As long as it was clear you were taken.

Your absentmindedness came to a halt when Dio saw that you were closing the distance between the two of you. You avoided eye content, keeping your gaze downward as you motioned him to bend down. His height on you would always cause an issue for you. When he complied, you meekly pressed your lips against his for a chasté kiss. The thoughtful act only lasted a moment before you pulled away, but Dio wanted more. All he wanted was more of your love. His arms trapped you, bringing you into another kiss. It was like your lips were candy, but these could’ve been his imagination. Your lips were better than any candy he’s ever had. 

Suddenly, the only door in the room was forced open. Dio gasped—jumped at the sound. He let go of you, bringing his full attention to the intruder. It was…

“Jonathan?” You called out softly, utter shock filling your body. Dio blocked your vision with his huge body. “I’m back from my time in hell, Dio.” Jonathan invited himself inside. It wasn’t until then he noticed you. “(y/n)?! You’re alive!” Then the man furrowed his eyebrows. “Damn you, Dio!” He cried. “Let that fair maiden go! I thought she was dead because of you! All of London thinks she’s dead!”

“Still as loud as always, Jonathan.” Dio forced his cool demeanor to now show weakness. “You dare not speak to her, as I am her God now. The world is better off not looking for her.” He grinned at JoJo. “I see that you are also alive now, that’s curious, isn’t it?” Dio stepped towards JoJo. A batch of creatures dropped from the ceiling, surrounding you so that Jonathan has no quick way of getting to you. “But I suppose that indicates that you’ve defeated my two knights.”

“Dio!” Jonathan growled, preparing himself to finally fight this cursed man. “No! Jonathan! Don’t come any closer!” You warned. “These creatures are undead! Dio is a monster!” You tried to push your way past the hellspawn but they seemed to have orders from Dio to keep you from leaving. 

“Don’t worry, (y/n). Jonathan is mine and mine alone. I’ll kill JoJo and you’ll finally see him for how pathetic he really is.” Dio’s smirk faded. “But I will take no pleasure in doing so, as we were raised under the same roof. But before I do, I must ask you one question.”

For a moment, Jonathan looked perplexed. He was not the smartest JoJo, but even with critical thinking, he couldn’t think of any reason why Dio would want to ask him something at a time like this. 

“No, Dio-“

“At any point, did you ever have feelings for someone other than airheaded Erina? (y/n), perhaps?” Dio cupped his hand around his ear, pointing it towards Jonathan as he waited for his answer. This only made JoJo much more angry!

“The only woman I’ve ever loved is Erina!” He shouted, clenching fists as Hamon sparked out. Jonathan wasn’t completely oblivious; he knew Dio was always jealous of his friendship with you. 

“Do you know what I think JoJo? I think you’ve lied for the last time.” Dio crossed his arms. “When I look into the eyes of my beloved, I see the truth. When I look into yours, I see a boy who’s torn…” 

Behind Jonathan emerge more people. People you didn’t recognize. These were the others that JoJo was traveling with. They were a rather strange lot of characters, but anyone other than Dio was a blessing. You just were unable to understand how any human could get out of this situation alive. 

Much to your horror, the humans fought Dio. The first man, Dire, died attempting to deal the first blow to the vampire man. Dio displayed powers you had never seen before. He could freeze his victims with just a touch. Even though his clothes, if he touched you then he could free you. Dire was just a head now. He used the last of his hamon to fill a rose with it before spitting it at Dio. That was when you realized something. Something important. All this time, you’ve been shying away from Dio. As children, he was bigger than you; stronger as well. When the two of you grew up, he got even bigger while you remained small and needed to be protected. Men always preferred women to be this way. They were easier to control. 

But now, things are different. You possessed the strength of a dozen men. All the things Dio could do, you were able to do as well. If your husband couldn’t listen to reason and thought of himself as God, then you needed to be his adversary. It was the only option left for the sake of your loved ones. How could you face your best friend and the family that helped raise you if they knew you didn’t stop Dio from killing her lover? Hell, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself. 

Dio was distracted now, going on about how the rose Dire launched injured his eye. In a swift motion, you used all of your strength to strike the monsters holding you back. You cleaved all of their heads off at once and they fell to the ground with an audible thud. You helped the humans as Jonathan fought Dio. 

It was like a blur. Jonathan didn’t allow you to help defeat Dio. He didn’t believe that such a fair maid had to see such a thing, to begin with. The man defeated his vampire adversary. JoJo removed his head with his sword, causing Dio to cry out. 

As Dio fell from the balcony, his body began to crumble from being filled with hamon. You ran over to the edge, not at all believing what you were seeing. Yet, it was true.

Dio even called out to you. The sound of his dying words gave you goosebumps. You couldn’t help but tear up. Why did things have to be this way? Could this have been prevented if you just stayed with Dio? Was this blood now on your hands?

“(y/n)…” Jonathan called breathlessly. He was tired from the battle. He fought someone who was no longer human by the way. “Jonathan!” You ran over to him. He looked like he was about to collapse. The young man examined your face and the pain that washed over him was indescribable. His eyes watered up before tears effortlessly streamed down his face. “(y/n)…” his voice was uneven and he dropped to his knees. “I couldn’t protect you from Dio! I’m sorry!” He cried. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. “Oh, Jonathan.” You kneeled down to hug him. “There was no way you could’ve known.” 

Behind JoJo, you saw the human men approach the two of you. They seemed to have similar powers that allowed them to take out the zombies easily. Their eyes burned with a fiery passion that was stronger than any hamon. “It’s best that we put an end to all that’s left of the mask.” The young man with long black hair said. JoJo struggled on his own but he gained the strength to shield you from them. “No! You can’t kill! She’s my friend!” He shouted, holding you close to his big chest. “J-Jonathan! It’s okay. You don’t have to protect me.” You squeeze your eyes shut.

A different man stepped forward, this one wearing a funny top hat with a scar on his face. “But it’s just a lady! She can’t be as evil as Dio, can she?” His voice was shaky as he had witnessed Dio’s carnage firsthand. The last thing he wanted to believe was that there would be another version of Dio. The revenge of a widow? No thank you!

“She is Dio’s bride. There’s no use in keeping loose ends.” The older man took a step closer. 

“I swear, I’m not like Dio. I didn’t ask him to use the mask on me!” You shouted. “I’ve known her since I was a boy. I take full responsibility! Just don’t-“ before the young man could finish, he passed out. Your eyes widened. You felt his breathing slow. He passed out!

The man with the top hat ran over to pull Jonathan off of you. “He’s worn out. JoJo’s been in more fatal fights tonight than a man should have in his lifetime!” The man said. “The name’s Robert E.O. Speedwagon, but you can shave off the first part and just call me Speedwagon.” He held out his hand for you to take it. You hesitated but you had no choice. “Er…Speedwagon.” You repeated to get used to the name. You stayed close to him since you were still afraid of the foreign hamon users. You felt like introducing yourself would put them at ease. They weren’t gonna kill you, right?

“My name (y/n) (l/n). Dio kidnapped me just after the Joestar mansion fell.” You began to explain. Already, it didn’t seem like they care all. All except for Speedwagon. He perked up at the sound of your name. “JoJo’s told me a lot about you! All of London thought you were dead, but Jonathan here knew that Dio got you once we knew the bastard lived through that fire!”

“Fire?” You repeated. “Were you there? Can you please tell me what happened that night?” You tugged at the man’s arm. Was it inappropriate for him to admit that he found you extremely attractive? 

Yes.

