#I always repress those memories for a reason

[double--blind]

(SPOILERS) breaking down how obsessed Andrew is w/his sister bc he's a repressed lil liar and I'm going insane

This post got longer than I intended it to

1. He claims they don't spend enough time apart from each other to even begin missing her so he doesn't even know if he would, but just earlier in the game he was apart from her for probs like 30 mins tops to investigates some cultists and guess what???? He was already missing her 😒

2. Says "I thought you grew out of this touchy-feely crap" when Ashley asks for a hug, but earlier when he was cooking dinner, he was the one with the inexplicable urge to "pull this broody bitch into [his] arms and force her to stay until she smiles" 😒

3. Piggy-backing off the last screenshot: WHAT OTHER THOUGHTS, ANDREW??? yOU WERE JUST THINKING ABT HUGGING HER. WHAT DO YOU EVEN MEAN. THESE ARE SIMPLY INNOCENT BROTHERLY THOUGHTS ARE THEY NOT????? 🤨🤨🤨

4. Bro just can't keep his hands off her. And everyone thinks Ashley's the clingy one jeez (lol the way he springs apart from her when Mom catches them is definitely definitelyyyy not worth analyzing. nope. not even when it happens a second time on the couch. nope. nooope)

5. What. What is he thinking here. Don't think I don't see those grey lil blush lines. Is this connected to my third point somehow bc like... 🤨😬 Is "Andrew" is gonna start doing and being what "Andy" was too spineless and afraid of doing?? That's what the vow was partly abt right?? Does that include—

5. WHEWWW BOY that little flashback with his gf has so much baggage in it I just wanna dissect. His girlfriend's tryna have a serious discussion with him abt his weird sister for the sake of bettering their relationship bc she genuinely loves him, but he just gets caught up in fondly talking abt said weird sister instead??

6. He's awfully hesitant abt Ashley learning some independence, bc y'know what?? I think he doesn't really want her to stop relying on him. But what do I know y'know

6. Wants his gf to put tie her hair up in a ponytail, then when she refuses bc he'll pull on it, says it's just "how boys express their love". Well. You know who else puts there hair up in a ponytail??? You know who else's hair he's always pulling on and touching???

7. The voicemails in his gf's phone left by Ashley are heard by him in his dreams, and his dreams are a construction of his mind utilizing his memories, personal hangups, and knowledge of Ashley. The voicemails irl were left on his gf's phone, and for all we know, he never actually listened to them in person. Bearing this in mind... odds are the things Ashley's saying contain bits of truths he believes within himself, filtered thru her crude, hateful dialogue.

Here. I transcribed one of them...

"DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? Just because you can fuck him and I can't? You think that's love?! Are you fucking delusional?? Cumdumpsters like you are just that. He will never love you. Not like he loves me. I am the only one. I am everything. I am the secrets you'll never hear. When he lies in bed at night, and when he needs someone to hold on to… It's not you he seeks out. It is me."

8. Claims Ashley's the one with the jealous streak, not him, but I think he's just as bad. The only difference is that Ashley's never given him reason to act on it since all she's ever wanted was him, but at the slightest mention of her gettin it on w/someone else, even as a joke, he gets mad. "OVER MY DEAD BODY!!" he says, when she's jokingly contemplating getting knocked up via the neighbor so an ambulance would come for her. "I wouldn't let them," he says, when she's complaining abt not being pretty enough for the wardens to bang her

9. Going hand-in-hand with that fact, he's intensely protective of her. Didn't hesitate to cleaver the warden who found her in the closet (probs didn't even BLINK lmaooo he chose VIOLENCE), and when the cake-stealing cultist insulted her just once, he stepped forward just like that

10. In their apt, when they were lying on the floor talking abt jumping off the balcony, he was really caught up in the "romantic" fantasy of them committing a double suicide and dying with their bodies entwined so irreparably by the impact they form one unified corpse "never to be separated!" and they get buried in the same coffin together. UM??? Bro fr thought he was the sane one of the two. That wasn't even true before the cannibalism and demon summoning 😭😭😭

BONUS:

11. This might just be me, but his reaction to seeing the post-sex vision doesn't strike me as someone who's inherently opposed to the idea. Instead of disgusted, he was... flustered?? He acted like she walked in mid-guilty pleasure wet dream. This wasn't a "GROSS THATS INCEST" reaction which is... the most normal reaction to have. That's the face of a man that got CAUGHT bro.

He asks "we're not like that, are we?" and "why are you like this?" and questions the veracity of the vision, but he never actually explicitly denies wanting the vision to happen, more focused on Ashley and her reaction. He buries the elephant under the rug as fast as he can, bc yeah, it struck a landmine, but it probably wasn't a landmine for the reason Ashley thinks it is. I bet the vision just hit a little too close... :P

[endless-ineffabilities]

I will never say that I am in love (18+)

{ alternate title: you are the love of my life }

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the one-eyed prince falls, the realisation comes to him in the scent of flowers. In his nephew's laughter. In his dreams.

themes/warnings : just pure sweetness, our emotionally constipated and repressed Aemond Targaryen, he thinks some *impure* thoughts in this one (how dare he!!!), he does NOT want to even think about falling in love (what a stupid distraction, he is not weak, you all should know) - also, he is DOWN BAD for the reader.

all my other works

a/n : this is the first fic I'm writing completely in the male lead's, in this case Aemond's perspective. Complete train-of-thought type of storytelling. (also, this is not in my scheduled works, the idea came to me after watching the new promo clips for s2... never in a million eons did I ever think I would hear Ewan Mitchell utter the word "cheugy" but oh well) - Enjoy! 🖤

{ I. flowers ▪︎ II. innocence ▪︎ III. dreams }

I.

Aemond decides that he finds pleasure in your scent.

The thought comes to him as he strolls through the halls of the Red Keep. Not a strong one, not a revelation by any means. A mere inkling of something he favours.

It is innocent. It is nothing.

He had spied some flowers peeking from just beneath a window. Roses, peonies, or some other, he did not bother to truly look. He glanced them out of the corner of his eye.

And he thought of you.

You smell something rather akin to those flowers - blooming and enticing and sweet.

A simple observation, rising to him now from his memory.

That is all.

Your scent reminds him of springtime in the gardens. You are pleasant, there is no doubt, but that very sweetness can only be construed as sickly if divulged in for far too long, too often.

Besides, his icy disposition does not really take well to flowers in the spring. They are more like to whittle under his boot, and shrivel from the coldness in his gaze.

You are not for him. No.

Flowers. Sweet things. The gentleness in your voice when you call him 'my prince'. Aemond scoffs at himself as he walks on.

It is no transgression to be distracted. It is a natural thing.

You are a distraction, and Aemond decides to think of you no more.

II.

Aemond comes to Helaena's chambers to visit with his niece and nephews. It is only by coincidence that you are almost always there too.

"Prince Aemond." Your voice resembles a song in greeting him. "Queen Helaena has just left to speak with Lady Alicent, but she should return shortly."

"Hmm." You are not a lady-in-waiting to Helaena, but more of a companion, a friend. Yet you do not mind looking after Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor when their mother is indisposed.

This is where Aemond finds you, most mornings. Were it anyone else, he might have sent them away, so that he can spend time alone with the children.

But he lets you stay, because, of course, Helaena would prefer it so. She dotes on you so dearly, Aemond has noticed.

In these instances, he lets you stay only because it is what Helaena would want. Why else?

He settles on an upholstered stool and beckons to the children. They eagerly waddle their way over to their beloved uncle.

You watch the interaction with a smile, as you always do. With your legs curled underneath you, comfortably seated on the floor a few feet in front of him.

Aemond used to pay you no mind, but increasingly it has been nagging at him that you are observing, taking him in.

It is inane to be self-conscious; there is no reason to be. He is the Prince - being perceived has been a constant all his life.

He is the Prince, and you are merely a lady companion.

But when you say things like, "They are very fortunate to have you as their uncle, my prince," it makes him feel a sense of pride. Like it is some accomplishment to be complimented by you.

He knows this. He knows he is a good uncle.

Perhaps it is just that. Vanity.

You pointing it out has nothing to do with anything.

Jaehaerys crosses the many strides it takes for him to reach you again, and he pulls at your hand.

"Come," he giggles.

"Where, sweet boy?"

"Come, come here, come here," he mumbles mostly to himself, grunting when you are unmoving and his three-year old form is unable to magically transport you as he wishes.

"Okay," you laugh once, getting on your feet with your body bent to his level, and you let him pull you to where he wants.

Which is... right next to his dearest uncle Aemond.

"There." Jaehaerys claps his hands in glee, as you curl up on the floor beside Aemond's outstretched legs.

"He has a sense of humour, that one," you grin, looking up at Aemond.

Aemond sees your expression up close and you look okay. Comely. Fine. You are not bad-looking, by any means.

You are the most beautiful lady in the court.

You are fine, just fine.

Aemond would not mind seeing your face everyday; he already sees it every night in his dreams.

And it is just fine.

"Is something the matter, my prince?"

Call him that. Do it again. Or better yet, replace prince with his name. Call him 'my Aemond'.

Aemond desires nothing more than to hear it.

Because... because he is vain. Nothing more than that. It would take a high degree of devotion for someone to utter the words 'my Aemond' to him. And who would not want to be at the end of such idolatry.

Perceive him. Worship him. Consume him.

You already consume him.

Aemond stands abruptly, and you scramble to follow suit.

"Aem... Aemond," you stammer. "I mean, forgive me... my prince, what is wrong?"

Aemond looks down. Your delicate hand is gripping his arm, the sleeve of his tunic doing nothing to mask the heat of your skin.

He is of dragon, he is of fire.

But your touch burns.

The clacking of wooden toy horses ring in the background, the children lost in their imagination.

"Nothing," Aemond clears his throat, and folds his arms behind him so your hand falls. "I am alright. I must go."

The smell of sweetness lingers in his nostrils. Your sweetness. He is growing weak.

He steps away, "I bid you farewell, my lady."

"My prince."

Call him Aemond. Call him by his name, title be damned. By the gods, call him yours.

Aemond nearly rushes out of the chambers, his gait sure and his footsteps heavy.

Tonight, in his dreams, he will finally release his foolish desires and that will be the end of it.

Behind his eyes, he will touch you and taste you and watch you crumble underneath him.

And he will be your Aemond.

That will be the climax of this passing fantasy.

III.*

Aemond has stripped down to his undergarments, supine above the silk sheets of his bed. He runs a hand over his face, and he sees you.

All the better for it, he supposes, that he gets rid of it now before it ruins him further.

It is a memory, from only one moon ago, but he sees it clear as day.

You had let your hair down that day, and it flowed freely, following the gentle breeze. Nestled in what Aemond found out to be your favourite spot in the gardens, needle and thread in your dainty fingers, you tell him that you are embroidering a veil for your dear mother.

You request for him to sit with you, and Aemond obeys.

Pleasantries are exchanged, about the weather, your duties, his training. All the while Aemond watches the contour of your lips, how it stretches back to reveal your smile when he says something that could not be the farthest from amusing, but you find it amusing anyway.

He stares you down questioningly.

You blush then, turning your focus back to your work, "Apologies, but I... I admire the way you speak, my prince. As if every word is deliberate, carefully chosen. You are intelligent, and you care what you say."

"Hmm," he said then, but now...

In his mind, he lets you know just what he wants, "Have you ever been bedded, my lady?"

You look at him in shock, of course you do. Those rosy lips part, and Aemond wonders whether your lips below possess the same shade.

In his grand chambers, Aemond lets his hand drift down, down from the planes of his stomach, to his hardened cock. He licks his lips, and imagines the softness of your own. He strokes the leaking tip with his thumb. The picture continues.

"Do you not ever wonder about the deed?" Aemond asks.

"M-my prince...I do not... I - "

"You must," he sneers. "You must, as I do, and when I do, it is you who floods my very thoughts, and consumes my very being."

"I do not know what to say."

"Say you want to kiss me."

His grip tightens, drawing down and up his cock, covering it with the milky white that has leaked from his tip. He is pained, teeth pressing down on his lower lip. He imagines your hands on him, your dress undone as you watch him come undone.

"We mustn't," you look down in shame. Your legs clench together to keep in the warmth.