“Y-Yes, I was there. I met Jonathan that night as well. Dio was supposed to be arrested for the poisoning of George Joestar but then he used the mask and killed everyone except me and Jonathan. We had no choice but to set the house on fire.” Speedwagon noticed that with every word, the pain on your face became more apparent. “S-So, it’s true?” Your voice pitched up with sorrow as you accepted that Dio was a monster before he used the mask on himself. 

Due to Jonathan’s pleas and Speedwagon’s charisma, the Hamon masters spared you. Despite that being good news, the overwhelming hold in your heart would never easily recover from such a terrible circumstance. You’ve witnessed more death than any human should and even got to see the hybrid creatures that used to be people as well. You returned to Erina but only for a little while. The girl greeted you with open arms, balling her eyes out at the sight of you being unharmed. 

Then she saw your attire. You now adorned all black, wearing a black dress that covered your skin, leaving everything to the imagination. You had also been wearing an oversized Victorian bonnet that cast a shadow over your face, leaving only your eyes to be seen. They were different too, glowing bright red and festering with hunger. Somehow, the news of your transformation hit harder than the news of your supposed death. Now you could never rest as a creature of the night. 

You stuck around for the wedding of Jonathan and Erina. You were the best maid along with Speedwagon was the best man. You could sense him making his advances toward you but you’d always snuff out any ideas he may have gotten about you. It was quite humorous, actually. 

The couple planned to sail to the United States. You supported her decision and waved them goodbye as their ship set off. It took some thinking, but you came to the conclusion that you wanted to be a singer. There was no realistic way you could return to your previous occupation as the owner of Sweet Magnolia. The last thing you wanted was to resume things after that experience. 

Plus, it would be extremely hard to explain your reappearance after being declared dead. Your new life was overwhelming at first but perhaps it could be the beginning of something exciting. You could do…anything you wanted.

Anything. 

Your mother used to tell you that you’d have a good singing voice. It was the only way you could occupy yourself while doing chores back at the Pendleton mansion. Now it was time to test such a thing. What level of fame could one woman achieve with all the time in the world to practice and perform? Your career started slow. Not many people wanted to hear a woman they had never heard of before, but within a few years, you were able to perform at small gatherings for the first time. Networking proved to be a challenge but you began using your looks and wits as a way of convincing others. There was no longer an underlying fear of being attacked or harassed because of your new power. You felt like a queen who was taking in the world. Although, you knew better than to abuse your powers. You were still a good woman at heart. 

The horrors that caused the death of Jonathan Joestar didn’t reach you until it had long passed. Speedwagon found successful after also traveling to the United States. He became a wealthy man with his share of oil. He had men from his new organization send you an old letter from Erina along with the news that Jonathan has died.

“Dear (y/n),

This is Erina. I don’t know when I will be able to get this to you but when you receive it, please come to New York right away. The day Jonathan and I left for the Americas, the ship was attacked. Dio came back and was able to turn members of the crew into hideous monsters. Jonathan died protecting me. Now, I’m alone.

I’ve now seen the horrible things Dio has forced you to witness. I can’t be alone. I know that all you want to do now is leave your old life behind, but I need you.

-Erina.”

Tag list: @z3r0art ❤️

Hi guys! Like all my other stuff, this is not proofread very well. This is all for fun so I’m sorry if my writing style sucks lol

I’m also sorry for this part coming out much later than the other parts. I’ve been doing a lot of irl things to further my education in writing. I wanna write for video games and I honestly would love to be apart of the Riot Games team. I qualify to be a narrative writer for Legends of Runterra but I must live in Los Angeles…I don’t live there XD so yea. But I’m gonna keep improving. But yea that’s why I’ve been busy. I’ve been writing a lot of stuff that’s not for tumblr haha.

Up next will be the retelling of Stardust Crusaders. It’s supposed to be more sexually explicit than Phantom Blood bc I imagine Dio’s perspective of being a gentleman changes. Before I begin releasing that part, I’ll make an interlude telling the story of the female MC before Dio inevitably comes back with Jonathan’s body ❤️

See you guys soon! Thank you so much for all of your support! 💕

[artbyblastweave]

A few things I’m liking in House Of Leaves so far-

In the sequence where Zampano is describing how Navidson is initially cataloguing the spatial distortion in the hosue, Johnny has a footnote on an extensive break in the academic form of the paper where Zampano gets purple-prosy about coffee spilling out of the cup. He acknowledges that the level of detail is extraneous and probably wouldn’t have survived Zampano’s own scrutiny on a revision, but Johnny is leaving it in anyway because he thinks that errors a person makes, written errors in particular, are an important method of understanding people, and since the text is all that remains of Zampano he’s unwilling to remove any of it. This is, again, introduced roughly concurrently with Navidson’s impossible measurement. Three different layers on which an error is going uncorrected. Four, if you accept that the editors who took it off Johnny also didn’t correct it. Layers upon layers.

Generally related to Zampano’s prose- as a guy who got a comms degree of some stripe, and milked a lot of papers out of overanalyzing works of fiction I was already pretty familiar with, there can be this tension in academic writing where you have to try and convey enough actual details of whatever story you’re analyzing that your audience will have context for whatever your point is, but not so much where you start to feel like you’re just letting your pre-existing Love For The Thing overweigh by volume whatever the actual project is. And Zampano feels like he’s buckling under that tension a lot of the time- and the further into this I get the more obvious Johnny’s refusal to tighten up extraneous elements feels, to the point it feels like it’s morphing into a straight-up recreation of the narrative under analysis. It’s getting bigger. I sense a theme.

Johnny’s extensive diatribe in the footnotes over not being able to find anyone in his social circle who can translate latin, which seemingly against his will balloons out into a thousand-word tangent culminating in a vivid description of his father’s tragic death- immediately followed by an editor’s footnote translating the two lines of latin that kicked that whole thing off. And then followed by a factual footnote from Johnny about a Jungle Book reference, which implicitly he would have written immediately after the dead father thing. Cracked up at this

[stellarcoachman]

Trying something new and posting directly to Tumblr. I've written a few things for Novembmas, but I don't have a lot of time to write at the moment, so sadly I can't do the full month.

(also, I promise the boys won't be separated for all of them, but that is where we're starting.)

Anyway, this is Day 4: Maintenance / Coat(s)

Emmet does his best to not let it bother him. He tries verrry hard. He does not entirely succeed. It’s just the worst. He knows the challenger didn’t mean anything by it. He knows it was an accident. But in his mind, his ire is directed at them anyway. Not that he would tell anyone that. It would be unprofessional.

Honestly, though. It would be one thing if it had just been the stray Mud Slap. The challenger’s Krookodile obviously didn’t intend to hit him. It was not her fault that Klinklang dodged at the last second. That alone he could overlook. He would have been mildly annoyed, but he simply could have washed the mud out of his coat during his lunch break. But no. That was not all. 

After Krookodile fell to an, admittedly more aggressive than necessary, Flash Cannon, the challenger sent out a Heatmor to back up their Swanna. This had little effect on Crustle, who simply retreated into his shell when Incinerate washed across the car, but was bad news for Klinklang, and when it retreated back to its ball, even worse news for Emmet’s coat. The mud which already marred the entirety of the left side immediately baked in the heat, becoming adhered almost irreversibly.

He tries to ignore it for the rest of the morning, but he notices several challengers eyes lighting on it and responding with either sympathy or bemusement. He does not acknowledge either the mud or the reactions, but his bad mood does cause him to battle more aggressively than usual. No one defeats him all morning.

During his lunch break, he tries to wash the mud off. He succeeds in removing most of the crusted-on material, but the stain remains. He gives an aggravated sigh and goes back to the train, detouring only to grab a prepackaged lunch from the break room, but refusing to eat it there. He doesn’t want to hear whatever the Depot Agents have to say, as well meaning as their light jesting may be.