"Come here, my sweetness," he leads you to sit atop him, and your work clatters to the ground.

You try to look away, try to hide just how much he is affecting you.

"Kiss me," Aemond pleads.

You comply. He slips his tongue past your lips.

Faster, wetter, he gets harder and it is unbearable. His hands are not enough, he wishes to plunge his aching member right into your soaking folds. Wishes to watch beads of his sweat fall on to you as he pounds you without mercy, his cock squelching deep inside your cunny until it is sore. If only you will ache as he does. Come as he comes.

Aemond lifts you up and the two of you end up stumbling down on the grass. He does not relent. His fingers make quick work of the strings and ribbons holding you together. Your breasts come free and he latches his mouth on one, his tongue swirling against the nipple.

"Oh Aemond!" you moan, and it is a scandal. It is everything unholy. It is every dirty thought nestled in his mind.

Soon he has you bare, your skin practically glowing under daylight. You are perfect, and you are his.

"Take me," you say, practically begging. "I want you to fill me with your cock. Fill me with your seed, my dragon prince. Please."

"My sweetness," Aemond reveals himself to you, undoing his breeches and slipping out of his tunic. How could he resist?

"Do you want me?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want you, my prince," you affirm, squirming under him, you hips bucking up with desire, hopelessly attempting to rub your cunny against his skin.

"My Aemond," he corrects you. "Say it."

"I want you," you say, "my Aemond."

Aemond rubs his cock faster and faster, the thick green veins in his hand and arms straining angrily under his skin. He feels you, he sees you in his mind so clear. You are his, and he is your Aemond.

He plunges his cock inside you, and you are left mewling and writhing as he quickens his assault.

He groans loudly. The lewd squelching of his cock turning sloppy, hasty, mindless. A few more strokes and he comes all over himself, hot white streaks decorating his torso. His silver hair in disarray on the pillows, like a broken halo. Beads of sweat falling from his temple. His mouth parted as he whispers your name.

He gives himself a few more tugs, emptying out. You would do him so much better. Touch him so well.

In his mind, he still sees it. Fragments of his memory bleeding through his fantasies. He does not know anymore what is real and what is not.

He cleans himself up with warm cloth afterward, feeling shame at his actions.

This is enough. Now he has released you from his being. The desire he holds so closely to his chest must have dissipated along with the lewd act he just committed.

"My Aemond," you whisper from behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

Enough. No more of such useless musings.

"I love you, Aemond."

I love you too.

🌸🌸🌸

* In III, reality is fully italicized, and his memories + fantasies are typed as normal.

this was meant to have more sections ( IV to VII )... maybe I'll come around to it eventually.

Let me know what you think of this sort of writing from Aemond's perspective!

To be tagged in Aemond or Daemon fics, comment on this post !

[jellybuttons]

Crowley's "oh" moment wasn't him realizing that he's in love

Okay so we've all talked about the scene where Nina asks Crowley if Aziraphale is his "bit on the side" or whatever and Crowley has that visable fanfiction "oh" moment on his face afterwards. And I know a lot of people think it must have been Crowley realizing that he was in love with Aziraphale, but that's never sat right with me. Crowley is emotionally repressed and oblivious, sure, but he's been down bad for that angel since the beginning. I just can't believe he didn't know it the whole time. That can't have been what he was reacting to. Hell, just the nervous swallow he does at the beginning of that conversation implies that he knows exactly what Nina is about to ask him, meaning he at least already has that idea in his head.

I think what he was reacting to was Nina's last comment, "other people's love lives always seem so much more straightforward than our own" (I'm quoting from memory but I got the gist of it).

Crowley has been in love for a long time by this point. He's also, for that entire time, understood that nothing can be done about it. Up until Armageddon failed, there was no universe where Crowley and Aziraphale could safely be together, and Crowley cares too much about Aziraphale to truly risk his safety (although he does have his selfish moments--that need to know that Aziraphale cares for him too, that he's not completely alone in this partnership). Nothing could change, so there was no point in doing anything about it.

In the few years post Armageddon, though, it seems like QUITE a bit has changed for the two of them. Remember, these are two immortal beings...a few years is milliseconds to them. But in those milliseconds, it seems like Crowley has become a regular establishment in the bookshop, glasses off and all. Aziraphale felt comfortable enough with him to ask to borrow the Bentley, Crowley's prized possession and his literal home. They've gotten COMFY in a very short amount of time, objectively, and I'm sure it felt like big change to Crowley, who knows better than to ask for things he doesn't think he can have.

But Nina's comment. "Other people's love lives always seem so much more straightforward than our own". A direct parallel to exactly how Crowley has been thinking about her and Maggie this whole time--two people who just need a push (romantic awning, anyone?) and everything else would fall into place. Easy. Uncomplicated.

Crowley's "oh" moment isn't that he's in love with Aziraphale. It's that maybe being in love with Aziraphale doesn't have to be complicated.

Other people's love lives DO seem more straightforward than Crowley's own. But if Nina feels that way about him, as sure as he is about her and Maggie...could it be that easy? Could he have that with his angel? I don't think at this point that Crowley has any doubt about whether or not Aziraphale feels something for him (whatever that something may be in Crowley's mind), but after all...Aziraphale asked him to slow down. So he's been taking it slow. Hanging around more. Leaning into his space. Soaking up every second of Az's smiles like a dying man, content with whatever he's given.

But Nina. She thinks they're together already. No doubt in her mind. She thinks it's so straightforward, that of COURSE they're together, two people who look at each other with that much love in their eyes must be, right? And I think that "oh" is Crowley's realization that maybe it IS straightforward. After all, they're them, right? No more Heaven, no more Hell, no actual reason they couldn't just...be together. In that moment, Crowley isn't realizing that he's in love with Aziraphale. He's known he's in love for a very long time. No, that moment was him realizing that, maybe, he can stop pretending not to be, that maybe all they have to do is stop pretending they aren't everything to each other. Does he need to slow down if there's no danger to avoid?

When Nina and Maggie confront him at the end, encourage him to confess...objectively, I don't think Crowley as a character would agree to anything nearly that vulnerable without a LOT more convincing. But he does agree. And you could argue that it's because of Gabe and Beez, sure, but when has Crowley ever used other angels and demons as reasoning behind his choices? No, consistently, Crowley has followed humans every time. Gabe and Beez are nothing but conveniently timed examples. I think that even without G and B running off together, Nina and Maggie could've convinced him after nothing but this "oh" conversation with Nina.

When Crowley is choking out his confession in the final 15 of episode 6, so desperate to make Aziraphale understand...he says "we're a pair, a group, a group of the two of us, and we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't". That's the point he's trying to get across. They can stop pretending, they can stop pretending, please, god, stay here Aziraphale and don't make him keep pretending.

Please, Aziraphale, he's saying. Don't go back. I only just realized that it doesn't have to be complicated. He realized that, maybe, finally, he was allowed.

Oh, he thought, out there on the sidewalk with Nina, there's nothing left but me stopping me from being happy.

Oh, he thought, while Nina and Maggie urged him to communicate, the couple that so perfectly mirrored his own wants, I could tell him how I feel.

Oh, he thought, as Aziraphale looked at him with excited eyes and explained that he wanted them both to go back to Heaven, that Crowley could become an angel again, that they could go right back to working for the very thing that had been keeping them apart for thousands of years. Oh, oh god. I thought it was over. I thought we were free. I thought that, finally, maybe, it could be easy. Maybe we can stop pretending.

And he kissed him. Because fuck, just like with Nina and Maggie, he thought it could finally be easy, but then communicating didn't work and nothing was easy and all he had left was one fabulous kiss and vavoom and he was desperate and off script and so, so scared and then he was alone in the Bentley, driving away from the bookshop, completely alone.

Maybe Crowley should've kept pretending. It would've hurt less.

[sixosix]

FOR YOU I WOULD FALL FROM GRACE | LYNEY

warnings blackmailing lol… AETHER PAIMON!!! 3.6k words!

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

The bell chimes as the door of the flower shop swings open, and in comes strutting in Rosalie, all dazzling smiles and ostentatious jewelry. Even now, her brown locks are curled to perfection, framing her face beautifully. Even across her, you feel like you’re standing next to an Archon.

This time around, you don’t accidentally freeze the pot of flowers you’re holding from her bursting inside. But you might again tomorrow; Rosalie loves to test you.

Rosalie hums in approval. “Hm, very good, very good. Any customers today, ma chérie?”

“Just one. That guy really wanted to see you,” you reply, eyes fluttering shut as the woman ruffles your hair. You repress the urge to lean into it. “Was he the same guy you met in Café Lutece?”

Her face twists unpleasantly, haunted. “Oh, dear. Thank goodness I wasn’t here. Keep scaring him off.”

You bow your head. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Rosalie bent the law just to keep you, and you’re more than grateful for her generosity. In exchange, you pledged to work diligently for her. You knew that even your hardest efforts couldn't compare to the years of food and shelter she had provided, but this was the least you could do after she didn’t once hesitate to take you in when you confessed you were stranded and alone.

At first, you wanted to repay her by helping out in the kitchen, but you later find that your Vision isn’t the most perfect fit for it. Rosalie’s teeth could shatter from the amount of bread you’ve frozen at the slightest mistake. Your experience in battle doesn’t translate well in handling baking—the heat makes your actions rougher than intended. You get frustrated when you don’t get the results you want. You treat the kitchen like a battlefield. Your hands are too cold; they can’t handle the warm and hot temperatures well.

And the sight of fire… You don’t react to it nicely.

Rosalie suggested you help out in the flower shop. The thought of kneeling over for hours sounds like torture to the posture and grace you’ve perfected over the years, but you can’t quite be picky with under-the-table jobs and nice people who are willing to take care of an orphan who doesn’t know how to act like a normal child.

At least, with gardening, you’ve trained yourself to be more gentle with how you handle living beings. Your hands will always be calloused; they will always have the muscle memory of carrying weighty weapons and tossing them around like sticks—an immutable trait. But you’re trying.

Although Fontaine could never be the safest, it’s safer here. The Fatui don’t have reason to spy against a local flower shop; you’re away from prying eyes, and it isn’t too big of a change because this is still your home.

And you have been safe for years. Rosalie is nothing like The Knave. They have the same fierce protectiveness, but Rosalie is much warmer and open with her fondness, a stark difference from The Knave’s distance. You’re not quite sure how to act around either of them.

You try not to get yourself attached to Rosalie despite her endless hospitality. So long as you don’t reveal your past affiliations and the reason why your hands are rough and why your affections are clumsy, she wouldn’t throw you out. But if she ever does… those are what no attachments are for. You learned your lesson from last time.

“I’ll cook us dinner,” Rosalie sings, heading towards the back of the counter, where it’s connected to her house.

You return to your flower.

You were the one who planted it, and it pleases you to no end that it’s growing healthily. This is the first flower you managed to not— well, kill right off the bat. Or freeze right off the bat, really. The elemental power from your Vision is hard to control, and it certainly doesn’t help that you aren’t doing anything to do something about it, too afraid to even try.

The Lumidouce Bell. It means something about a desire to return. It speaks to you, but not because you long for it—gods no—but because you’ve seen it before. It was probably in a dream, or perhaps a vase back at home, maybe in the middle of the large dining table or in between the fingers of someone with lilac eyes.

The door lashes out once again, the familiar chime ringing in your ears. It had only been two hours since the last customer. Business is doing well today. In comes a floating pixie and a blond with a glow of gold. He’s furious.

“Paimon doesn’t know…” the pixie says, floating behind. “All she knows is that you don’t want to get involved with the Fatui but—” Your hands falter around the petals, “—they said their goals were different, right? What are we doing here again?”

“Paimon,” the blond sighs, and only then do you notice he’s holding a flower. It’s crushed and dried, but it’s supposed to resemble the pot of Lumidouce Bell by your side. “We can’t trust them just like that. We don’t know them.”

“Really…? You think so? Paimon doesn’t think they’re bad people.”

“They’re hiding a lot of things. I don’t want secrets—not anymore. Lyney and Lynette may seem harmless now, but once the time comes where our goals oppose each other’s—well.”