For the rest of the day, Emmet does his very best to not let the stain bother him. It’s not that big a deal. He knows it isn’t. He knows something like this was bound to happen eventually given his profession and preference for white clothes. Still, he has never been happier for the end of the workday. He has paperwork to do, but none of it is pressing, so he decides he can deal with it later and goes home straight away.

As soon as he’s home, he releases the Pokemon he brought with him and they greet those who were left for the day excitedly. He changes out of his uniform, leaving the coat hanging over a chair to be dealt with later. He feeds the Pokemon and heats up some leftovers for himself. While he sits to eat, he considers the problem. He doesn’t know if his usual go-to of bleach is going to work here. He pulls up his XTrans and taps out a question on it.

That gets him a surprisingly wide array of results, many of which are directly contradictory to each other. He sighs and resigns himself to spending the night researching. Eventually, he settles on a plan and grabs the vinegar from the kitchen and the laundry detergent and creates a concoction of it based on the instructions he found.

As he begins to scrub away at the stain, Emmet allows his mind and his eyes to wander. The Pokemon are finished with their dinner and are now either grooming each other or settling down for the night in their preferred resting spot. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Emmet wishes that it weren’t. He wishes that Ingo was here, even though he knows that he would have to endure an incredible amount of teasing about how impractical white clothing is for a professional battler.

He can imagine the exasperation he would feel, but it would be fond, just as the teasing would be. Ingo would understand. Their coats are important to both of them. They’re symbols of their positions as Subway Bosses, yes, but also serve a more personal purpose. Obviously, nobody could possibly mistake the fact that they’re twins, given their identical looks, but their choice to wear identical, but inverted, uniforms was a deliberate one. They serve to simultaneously distinguish them from one another and to inextricably link them together in the minds of anyone who sees them.

He wonders if Ingo still has his coat, wherever he is. He was wearing it the last time Emmet saw him, but it’s been quite a long time. He hopes he still has it. He hopes he still mirrors him even now that they’re apart.

He shakes his head, banishing the thoughts to the best of his ability and focusing on the task at hand. The coat certainly looks better. He washes the detergent out and inspects it. Almost clean. He throws it in the wash with a generous amount of bleach. If that doesn’t work, he always has his spare coat.

Ingo keeps an ear on the battles happening nearby, but his eyes are focused on the task at hand. He can feel Captain Zisu’s eyes on him during lulls in the battle, but she doesn’t comment on his work. He appreciates that. He knows he’s not doing a very good job.

He’s also not working very quickly, but he would rather take longer than make a mistake. His coat means too much to him, and it’s already so badly damaged. So, he keeps his eyes trained on the tears in the thick fabric as he rhythmically pierces the fabric with the sewing needle and gently tugs the thread tight.

In this way, he slowly manages to fix the worst of the damage. When the sounds of battle fade, Ingo assumes that the Security Corp must be finished with their training for the evening. There’s a small amount of chaos as everyone cleans up and heals their Pokemon, but slowly, they disperse. 

After a few minutes, Zisu takes a seat next to him where he’s cross-legged on the ground. “You really care about that coat, huh?”

He glances up to see her giving him a friendly smile, which he makes a pointless attempt to return. He doesn’t know her all that well, but she’s been kind. “I do.” 

She takes his short response in stride, not seeming terribly offended that he immediately returns to his work. “You must, to bother repairing it when it’s in that condition.” When he only hums in response, she asks, “was it a gift from someone?”

He hums again, focusing on his stitching. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t… know?”

He pauses, then glances up to see her face twisted in confusion. “Ah. I apologize. I’m accustomed to everyone knowing before they even meet me. I’ve been… afflicted, for lack of a better term, with amnesia.”

“Amnesia? What’s that?”

“I can’t remember my home station. Or anything from before I arrived at this station.” Zisu doesn’t immediately answer and he doesn’t look up to see her expression. He continues his explanation. “I’m unsure where I got this coat from, or if it may have been a gift. All I know is that I was wearing it when I was found by the Pearl Clan.”

There’s a minute of silence, during which time Ingo remains focused on his task. Eventually, Zisu says, “that’s… awful.”

Ingo shrugs. “I suppose it is.”

There’s a sort of rustling sound, followed by a markedly more gentle, “you still care about that coat, though.”

“Of course.” He pulls the thread tight and ties off the end, finishing the repair on another tear. “I don’t know exactly why. Perhaps it’s simply because it’s one of the only things I have of home, but I don’t think it’s just that. I have a feeling it meant more to me even before arriving here.” He shakes the garment in question out, inspecting his handiwork. It looks better than before, but still quite ragged. It will have to do. He stands and pulls it on over his Pearl Clan tunic. “Thank you for allowing me to use this space, Captain.”

She smiles as she stands as well. “Of course. You’re always welcome here, Warden. Perhaps next time you’d like to participate in some battles? I’ve been told you have quite a way with Pokemon.”

He pinches his eyes. “I would like that.”

[midnight-talescape]

Despise (John Wick x Reader)

Kinktober Day 5: Enemy or hate sex

I really want to write assassin hate sex

Warning: biting, hate sex, swearing, blood, gun, mention of murder, bdsm, also implied consent, ooc a little bit, etc, etc you get the point not for kid

Genre: filthy filthy smut

｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡

You put the gold coin onto the desk paying for your room for the next few days, and after refusing the offer to go to the doctor you directed yourself to your room.

Once you reach your room, you slammed the door shut, too in pain to care who it bothers. Before promptly collapse onto the floor holding onto the wound on your side.

“Motherfucking bitches,” you cursed under your breath as you wince in pain trying to pull yourself to the first aid kit,

This was a mission gone wrong thanks to those backstabbing son of a bitch. If they think that this was gonna kill you, they have another thing coming for them.

You snarl under your breath as you remember how your teammate is apparently hired to kill you, which lead to you killing all of them. You swear that you will hunt down the fucking bitch that hired them.

But first you will have to patch yourself up, not particularly trusting anyone else right now, despite the no killing rule in the hotel.

Just as you finished your quote on quote patching up, by removing the bullet, pouring some alcohol on it, then wrapping it in bandage. You could probably try better but honestly you don’t really care right now, when you hear a knock on the door.

You let out another swear under your breath, knowing full well you didn’t order shit and the hotel staff knows better then to knock on your door right now. You grabbed your gun preparing for a fight, when the door was unlock and in came none other then John Wick himself.

You secretly let out a sigh of relief, knowing that despite the fact that you guys despise each other, unlike you he actually has a sense of moral. So he shouldn’t be here to kill you, although it’s weird how he manage to get into your room.

You hold onto your gun and gave a wave, before leaning on the wall for support and asking,

“Isn’t it the legendary John Wick, what are you doing here in my humble abode?”

He closed the door behind him before looking at you again,

“I heard you got severely injured, so I decided to come see,”

You hold your hand to your chest and let out a fake gasp,

“Oh my god, The John Wick caring about silly old me? I can’t fucking believe it,”

Despite your very fake attempt of being relax, you tense as you see him started to walk toward you.

“Let me see your wound,”

You stopped slightly baffled about the request. Why would he want to see your wound, it’s not like he care, so why? Questions for later, you do not like how this scenario is turning out.

“How about fuck no? My wound is none of your business and how the fuck did you even get in, in the first fucking place?”

Seemingly unfazed by your rejection he merely walked closer and ask again with more aggression,

“I said, show me your wound, (Y/N),”

You back up farther acknowledging the fact that you’re really fucking close to the wall and start searching for a escape route.

Seeing how you’re absolutely not gonna show him your wound, John Wick let out a sigh and just as you darted across the room trying to run (as best as you can with a bullet wound in your fucking side) he easily caught you. Then before you have time to react he trapped you between the ground and his body.