It’s been a while since you heard those names. A rush of nostalgia fills you. You hear about them in passing when your (rare) customers gush about their performances, or ladies passing by giggle about the charming young man in the center of the stage, but that’s about it. To think that these two know that they’re affiliated with the Fatui…

Who are they? They look so familiar, like you’ve seen them once and then never again. Were they sent here? What did they do to be involved with the Fatui? No ordinary person would casually indulge in a conversation about the Fatui like that. There is usually a lot more secretive whispers and cautious glances around the crowd.

“Paimon gets it now,” she says, but she doesn’t look too happy with it. It seems she’s really fond of the twins—which you know all too well.

“Besides,” Aether pats her head, then hands her the flower, wondering out loud, “We don’t even know what this flower means.”

As if following a poorly-written script, both pairs of eyes direct to yours. Like they were expecting you to listen in just for that. At your stunned silence, they wait patiently.

“Um—yes. Lumidouce Bells often mean separation or the wish for reunion,” you recite like a good florist, recalling the words straight from the textbook. “Would you like a copy of a book about Fontaine’s Floral Language, sir?”

He waves a dismissive hand. “No thanks. Was just curious.”

The pixie nods her head, studying the flower in her hand. “Yeah! For all we know, this could’ve been some secret code! Apparently not. But wish for reunion…? Paimon heard Lyney only uses that flower. Does he know about its meaning?”

That name again. It seems that their main topic this afternoon is the twins. You want to crawl out of your skin and bury yourself in the soil. You thought you had moved on, but just hearing about him feels as if listening to strangers talk about a friend you’ve lost—not too far off from the truth. The guilt has not left you since; who were you kidding?

“He probably doesn’t mean anything by it,” the boy murmurs. “I mean—I don’t know. I don’t know anything about them. Is Lyney truly a magician? Is Lyney even his name?”

“Snezhevich,” you murmur out of instinct. Son of snow. You’re surprised that you even remember; it’s been years since you tasted the word on your tongue.

The blond hair and the floating pixie are staring right at you, the man slamming an arm on the counter desk and the little one moving her hands to her hips. “How do you know that?” he asks.

You pale. “I—excuse me?”

“I heard it,” he says. “Those surnames… They’re for the orphans in the House. How do you know that?”

Your heart pounds. You want to ask him the same question, but then, upon closer inspection, you realize why they’re familiar. They’re the Traveler and his travel companion, posted all over magazines. You’ve used one of those papers as placemats for dirty work involving soil, catching glimpses of their faces. The Outlander, the hero, Aether, having come all the way from Mondstadt—of course he knows about the Fatui; he has probably gotten himself involved more than you have.

“Don’t think about lying,” Aether warns at your silence.

Weakly, you say, “Is—is it not… in their introductions?”

“No.” And, well, honestly, that was a stupid cover, so you should’ve expected that. They’re only for the orphans, and he’s right. Even when he’s not a local, he seems to know his facts. Locals are getting smarter, dammit.

“Lyney told me,” is what you decide on after a split-second of contemplation. Aether isn’t giving you enough time to come up with a lie here.

“Told you?” Aether narrows his eyes, studying your face. “Why would he tell you about that? He hasn’t even told me. Are you two close?”

Paimon gasps before you can comment about how Aether sounded like an insecure boyfriend. “Is it…like that?”

You blink at her, lost. “What? Like what?”

At Aether’s conspiratorial expression, your eyes dart between the two of them warily. “What are you two on about?”

“Are you and Lyney romantically involved?”

Romantically involved. You think back to all those sidelong glances and allusive remarks. Lyney was definitely and monumentally involved in your life, but romantically? Even the word feels forbidden. Not once have you thought about romance throughout your entire experience as a child under the protection of the House.

Your face feels like lava, and their crowded attention has you feeling even more embarrassed. “How could you even come up with that? Mortifying! You’re both wrong!”

“What else would it be? You seem to know him well.” Then, much to your embarrassment, Aether adds, “And you’re not bad-looking.”

Is the Outlander calling you pretty enough for Lyney to date you? Right now? Just thinking about the implications has your mind screeching to a halt. “No! I was an orphan there!”

“Ah,” Aether grins widely, “I knew it.”

“Gods,” you mutter, burning. Of course he already figured it out. But was that really necessary? “Is this how you interrogate everyone? Embarrassing them to death?”

Aether shrugs. “If it works, it works.” At whatever expression you must be making, he adds, “And I was just kidding about the romantically involved thing. I mean, unless you aren’t denying it. By the look on your face—”

“Enough. Just spit it out. What do you want?” You’ve gotten awfully rusty with dealing with people. Then again, you were rarely sent out on missions in the first place, so this blame is not for you to take. You curse out The Knave’s name and then feel terrible about it.

“What are you even doing here, huh? Undercover?” Paimon sneers. She fails to look even slightly intimidating. “Do you own this shop?”

“No. I work here.”

“Does your boss know about the whole Fatui thing?” Aether asks. You stare at him warily. If he dares to harm Rosalie, you won’t hesitate to fight dirty. “That seems like a no. If you cooperate with me, I won’t tell whoever is taking care of you.”

“You’re blackmailing me.” You laugh dryly. “I guess I can never run from my past for too long; I just didn’t think I’d be blackmailed by the Outlander himself to face it.”

Aether has at least the decency to look a bit guilty.

“Why do you want to know about the twins so bad?”

Aether’s shoulders hike up to his ears just a little. “Lyney and Lynette… they’re very dependent on each other, aren’t they? The Fatui are not good people—they’re powerful ones, too, and getting involved with power like that while you have your family,” Aether’s expression does something complicated, “It never ends well.”

“You’re blackmailing me into helping the twins out?”

“I’m not trying to— Listen, I just need to know if they’re hiding something else from me. Something that tells me that I shouldn’t be trusting them, then we’ll decide if I’m helping them out or not.”

…Something else? “They already told you a lot, haven’t they? You just have trust issues, hero.”

“It’s perfectly reasonable to have trust issues as a hero.”

Aether inches closer. Your hand twitches by your side, instincts screaming at you to pull out your weapon and flee; the man before you is danger, but you don’t.

Aether hums at your wariness. “And you talk like you know them well. Do you have something you want to say to me, retired Fatuus?”

“I told you, didn’t I? I used to be an orphan in the House of the Hearth,” you say, not wavering with how he holds your gaze. This is no lie; you have no reason to falter. “But that’s not my life anymore. For all I know, they’ve completely changed goals.”

Aether’s shoulder sags because he knows you’re right. There wouldn’t be a way for you to know if the House is still operating with the same objective. If he’d really believe the words of a former Fatuus is a completely different story, however.

Aether sighs. “…It’s not right to call me a hero in this situation.”

“Oh?”

“I’m doing this for selfish reasons.”

Aether hesitates. Does he think you know nothing about selfishness? You ran from the House that took care of you because of your cowardice. You’re plenty familiar with selfishness.

“Mhm,” Paimon nods, “the Traveler wants to know if they’re hiding something about his sister.”

“Paimon,” Aether admonishes, then wilts.

“Oh no!” The fairy’s face pales, her hands coming up to her mouth. “Was Paimon not supposed to say it right away?”

“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. You can see it in the lines between Aether’s brows, his tense shoulders, and his sharp glare to the floor. “You already blurted it anyway.”

“Your sister,” you repeat, conjuring an image of a girl with the same gold as Aether, the same hardheaded determination. What is it with you and getting into trouble with brothers? “I’ve never heard anything about your sister during my time there.”

Aether shrugs. “That doesn’t surprise me. I only arrived here not too long ago, and from what I’m getting, you were already out of the orphanage.”

“So you think Lyney knows something?”

“I know The Knave knows something.”

How strange. Aether’s certainty that their ‘Father’ would confide in them everything, imply that Lyney is privy to information that only the Harbingers would keep to themselves.

You had this same thought before: Lyney, someday Harbinger, someday who would take Arlecchino’s throne. Now, you feel empty thinking about it. It used to fill you with so much rage before.

You turn away from Aether so he won’t see your face. Your previous affiliation with the House shouldn’t matter anymore—you’ve long since abandoned that life. You shouldn’t care about what the upstanding hero would want with them.

You shouldn’t.

Yet you end up fearing what this Outlander will do if they find out the darker secrets of the House that the orphans have to task themselves with. It’s never the children’s fault. But as a hero in a storybook, they rarely have pity for the bad guys.

If Aether finds out anything remotely wrong, what would he do to them…?

You sigh heavily. “I’ll prove to you that you’re wrong about whatever you think of them.”

Aether smiles. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Rosalie comes out of the counter’s back door a few moments later, holding two plates of dinner. She stares blankly at your frozen figure and Aether’s slack posture.

She hands you the plates. “I’ll get two more.”

Rosalie disappears back into the kitchen, a bright smile on her face as she leaves the scene. There was a skip in her step, too.

You settle the plates down in front of Aether and Paimon. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Paimon gasps in delight.

When Rosalie comes back out, she’s fluttering all over the place, gushing over how adorable your new friends are. She then goes into a tangent about how she was right in telling you that you have a charming personality, and it was about time people realized that.

“Rosalie,” you murmur, steaming from the ears.

Rosalie laughs heartily. “Oh, you’re so cute. Do you kids have any plans tonight?”

Aether casts you a glance. “We’re going to watch Lyney the Magician’s show tonight if that’s alright.”

You breathe in deeply. Aether sure works fast. You haven’t even prepared yourself for the little chance you were going to be forced to face Lyney again. You expected it on much more personal, grudge-driven circumstances, with Lyney taking you in for The Knave to deal with.

Rosalie sips from her glass, turning to you. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to watch it, mon ange? I also would have taken you to watch Mr. Lyney.”

“They came over to give me their spare ticket,” you say before she can start thinking deeply about Lyney, but it doesn’t work.

“Ah, I see! Well, have fun.” She grins. “I’ve heard only good things about Mr. Lyney.”

You down the rest of your drink, wishing it was the strong taste of alcohol instead of the sugary sweet Fonta.

Rosalie gasps, hands on the table as she stands. “Oh! Let’s get you changed for tonight’s show! What if Mr. Lyney’s show picks you as a chosen participant? You have to make him and the audience fall in love with you, Y/N!”

“None of those are necessary,” you say, nearing a whine. It’s embarrassing to have her say that while Aether and Paimon are right in front.

“This is the first time you’re going out—let me please dress you up!” Sometimes, Rosalie acts more like a big sister than a mother.

Rosalie turns to Aether, already pushing you out of your chair. “Give us ten.”

Aether is smiling, looking as if holding in laughter. “Don’t worry. We aren’t going anywhere; we made a deal.”

After rummaging through closets and spilling dresses all over Rosalie’s bed, you're soon ushered out of the door. You witness Paimon's jaw dropping and Aether's eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“Whoa…!” Paimon gasps.

“Please spare me from any more comments,” you say, face hot.

Your dress, while nothing as grand as the rest of richer Fontaine women, is still grander than your loose blouse from before. It flows all the way down and drapes gracefully down your legs in a deep shade that blends in seamlessly with those who walk past the busy streets of Fontaine.

Thankfully, they oblige. You can’t handle any more—too much have you a puddle on the spot, and in the most humiliating way possible. Rosalie bids you all farewell, telling Aether to bring you back home before ten.

“I don’t think you can be home before ten,” Aether mutters as he leads you outside.

You hide behind his figure, uneasy from the curious stares of the passersby. It could be because you’re walking next to the renowned Traveler, but a part of you thinks that they know who you are. For all you know, there could be wanted posters of your face, and you wouldn’t know because you don’t go outside.

Aether turns to you. “Can you move comfortably?”

“This corset is a little too tight.”

Aether takes your hand and leads you somewhere off to the side, away from any onlookers. Then, he moves behind you and helps with loosening the corset. You look off to the side and swear that you saw a figure dash past, as nimble as a cat, but that was probably nothing.

“Should we rip off the length, too?” Paimon asks.

“No!” you exclaim, startling the two. “No, it’s fine. This is not my dress. Are you going to make me fight Lyney?”

Aether shrugs. “If worse comes to worse.”

“I’m in heels.”

“If worse comes to worse,” Aether repeats, tying the ends in a neat little ribbon.

“I wasn’t aware that you would start blackmailing me this early on.”

Aether smiles grimly. “There are no warnings when it comes to that.”

You perform a twirl in the new adjustments, twisting around, finding it much more breathable than compared to when Rosalie treated it like her usual fitting.