You attempted to punch him, which didn’t work out as he grabbed your arm and hold it above your head, before tying a knot with his tie. Before you had a chance to attack him again, he forced a leg between yours and pinned you down with his weight.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, WICK?!?! ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!?!” you screamed completely freaking out as he pulled up your shirt,

“Calm down, im checking your wound,”

He skillfully unwrapped your bandage that you wrapped (terribly) and checked on your wound. He touched your bullet wound gently and seeing how terribly you fixed your wound, he let out a sigh and started fixing up your wound. Just when he was about done, he accidentally wrapped your wound too hard and you let out a hiss of pain.

Hearing your sound of pain, suddenly angry, he change his original gentle touch and dig into your newly bandage wound harshly.

“OW! MOTHERF-“ you scream and arched your back in pain, tear staining your eyes,

John Wick looked up and removing his hand from your wound, and pulled your face to face him.

“I wouldn’t have had to do this, if you had just listen to me,”

“What the fuck is wrong with y-oomph!”

John Wick effectively shut you up by slamming his mouth on yours.

You stayed there frozen, too shocked from the event that is happening. You eventually unfroze when you felt him slipped his tongue into your mouth and you guys wrestle for dominance. Which you lost but let’s move on. Eventually he pulled away, with nothing but a silver strand of saliva connecting you guys.

He lift your face up, so he can looked into your eye,

“Every single fucking time, (Y/N). Every single bloody time. You just fucking go off to who knows where and come back bloody, the entire time not giving a rat ass about your life,”

Finally catching your breath, and regain some control of your brain from the weird ass situation you’re in, you ask the only question on your mind,

“So? Why the fuck do you care?”

“Because (Y/N) I’m fucking tired of hearing how you almost fucking died again,”

“Too fucking bad, you can’t stop me from hunting down those bitches that paid for my head, and I don’t fucking like waiting for my kills,” you hiss feeling angry of being in such a vulnerable position and another feeling that you can’t pinpoint,

“Then I will just have to make sure you don’t have the energy to fucking leave then,”

“I’m sorry, wha-“

Right as you said that, you knew what he meant. Not because you can read mind but because he has literally ripped off your clothing and tied each of your leg to something. By this point you don’t give enough fucks.

“I’m gonna fuck you, until you can’t remember your own fucking name. And if you tried to get out of this fucking room before you fucking heal or come back half dead again, I will make you fucking regret it,”

As soon as he whisper those word into your ears, he bit down on your neck, hard enough to draw blood.

You hiss out a sound of pain, and soon you felt his hand squeezing your breast and pulling on your nipple.

And how he lick and bit down on your skin leaving his mark, as he travel farther and farther down.

Eventually he reached your core and you felt him biting your inner thigh getting ever so close to your clit, but never there.

Occasionally he will tease it but never enough to satisfied your need.

You bite down on your lip, refusing to show weakness in a situation so absurd.

Seeing your resistance, he just continue doing what he was doing. After all he has never lack patience.

Eventually you broke down after you were close to a orgasm, but was cruelly denied.

Seeing the blood on your lip, he rescue your bottom lip from your teeth, licking away the blood. Before whispering in your ears,

“Just say please, and this can be over. One word and I will give you what you want,”

“Please…”

“Im sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,”

Pretending to not hear you, he gave your clit a flicked, sending a shock through your body.

You grit your teeth and practically yelled,

“I said, please just fucking fuck me!” In frustration,

“Good girl,” was all he said before he inserted 2 of his fingers into your holes, stretching you out in a scissoring motion.

He slowly went from 2 to 3 and before you know it, 4 of his finger was in you.

Feeling the stretch of your tunnel (?) and suddenly very scared of what’s going to happen, you tried to back out,

“Wait- nevermind I back ou-“

“I’m a man of my word, you know that,”

You felt him insert his 5th finger and slowly forced the rest of his hand inside you.

“I want you to know this is all your fault, princess,” his hand bottomed out, “if you hadn’t been such a hothead, then I wouldn’t have to do this,” 

You let out cry’s of pain as his hand went into your tunnel which is way too small for it.

You started crying from both your body tightening around him and him starting to hit all the spot you didn’t even know existed.

“Take it out- please- I’m fucking sorry-“ you sobbed out in a desperate cry for him too stop,

He didn’t even looked up as he found your cervix and started prodding the entrance.

You let out sound of pain and discomfort as you clawed at the rug (or at least the part you can reach) desperate for some sort of distraction.

Eventually he bring out a orgasm both so painful and so blissful you started to see bright light. Seeing this John Wick pull his hand out with a wet ‘pop’ and your hole desperately try to return themselves to their original shape.

You eventually came down from your high and laid on the floor panting, and with a weak voice you ask,

“I-is it over? Will you leave me alone now?”

He clicked his tongue,

“(Y/N), I didn’t know you were so fucking naive. I said I was gonna fuck you till you don’t remember your name. We’re not exactly there yet, are we?”

He directed his cock at your hole, and that’s when you finally notice at some point he has undressed himself and wrapped your leg around his waist.

Seeing the size of his cock, you started shivering from fear.

You’re not sure wtf happen there but if his hand was already causing you pain, that might just fucking killed you.

“N-no- you can’t fucking do this- that thing isn’t going to fit!”

“That’s your problem, princess,” with that he slammed into you, and you let out a scream of pain,

He didn’t give you time to adjust as he hold onto your waist, and started to slam deep inside you.

Your wound started bleeding again from the way he was roughly fucking you.

Through your cry, occasional moan and multiple orgasm, your overstimulated mind realize the thing tying your arm together has come loose. You clawed into John Wicks back, wanting him to feel at lease a little part of the pain your going through.

He let out a little groan as he picked you up and started readjusting you so he can hit deeper inside you. Eventually he broke past your cervix (this just happen a lot in my smut, you should get use to it) and you bit into his shoulder trying to control your sob.

Eventually he pulled out and painted your belly and chest with streams of cum.

“N-no more, please…” you choked out, your entire body spasming from what you went through,

“If the word please work, then there won’t be people like us, (Y/N)…”

｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡

When you wake up again, your wound was freshly bandaged and John Wick looked like he just came back from a blood bath.

You wince as you got up as much as you can,

“What the fuck happen to you?”

He looked up as he put back his weapon,

“I took care of the people that hired to kill you, so you have no reason to leave,”

Surprised that’s he will do that for you, you said the greatest thank you of all time,

“What if I leave anyway?”

He look up and said matter of factly,

“I don’t mind fucking you again, then chaining you to a bed so you can’t leave,”

‘Okay, maybe I should move on from this conversation’

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why did you do any of this? Why did you kill them, why did you…” you gestured wildly across the room, before you gestured at yourself, “We despise each other,”

John Wick let out a little laugh,

“I have never despise you, you’re the only person that thinks so,”

“Oh…”

“In fact, I think I might have loved you since the day we met,”

“Oh- I’M SORRY WHAT?!?!”

[the-crimson]

Ok ive read many takes on both sides and gathered my thoughts on the whole Dream vs Quackity war in reguards to his tweet.

Dream should not have made this tweet. The entire way he presented the tweet was intentionally written to stir up drama and anger within his fans. Adding a “don’t harass anyone uwu” at the end does nothing to placate the anger he deliberately stirred within his fans. He created this tweet to elicit a negative response from the fan base to force Quackity to respond. It’s immature and irresponsible considering how massive both of their fan bases are.