“Good?” Aether asks.

“Good.”

The conversation doesn’t die down, but it’s much more stiff than before. Paimon tells you that she liked your muddy apron better, and you wish you could agree. But this is who you really are. Nothing genuine like the soil staining your washed-out apron and your hands, or the Lumidouce Bell by the counter you’ve watched grow, but a dress that doesn’t belong to you for a mission that you have to fulfill to save other people who wouldn’t even recognize what you’ve done.

The Opera Epiclese, though you’d never been, looks the same as all the stories you’ve heard about it. Filled with a lively audience, the atmosphere dimmed, and your breath held in anticipation as Aether led you to vacant seats. You sit on Paimon’s supposed seat.

You face Aether. “What now? What do you want me to do? Strut back into their lives and demand all their Fatui secrets as if I never left?” you whisper hastily as all the lights flicker off.

A spotlight centers on the stage.

Aether nestles into his seat. “Prove to me that I can trust them just as much as you do. Who knows, you might get something out of this, too.”

BEFORE YOU STOP READING!! LOOK AT ONCE AGAIN ANOTHER AMAZING FANART BY OUR FAVORITE akagi0021

scene of paimon's "whoa...!" and aether demanding "how do you know that?" !!!!!! 😭😭😭❤️❤️

sorry if my inherent attraction to aether came out a bit for some scenes here. the heart can’t help but want what it wants… and that includes what my fingers end up typing whenever aether is on the same docs LOL

TAGLIST.

@thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101 @kruinka @waveto-earth @superstar-ethereal @mxplesyrvp @achilleas-dream @episodecete @jellifizz @auranny

[mionkings]

Making Heads Turn 🫨

Jason had become a father to a little baby boy, taking him in when he found the poor thing on the streets, in a cardboard box, wrapped in a space themed blanket.

While the obstacles a new parent goes through is tough. He knows it's worth it to have Danny, his baby, his son in his life. He doesn't regret adopting him.

Danny is now at the stage of his little life that he babbles and giggles, Jason always had fun having a conversation with his baby. Although Jason's sure that his hair is getting whiter with the chaos Danny brings now ever since Danny's baby brain realized that he can CRAWL to PLACES >:D

However this new development... is a little strange.

Whenever Jason puts Danny down in his crib to make dinner or any other important errand. Danny will begin to babble to the air, as if his little tyke is trying to talk to someone, making grabbing hands and scooching over to grab someone's attention.

It sent a slight shiver down his spine...

Ever since he made his introduction to Gotham as Red Hood, for the first time to those gang leaders with the bang of the AK-47. Taking over the Gotham underworld by storm with anger and precision.

He always felt a chill down his spine... When he was alone, yet... the Pit Madness flared everytime, making him feel enraged and paranoid. As if he was just waiting for a fight... for a confrontation...

Being alone in his apartment, having nightmares, more like repressed memories of what he had done... Lots of things, but for some reason—his mind... keeps going back to the moment he threw that duffel bag at the table infront of the gang leaders that night... the night he went after the lieutenants, taking their heads.

He doesn't know why.

But ever since the precious cargo that was his baby Danny, arrived in his life. That all went away as he took care, fed, and loved his baby boy.

Jason never had an episode with Danny; he couldn't bare the thought of hurting the child.

Jason was even having less episodes when he was with the Bats!

The chills; however, Jason still feels them occasionally... but they would always disappear the moment Danny would demand attention or to nap.

And instead he would feel something else hang over his baby everytime Danny slept peacefully...

———

Second ever DPxDC prompt that I've ALSO been getting brainrot over ❤️ I'm having fun 😄

Basically this prompt idea is Jason adopting a baby Danny, while seemingly unaware that he's being haunted/watched by the people's he's killed to become a crime lord. More specifically, being haunted by the heads/headless ghosts of the lieutenants Jason killed as Red Hood.

While Jason can't seem to see them, he can feel 'chills' from them. Danny, however, CAN see them mostly because I based this on that thing where babies/toddlers can see spirits in those typical YouTube videos that list ToP 5 ScArY gHOstZ VidEOz!1!1

Whatever happened though, this causes the ghosts to instead focus more on Danny than on Jason.

How much will Jason freak the fuck out when he finds out? Who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Although Danny is absolutely having fun here ^^

Anyways, I might add extra stuff soon to this!

[distortionbobble]

Royal Flowers Chapter 11

royal flowers series masterlist

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pairing: anakin skywalker x f!reader

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and adopted cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni. but it's finally time for some fucking SMUT!! piv, a little bit of dress-tearing, a teensy bit of mutual masturbation, grinding, fingering, somewhat of a fuck-or-die situation if you squint, kind of a little soft

a/n: did y’all miss our boy? i missed our boy.

Anakin slips back into the party wordlessly. There’s too much to think about. He finds you almost instantly, his feet taking him to you on instinct as though there’s some sort of magnetic link between the two of you. His hands rest at your hips as you speak to one of the senators, while his lips press into your temple. You’re quick to dismiss the Senator, feigning the excuse of a headache as you slip your hand into Anakin’s and stride out of the banquet hall. 

“What is it?” You ask him in a soft murmur, not wanting to be heard by unfriendly ears. 

“Not here,” Anakin responds, squeezing your hand softly. He can’t find it in him to let go of your hand, and every time he thinks to, it’s like his muscles only fight his mind, gripping your hand tighter. The parts he tamped down for so long, that possessive ugly side of him that he thought he’d finally outgrown thanks to you, makes its way to the forefront of his mind. You don’t even want him, you see him as just a friend, but Maker, there’s something carnal inside Anakin that wants to claim you as his. He wants to sink his teeth into your neck and leave bruises that won’t fade. You’d be his, and not just for show— no, he wants you to know that you’re his too. 

The thoughts in his head make him feel sick; it goes against everything he’s stood for, all his life. He wants to raze the world to the ground, all for you. And if you reject him, he wants to burn the ashes. But Anakin knows it’s wrong. He knows he shouldn’t feel like this. The both of you have a friendship that is still fragile— it took so long to build it to what it is now. There’s trust, but it wasn’t always there. These thoughts aren’t him. Anakin’s distinctly aware that it’s an amplification of all those desires he repressed, but it’s amplified for a reason. His oath to the dark side is already eating at his soul, parasitic and corrosive. 