80% of his tweet was personal information that has zero purpose being in this tweet other than to stir emotion and rage. He cold have literally just said:

 “I’ve been trying to talk to Quackity about our SMPs so that they can coexist and be unique from each other but he hasn’t responded. I don’t want there to be any conflict between our two servers or fan bases and the sooner we work this out the better.”

And even then, he would still be using social pressure to get Quackity to respond - which is not how the situation should be handled - but it gets the exact same message across without all the emotional manipulation.

Quackity’s silence in regards to the USMP and the lack of leadership he’s shown with the QSMP is also making the situation worse. This drama has been building for literal weeks and Quackity has not addressed it or taken steps to prevent it.

First, his refusal to acknowledge the USMP at all caused his fans to lash out at Dream for being a copycat (i don’t have an opinion whether or not this is true, i don’t have enough information, but their reaction was completely inappropriate regardless) which caused a huge schism in the fandom over literally something that could have been prevented with a single tweet or retweet.

Then, Quackity does the bare minimum of removing a racist mod but doesn’t hold any of the cc’s accountable for how they interacted with the mod and doesn’t address the fact that the mod caused harm within his community. Many fans rally behind this silence and deny that the mod was racist at all which alienated even more people in the fandom. Quackity needed to address these fans and the growing toxicity within his fan base as the leader of this fandom he created but he didn’t

And now we are brought to the current storm. Dream fans and some neutral parties are whipped up by his intentionally pathos heavy tweet and pitted against fans who have blind loyalty to Quackity. Unstoppable force vs immovable object. And all the neutral parties in the middle being drowned in the drama.

This is an entirely avoidable situation and both Quackity and Dream played a part in making it worse. Both fandoms need to seriously go outside and touch some grass. Dram stans and Quackity stans are equally toxic and terrible and yall need a serious reality check.

You don’t know Quackity or Dream. They are not your friends. You are literal pawns in their personal conflict. Wake up.

[houseofbrat]

I'm still on DivorceWatchMarch2023, and last I heard they were living separately and barely seeing each other, but we will have to see what happens. If not this month, then I believe it will be by May, but this is based solely on my prediction when they married that it wouldn't last five years.

I've not been really keeping up with the Markle goss for a while, so sorry to all who look forward to tea time. I haven't gotten any updates from my brother lately either for that matter other than we will be seeing more of Harry and Meghan on South Park at some point. I think they will be repeat secondary plot line characters next time though, like Satan and Jesus are. I was told that the South Park team was amused at how butthurt Harry and Meghan got.  Other than that, I've got nothing new.  I think something big is about to come out that will destroy them from a PR perspective, but I got that from Lady C.

I think Meghan threw down the title card for the children to try to get ahead of whatever this big thing is. Apparently they've known since the funeral that the children were Prince and Princess, but deferred on the announcement for some reason. Probably to create just this precise situation where everyone loses their shit. I personally don't think it changes anything or that Charles was wrong to give them the titles.  I DO think Charles should have just announced it back then and cut off the current Meghan shitstorm at the pass. That was his weakness, just not coming out with it from the beginning when he announced the PPoW. Maybe he didn't want any outrage to overshadow his mother's death, because really Harry and Meghan's kids' titles shouldn't even be given the opportunity to compete with mourning the late Queen.  There have been six other months though that he could have announced this and he should have. Now we've got a huge tempest brewing in a teapot, but again, I think this stunt was Meghan trying to get ahead of something. I mean, Christening Lilibet has nothing to do with her having the title of Princess, but Meghan threw that in for some reason. I think the Christening was solely to get Tyler Perry's alliance with her, whether real or imagined, cemented as Lili's godfather.  Again, something big is coming and she may be trying to tie him to her in case this scares him away.

Anyway, I'll start trying to keep ahead of the Todger Gossip again. I took a break from them for the Murdaugh trial. Meghan was really wearing me down, and I needed something uplifting /s, but I guess I need to get back to it. I will get to the bottom of this Tyler Perry alliance if it's the last thing I do. I've got a theory, but I want to have more than that because I'm certain that he had them removed from his house because The Wife was abusing the staff and refusing to accommodate others that Tyler invited to stay there for a few weeks.  He is also a very kind man by all accounts, so... other than his money, he's not really Meghan's type

I think this is really a non-issue. I remember now that Lady C said ages ago that they were already Prince and Princess and that the website and Prince Charles had nothing to do with it.

If Charles were going to do away with their titles, he would have had to issue new Letters Patent, which we know he has not done, so really this is nothing new and we are playing into Meghan's manipulative hands by even acknowledging this.

I think the titles are a red herring and we need to stop focusing on them and start focusing on why she has chosen NOW.  She orchestrated three things to try to rile people up over the course of 24 hours:

The Christening- that Meghan had acted like the Christening is what MADE Lilibet a Princess. It didn't. She doesn't have to be christened to be a Princess. Why a Christening for a 2-year old AND a title announcement at the same time?  I've got a theory, and I think the Christening is all about Tyler Perry and cementing him to her because she knows something is coming that could make him run away.

The titles. We now know the titles have been in place since the death of the Queen. She's been holding this card for six months, has had all of is playing will-they, won't-they about the titles for months and has chosen to play it now. Why? Has the National Weather Service updated the  DivorceWatch to a DivorceWarning? Is she trying to drum up goodwill by announcing her kids have titles that she has said she didn't care about? If so, that misfired, but Meghan always does misfire when it comes to generating goodwill, so...

The What's-her-name race-baiter interview. Why dredge that up right now? It's definitely not a coincidence and it's definitely at Meghan's command that this woman stirs the shit pot because the last time we heard from her it was around another big Meghan trifecta to deflect from Earthshot. Meghan miscalculates here because the woman is saying the Royal Family is racist at the same time as Meghan is announcing her children are fully titled members of that family, but we know Meghan always fails at every scheme to generate goodwill for herself, but she succeeds at getting everybody all worked up. Still she's been silent for months. Why now?

Regardless we are all doing what she wants us to do by getting outraged about this.  Whatever her reason for creeping out of her swamp to piss everybody off, the children's titles aren't it.  I'm curious about what actually IS it. Regardless, I'm eager to hear Lady C's take today.

Getty falling through may totally screw up the timing, but she is done with Harry and it is merely a matter of time before she publicly jumps ship. Harry is broke and she blames him for their being a laughingstock. Meghan really thought she had Getty locked down, but Getty's family has now reportedly successfully intervened, and I don't know what effect, if any, that will have on the future of the Todgers.

At one point, I heard Harry was the one who was leaving. At the Queen's funeral he was pulled back into reality enough to be done with her, but he is too crazy and drug-addled at this point to make a decision or act one way or another. However, whether or not it is publicly or legally acknowledged, they are separated. They don't live together. They are only seen together for staged publicity. She is, however, still in control.

[bitchypuppystarlight]

My stepmother has never liked me. When I was a child she resented me for being around and for my dad making me her responsibility. We clashed a lot because of this. Well I wouldn’t say clashed because that implies intentionality on my part and I was just a child. And by child I mean I was 5,6,7 & 8 years old. Also I had ADHD (this was in the 80s when a child with ADHD was just seen as difficult and disobedient) so anything I did or didn’t do was taken as being obstinate at best and downright offensive at worst. I often endure strict discipline which would sometime tip over into child abuse. Instead of cowering and being bullied into “behaving” I only became stronger and more determined to remove myself from her presence anyway that I could. Nothing I did was right and I was constantly made to feel as if I didn’t belong.

One time, actually the last time I ever did anything that would be considered bad was when I was in the fourth grade. Our class had been assigned a project where we were to make up our family’s Coat of Arms. Since I knew nothing of my mother’s side and was embarrassed to ask along with being worried I would get in trouble I broke into the neighbors house. I didn’t do anything in there. I didn’t break stuff or ruin anything. I just needed a place to be for a few hours while I skipped school. You see, skipping school was preferable to admitting that I couldn’t do the project because I didn’t know anything about one side of my family and I was too scared to say anything to my stepmom. Where was my dad in all this? He was there but not really.

Well of course it was discovered what I did and my parents determined I was out of control and my stepmom refused to have me in her house any longer. My father asked if I’d rather live with my mother (a woman I had only seen a couple of times since I was a year old). Even at the young age 9 I knew I wasn’t safe in my father’s house so I said yes.

I didn’t speak to either of them again for 16 years. They dropped out of my life completely.

When I was 26 I was put back in contact with them and slowly we began to open the lines of communication.

Cut to yesterday when I was sitting at their kitchen table and I had made a comment about how after some turbulent years with my biological mother that when she had finally decided to clean herself up I had stopped listening to her and trying to be a good daughter.

To this my stepmom replied “you mean you used to listen to your mother?”

I snapped defensively “you know I was a good person?!?!!”

This apparently angered her and she took it to mean that I had attacked her and that she was just trying to have a relationship with me. I told her that we could have a relationship but that I didn’t want to have to feel like I owed her an apology for my reactions to a situation I had no control over as a child and that whatever had gone on with the adults in my life had absolutely nothing to do with me and that was their baggage to deal with that I absolutely refused to carry on my shoulders.

Things calmed down and a couple hours later we said goodbye.

Today I found out that she has blocked me on facebook and refuses to acknowledge my messages.

Just goes to show that once an abuser always an abuser. As long as I groveled at her feet took all the responsibility for her behaviors and actions we were on good terms but the moment I stood up for myself I was that same kid who “disobeyed” her and was no longer worthy of her respect or love.

[stonewallsposts]

Jane Eyre- What Temptation looks like 

Vol II, Ch 7 is the chapter covering when Jane has returned to Thornfield after discovering that Rochester was already married to Bertha. In this chapter, Rochester tries to convince Jane to stay. I’ve been thinking, nearly every time I read this, that it might be good to do a breakdown of the various ways and methods Rochester attempts to dissuade Jane from her course of action. This acts as a guide to how temptation works in our lives. Sometimes others perform the part of the tempter, as does Rochester here; and sometimes we do it ourselves with our inner dialogues- also known as rationalizations or justifications.

This first thing Jane does is asks herself: What am I to do? 

Her mind immediately answers: Leave Thornfield at once. 

Her passion says: I can't do it. Or… I don’t want to do it.

Temptation is a desire to do something wrong or unwise. There is no temptation unless you really want to do something, but you know it’s wrong. Jane loves Rochester and loves the situation she has at Thornfield. She is respected and loved and treated as an equal. Essentially, she has found a place. The dilemma is that while she wants to stay, she knows she can’t stay with him as a lover, when he is already married.

The initial consideration occurred by herself in her room. She thought it over, but decided she need to leave.

Rochester enters the scene, and he will attempt to counter her reason, and get her to decide based on her passion.

Rochester, upon entering says he had expected a tirade but didn’t get it.

I’m not sure what to call this, but it’s a way of deflecting a reaction. It’s saying: oh, cool, I thought you were going to come at me with a frying pan, but I see you’re calmer.

He asks Jane’s forgiveness, and she grants it on the spot.

Seeking forgiveness by being appropriately repentant is of course, the first thing we ought to do when we are in the wrong.

Rochester tries to kiss Jane and she refuses. Rochester questions her and asks if she has decided to reject him because he is married, she says ‘yes’.

Rochester seeking a kiss was a first step to smooth things over. But forgiveness isn’t the same thing as just carrying on as if it never happened in the first place. Some things can be overcome like this easily enough. But Rochester’s situation- being already married, is not the sort of thing that can be overcome with some kisses. In fact, as Jane understands, a kiss in this situation is an attempt to ignore what can’t be ignored. The essential problem hasn’t been removed. It can’t be ignored.

Rochester says Jane is scheming to destroy him.

Rochester attempts to make Jane feel bad by transferring the problem to her: SHE is scheming to destroy HIM. Rather than acknowledge the real problem: she can’t stay around someone she loves, who is already married.

He badmouths Bertha. Jane says he is cruel since she can’t help her madness. He says that’s not the issue, he would not hate Jane if she became mad.

Rochester accuses her of misunderstanding why he is saying these things about Bertha. Perhaps if he can convince her that her own reasoning is faulty, then her objections can be overcome.

He promises to take Jane away from Thornfield.

Rochester still isn’t acknowledging Jane’s position: she can’t stay in the relationship with a man she loves, when he is already married. Instead, he offers to simply remove themselves from the situation so they can pretend it doesn’t exist.

He tells her to listen to reason or he might have to try violence. Jane replies that she will hear him out, reasonable or unreasonable.

Rochester’s attempt to scare her into submission is crappy. But Jane’s willingness to at least hear him out is admirable.

Finally, Jane breaks down and cries. Rochester softens his attitude, and leads with: So you don’t love me then? Jane is cut by this, and confesses she does, more than ever, but this must be the last time she expresses it.

Rochester attempts to guilt her into changing her mind by equating her need to leave as “you don’t love me”. This cuts Jane. She knows it’s not true, but it clearly carried some weight with her

Rochester asks if she can live there daily and still be distant. Jane admits she cannot, and THAT’s why she must leave. Rochester agrees she must leave, but promises to live with her in a different spot as man and wife.

This one is tricky. Rochester turns this around on Jane by agreeing with her: oh, you’re right, of course you must leave…. Then adds that he had no intention of staying here. They would go someplace else. This is a reiteration of what he had already said earlier, when he promised to take her away from Thornfield.

Jane counters that she would be nothing more than a mistress in reality.

Rochester begs for pity, which distresses Jane.

I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures: Rochester ditches pride and hopes to overcome Jane’s refusal by begging.

Next, Rochester tries to convince Jane why he not really married. He must only explain himself, and then Jane will see it like he does. He explains he was pushed, and duped, into a marriage with a lunatic, by greedy, manipulative family. In this situation then, he reasons it would not be correct to see him as married, as one might normally be considered married. Sure, he went through the ceremony, but there was so much deception involved, that the contract can be essentially considered null and void.

Rochester mentions that after this, he wandered Europe hoping to find a wife. He says he sought a wife among all kinds of women from Russia, Italy, France, Germany, but found none. Nor was he looking for rank or fortune, he simply sought a woman who would suit him. He then tried dissipation, but found no enjoyment in it. Then he tried mistresses, but that didn’t turn out well.

Rochester uses this to set the stage for his discovery of Jane. She can feel special because he went through such lengths to find happiness after the disappointment of the first union.

Rochester then recounts his own feelings about Jane: she had stayed with a perseverance, and spoken with at kind of authority. He noted Jane’s pleasure in her tasks, her smile and her hope. While she spoke to him, she was mindful to not commit any blunders, but she was also keen, daring, and had a glowing eye; she had penetration and power in her glances and ready answers. She quickly adapted to Rochester and felt the sympathy between them, he recognized how her manner improved him. Without going into every detail, Rochester noted Jane’s excellent qualities and how they improved him.

Rochester then focuses his attention on Jane, and her excellent qualities, particularly how they are of such that they have the power to raise him up too.

Jane begs him not to dwell anymore on this past. He counters that she is correct, they should look to the present and future. Jane is troubled that he is trying to overcome what she knows to be right.

Rochester her tries again to take what she is saying, and use it to dovetail into what he wants. She of course doesn’t want him to dwell on the past, since she knows she will have to leave him, and she doesn’t want to have to wrestle with it since it would only muddle the clear path she knows she must take. He attempts to say, of course we should dwell on it anymore since, you know, this great love we have holds so much for the future.

Rochester pleads with her to understand where he is coming from: he had been tricked and essentially denied love, and now he has found it- they are one and should be together. He apologizes for not revealing the truth earlier, but knew she would be too strict. But he then asks her to forgive it and come with him.

Jane acknowledges the ordeal: She could not hope to be loved more. She absolutely worshipped him. And yet she also knew she had to go.

Rochester promises to be hers.

Jane replies she will not be his.

He questions this, and adds a kiss to soften her, but she still stands firm.

Rochester then accuses her of wickedness; “It would not be wicked to love me”.

She responds that it would be wicked to obey him in this.

Rochester then says he will have no hope.

Jane tells him to do as she does and find his hope in God.

He tells her that she will not yield, she is condemning him to live wretched and accursed.

She counters that he should live sinless and tranquil.

Rochester tells her that having snatched love and innocence from him, she is flinging him back on lust, passion, and vice.

Jane counters that she does no such thing. We are born to strive and endure, he as well as her, so do it.

Rochester says he calls her a liar because he said he shouldn’t change and she is telling him he should. Then he claims that her ideas are perverse when they drive him to despair merely to avoid transgressing some human law, when no one is injured by it, since she has no living relatives to be offended by her living with him.

Jane admits to herself that her reason began to betray her. Her feelings were clamoring for her to change her tune: just cave in and bring the man some comfort because who cares for you? Who will be injured by what you do?

Then she reasons: I care for myself. She promises to live by her principles and leave the rest up to God. “Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this.”

Rochester reacts physically… stomping across the room, then grabbing her and holding her… but he sees she is unbreakable. He pleads with her more, but Jane, recognizing there is nothing left to be said, moves towards the door.

Here he breaks down sobbing. Jane returns to him, strokes his hair, and addresses him for his kindness before she leaves.

[lya-dustin]

Cupid kills with arrows

Chapter 6

Cw:suggestive themes

Gif by @littleunigreekdreamer

The next change of horses finds them putting Aemond’s wicked mouth to the test.

While their entourage is slightly embarrassed at seeing them so disheveled, most of them are relieved to know the lack of consummation was not due to Aemond sharing the same tastes as Aemma’s late father nor Ser Gwayne, the Queen’s younger brother.

Now that Aemond and Aemma had decided to take things slow and see where it goes, the rest of the trip passed quickly.

Or at least it felt like that when conversation flowed and at some point, Aemma decided she was more comfortable on Aemond’s lap with a hand inside his open doublet while he had both of his up her skirt.

That had been hours ago, when they were still on the road and not when she was annoyed that he requested a separate bath at the lodge.

They were to sleep apart and he would visit her chambers should Aemma want him.

For every step forward, he dragged them two steps back.

Taking matters into her own hands, she went through the adjoining door in only her dressing gown and took advantage of his limited line of sight.

“Jaehaerys and Alysanne slept bare until they consummated their marriage to foster intimacy between them.” Aemma feels very bold as she stands in front of him and when he refuses to acknowledge her and instead looks to his left, she takes off her robe to really get his attention.

“I wager they slept naked after that too.” He says as he puts his eye patch back on and finally turns to look at her.

Drinks her in and once he is satisfied with his observation, he gestures for her to join him.

“I thought we agreed to give us a try.” She said taking in the sight of him bare and thanked the gods the water was pleasantly hot and barely reaching his midsection.

Muscled but lean as it was usual for Targaryens, a smattering of fine silvery hair on his chest and a scar on his right arm he didn’t have before.

“It was for sake that I called for separate rooms, Aemee.” He defends his actions and gestures to his left side. “Many ladies, including my lady mother, find the sight of me without the eye unseemly.”

He was insecure about that; the people had said he was not a whole man due to his missing eye. That he may as well be dead because no lady could stand the sight of his missing eye.

There were horror stories she had been told about how the scar made him ugly and how the eye patch barely helped.

They all had been wrong, of course, Aemond was far better looking than Aegon if you ask her.

“What makes you believe I will be one of those ladies?” she asks as she gets comfortable in the tub with him. It was not so small that they were cramped, but both had to draw their knees slightly to fit allowing the chance to just crawl between his legs and show him how little the sight would bother her.

Of course, the sight would be something to get used to, but she is optimistic and has hopes for their marriage.

“Suit yourself.” He rolled his eye in annoyance and sat back to let Aemma remove his eye patch.

It is definitely an unnerving sight.

Not as horrific as she believed, but her curiosity is piqued. How does he care for that? Did it itch? Does popping the sapphire in and out daily hurt?

But what stuns her into silence is that had her mother not jumped in front of her, Aemma would also be missing an eye… or worse, dead.

Sure, the queen had a right to be outraged, but to demand that a child be maimed after an accident caused by her fostering enmity between them by saying bastards are not people was just shit reasoning.

Even though Aemond was the party most grievously injured and did not deserve to lose his left eye, it was his mouth and his mother’s inability to keep her children out of her politics that caused him to lose it in a fight he started.

While Rhaena had no real claim to Vhagar, it is just considered good sportsmanship and common dragon etiquette to give the other potential claimant a real chance.

Luke had acted in self-defense as Aemond was going to bash his head in with a rock.

Aemma had ---in an attempt to prevent her little brother from being maimed in retaliation--- taken the blame saying it was her fault for not taking Teora with her when she followed Aemond outside.

“I told you, Aemee, you would not be able to handle it.” He said morosely.

“It’s not that, just realized that I too would be missing an eye if your mother had had her way.” Aemma makes the mistake of being honest.

At the wedding it was clear that he adored his mother, his mother who was not agreeable to the match.

The queen never liked her, hated how close Aemma was with Helaena, how people always said Aemma was the sun to Helaena’s moon, how grandfather favored her over the queen’s children and how she refused to even acknowledge the truth about her brothers.

Even at one and ten, Aemma had discovered if anyone publicly said or acknowledged that Harwin was her brothers’ true father, her brothers, Harwin and even her mother, would be executed as dictated by the laws Maegor had made and Jaehaerys had kept.

Anyone who wished her brothers’ death was simply not a good person.

But you cannot say that about Alicent the Pious who’s kinsman was the High Septon and who’s favorite son was going to choose his mother over his wife over this.

“I am sorry for making this about me. I promise you that your lack of eye does not scare me, and I am sure once time passes, I will become so used to the sight of it we won’t even know it’s there.” She tries to brush that under the rug, but he stops her from rambling on by putting his hand on her neck.

For a moment, she thinks he might throttle her for speaking ill of his mother.

But he doesn’t, instead he says this.

“Your words aren’t enough, ābrazȳrys.” The smirk on his lips tells her he ignored her words or has forgotten them already.

A part of her wonders if he has completely put it out of his mind or is just reserving it for a later time when he can throw it back at her.

“Then tell me, valzȳrys, how I can prove it to you.” Aemma swallows her fears and gasps when the answer she gets is Aemond brushing lips against hers softly and once he confirms her silent consent, pulls her for a real kiss.

They do not fuck, but Aemma puts what she learned from Septa Coryanne’s sexual escapades to good use.

If they continue like this, his affliction will be cured in no time.

She is warm, soft, and smelling of flowers tucked up under his arm. This intimacy was foreign to Aemond, he had never given the other women a chance fearing an attachment to them would bring ruin to him.

While he had been apprehensive to Aemma’s suggestions and demands to sleep with him on the same bed, Aemond was glad he gave into the Silver Queen’s orders.

He hates the feeling of shameful vulnerability he has had since she intruded into his rooms and hijacked his bath, but if she will have to get used to his ugly side, he could get used to having someone be there exclusively for him.

Unfortunately, there was bad blood between their families.

He hated his nephew ---her brother--- and she likely hated his mother for wanting to either kill her or maim her to avenge him.

But that can wait, while they are here, the war between the Greens and the Blacks do not exist.

She will like that, he thinks, until they are back at the Red Keep, only they exist, no politics, no bad memories, just them and what he knows will become a better marriage than Jaehaerys and Alysanne.

[aegor-bamfsteel]

i was reading about bastardy and i've a couple of qs. the first: about the Strong bastards, if their paternity was questioned more openly and proved, can this be fixed by declaring R+L marriage annulled and R made marry Harwin, for them to be considerate legitimate heirs? after all legitimate bastards can inherit; second: the legitimation is only for bastads born to Lords/Kings or this can also apply for bastards born to noble women?; third: can a lady legitimate bastards? thanks

We have an example from Fire and Blood, where Lyonel Hightower wanted to marry his widowed stepmother Samantha Tarly, but the High Septon refused the marriage as a form of incest. Instead, they became lovers and had six children. When the old High Septon died, a new Septon was more agreeable to the marriage, and this—according to co-writer Elio Garcia—allowed their children to be legitimized without having to apply to Aegon III. So yes, there is a case in Westeros where illegitimate children were automatically legitimized if their parents wed. However, not only did Harwin die young, but Rhaenyra was trying to pass her children off as Velaryons in order to steal their ancestral lands. It would legitimize the kids without having to go to the king, but Viserys threatened to remove Rhaenyra’s heir status if she didn’t wed Laenor, and Corlys’ support of Rhaenyra was based in part because she’d married his son and betrothed her sons to his granddaughters, ensuring at least his blood would inherit the Iron Throne and Driftmark. Marrying Harwin would anger both of them, to the point that Rhaenyra’s heir status would probably be taken away.

The legitimization of illegitimate children—unless their parents later marry—can only be done by the monarch. It doesn’t matter who the parents are (lord/lady/queen/king) as long as the monarch agrees to it. Corlys petitioned Queen Rhaenyra to legitimize his “grandsons” (aka sons) Addam and Alyn after Addam proved himself by riding Seasmoke, and after Jace added his voice, Rhaenyra did. This legitimization continued even though Rhaenyra is considered an usurper, without Aegon III having to issue another decree. So yes, if that lady were a queen, she could legitimize illegitimate children (that’s what I think happened with Queen Daena and her son, hence why he’s the only openly illegitimate kid in ASOIAF history called a prince), though in Rhaenyra’s case, that’d be acknowledging that they were illegitimate in the first place.

Thanks for the ask.

[netherzon]

A shameless snippet post from Apfelkuchen or Apple Pie because I got distracted this morning and have spent the whole day rereading a bunch of my favorite GerAme fics, so here’s one of my favorite parts of the only finished fic I’ve published for them cause I just love them a lot

~

“We’re going apple picking this afternoon, and then we’re gonna make apple pie, real apple pie.”

This did nothing to change Germany’s frown. “You want to go apple picking right now? While we’re wearing suits?”

“People go apple picking in suits all the time!” America replied cheerfully. His smile did not falter for even a moment under the weight of Germany’s incredulity.

“I’m quite sure that’s not true, America.”

“Have you gone apple picking a lot in these parts? How would you know? Maybe that’s just how we do it at my place,” America replied, his smile slightly more mischievous now.

Germany hoped his face showed as much skepticism as he felt.

“I’m telling you Germany, apple picking is a formal affair. You’re expected to wear your Sunday best,” America insisted.

A dubious Mmhmm was the only acknowledgement Germany gave him. He’s not going to back down, and time will prove one of us right anyway. Probably me.

~

They were the only two people wearing suits when they got to the orchard.

Germany turned to America, shaking his head a little. “Why do you bother lying when you know the truth will come out so soon after?” he asked, with a tone similar to the one he used whenever Berlitz would try to use her paws to open the refrigerator, even though he knew, and she knew that she didn’t have the necessary opposable thumbs.

“I wasn’t lyin, we just happened to come on Casual Friday ‘s all,” America replied. His smile was pure mischief now. He even winked. Germany refused to dignify this with a response.

America shucked off his suit jacket and tie, and elbowed him lightly. “Come on, you know we wouldn’t have made it in time if we had to change first, and this is too important to miss. Lookin silly for an hour is a small price to pay if ya ask me,” he said breezily while he moved to grab some bags for them.

Germany accepted this in silence. They had narrowly missed the worst of rush hour on the drive out, so he was probably right about that detail. Whether the funny looks they got from all the families here would be worth it remained to be seen, but he realized he was slightly grateful he wasn’t alone in being out of place. America had clearly been planning this outing, but he hadn’t brought a change of clothes for himself either, earning him just as many funny looks as Germany got. Was that on purpose so I wouldn’t feel so self-conscious, or did he just not think of it beforehand, Germany wondered.

Most nations wouldn’t even ask that question, having already written off America as an unprepared fool. Germany knew better than that, though. America was as capable of being thoughtful as often as he acted without thinking. The two possibilities were equally likely.

Germany removed his suit jacket and tie also, and turned to follow America into the rows of trees.

The orchard was bigger than Germany had originally realized, with neat rows of more apple varieties than he could count growing together. Each row had a sign at the beginning giving the name of the apple. Red Delicious, MacIntosh, Gala, Cripps Pink Lady, Golden Delicious. His mental list kept growing the deeper they went into the organized forest. At first he had thought they were only walking in because the first rows of trees must have been picked by other visitors already. All of the trees they passed at the first edge looked almost barren at this point in the season. Obviously they wouldn’t find anything there. Eventually though, Germany spied a large, spotless apple in a tree to his left, high enough that children had been unable to reach it, but not high enough to prevent him from plucking it.

Before he had the chance to grab it, America stepped in front of him, both arms out like he wanted to shield the tree from view.

“Not that one,” America declared firmly.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Germany asked.

“That’s a Fuji tree,” America replied, like this should explain absolutely everything.

“What?” was all Germany could say in response.

In a sudden role reversal, America was the one sighing with exasperation. “We don’t want Fujis for our pie, the filling will be too soft then,” he stated definitively. “We’re looking for the Cortland section for texture, and then a couple Granny Smiths to add a little tanginess, but not too many of those either cause then the whole thing will be sour,” he explained, with the seriousness of someone relaying the alchemical recipe for turning lead into gold.

It was extremely odd for Germany to be lectured on something by America, but he decided to let him have this one. Germany didn’t have as much experience baking with apples ---he was more likely to use plums--- and he could only remember seeing the Pink Lady variety at home. The others were unfamiliar to him, so America probably did know more about which ones to use in pie.

Now that the instructions were more clear, Germany suggested they split up to locate the Cortland section more quickly. When they found it they worked each from one end of a row collecting apples before they would meet in the middle and then move to the next row. It was an efficient system, or it should have been if they both agreed on the appropriate lengths to go to for the perfect apple.

“America, really, your shoes have no traction. I don’t want you to slip and break your neck. What will I tell the paramedics when you pop back up twenty minutes later?”

Instead of taking Germany’s sage warning as he had intended, and deciding not to climb the tree, America took this as a suggestion that he just climb the tree without shoes.

Germany cringed watching how dirty America’s socks got, and the bits of moss he collected on the knees of his pants and the arms of his shirt. They would probably stain.

America did not fall and break his neck though, and when he jumped down clutching the apple firmly and smiling at Germany with unabashed pride over such a small achievement, he had to admit it was a pretty nice apple, and maybe Germany had smiled back at him fondly.