He needs to tell you what happened. 

“Anakin, are you okay? You feel feverishly warm,” you say, but Anakin only holds your hand tighter and walks faster, practically dragging you all the way to your shared room, slamming the door shut before he lets go of your hand. It’s so incredibly difficult to be around you right now, because every desire that he repressed for months around you is now clawing through his chest, unfiltered, unabashed. He wants you, and his soul is screaming at him to just give in. It’s the influence of the Dark Side, his inability to suppress his urges. 

“It’s Chancellor Palpatine,” Anakin says through gritted teeth. He’s starting to feel genuine pain now. Years and years of Jedi conditioning being split down his body, every memory of anger and hatred and desire and love all coursing through his body, his nerves, setting his skin alight and stealing the breath from his lungs. 

“What do you mean? Anakin, you look sick,” you say, reaching up to his forehead to touch his skin before he swats your hand away. 

“He’s Darth Sidious,” he responds, not bothering to respond to your concern. He’s locked in on you now, predatorial. His heart’s out of control, beating wildly as control and desire war within him. 

“Anakin, please, you need to explain more. You’re scaring me,” you say, watching him cautiously. He looks a mess. He hadn’t looked this disheveled, strands of his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat when you left for the ball. And that look in his eyes, that look of something wild that sets your own heart racing. 

Anakin closes his eyes. He needs to get himself under control. He knows how to, doesn’t he? All that Jedi training, but that’s not the problem. The problem is he wants you. So bad he can taste it. He wants to run his tongue up the length of your body, feel every inch of your skin with his tongue. 

Forget that. Clear your mind, he reminds himself. 

“When we were out there, I told Palpatine—Sidious— about the nightmares I’ve been having. Nightmares about you dying. He began to tell me about Sith legends, about a Lord that could control death itself. He, he offered me the power to save you—“ 

“Anakin, I’ve told you this before, that’s not what I want—“

“Let me speak,” he snarls at you. He’s sure if he looked at you, he’d see the hurt on your face. But he can’t coddle you right now. His body’s on fucking fire. “I swore his fealty to him, to the dark side, because I thought it was knowledge I, we, could use. But it came at a price.” 

“Oh, Anakin,” you whisper, your voice pained. “I never wanted this for you. Never intended for you to get caught up as a spy.” 

“Well it doesn’t fucking matter what you wanted for me now, does it?” Anakin snaps, opening his eyes to glare at you. A mistake. His anger is quickly overtaken by desire, starved and depraved. He knows his Force signature is spiking, and he’s too stretched thin to pull it together. Distantly, Anakin recognizes the threat that exists now; if he represses his desire for you, allows it to build and build and build before it shatters, Palpatine will know something’s wrong. 

“Anakin, please,” You plead with him quietly. “Please, just tell me how I can help.”  

“I need you,” Anakin says. The words slip out of his mouth before he can catch them, like sand falling from his fingers, something ugly and carnal. You blink in stunned silence, and he forces himself to think of some possible explanation. “It’s the Dark Side. Sidious thinks I wanted you enough to turn to the Dark Side, which means that the Force is now influencing me to mimic that amount of desire.”

A lie, Anakin knows. There’s no amount of Force that could plant a desire in him that wasn’t already truly there. But it’s a little white lie that won’t hurt you, right? What’s the difference if he actually wants you or if it’s just the Force if either way, if he doesn’t have you, his cover will be blown? 

“And it’s— it’s hurting you?” You ask him quietly, thoughts running through your head that he can’t quite place. Anakin just closes his eyes and nods in shame. “Then take me,” you say, quiet but assured. 

“I can’t let you do that,” he argues with you, but his resolve is slipping. He needs to get away from you. The part of Anakin that was raised a Jedi is urging him to run, to get away from you just to protect you. The part of him that he’s been fighting his whole life wants to tear your clothes off and fucking devour you. 

You hesitate before him, battling your thoughts before something takes over you and you’re grabbing the front of his suit, lips meeting aggressively as you press yourself close to him. His cock throbs as your lips move against his, teeth and tongue tangling messily as you attempt to undress him. He walks you backwards into the wall, hands finding your ass to hoist you up and allow you to wrap your legs around his torso. Anakin grinds against your center desperately, seeking some sort of movement as you kiss him sloppily. A groan sits in his throat when your hand tangles itself in his hair, pushing his mouth closer to yours. 

He parts his mouth from yours, moving to your neck to drag his teeth down lazily along your artery. Anakin’s hips keep rocking against yours, that familiar ache driving him entirely as he paws roughly at your body.

Maker, it feels good, your body so close to him like this. But it’s not enough. He can still feel the layers of clothing between you, and it’s like he’s not even aware of what he’s doing when his hands tear the seam at the front of your dress like it’s paper.  

“Sorry, princess,” Anakin laughs as your tits spill out, turning around to toss you on the bed before his mouth finds your nipples, the warmth of his mouth making you arch almost involuntarily into his mouth as he settles himself between your thighs again, dropping his hips in between your spread thighs as he desperately seeks that sweet pressure on his aching cock. “I’ll get you a new one,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue against the skin of your breasts. His hands accompany his mouth— squeezing, pinching, playing with them until you’re dripping and aching for him. 

“Maker, you’ve got such nice tits, huh, princess?” Anakin asks you, sitting up to throw his suit jacket off and tug his shirt off. He doesn’t bother with fully taking his trousers off, only managing to unbutton and tug them down to his mid thighs before his desperation forces him back between your thighs. His hands tug your skirt up to expose your soaked panties, grinding his still-clothed length against them as he mouths at your neck. His hands are roaming all over your body desperately before one hand settles at your ass, squeezing as he rocks against you.   

“Anakin, I need you,” You moan, your hands running down the expanse of his back to press him closer to you. Your nails are leaving little crescent-shaped indents in his back with every rock of his hips against yours, and it’s making him go fucking crazy. 

“Sucking on your tits got you this worked up, princess?” He asks you teasingly, biting your lip. His hand strays to your cunt, tugging the fabric to the side before his fingers collect the slick that’s gathered there. He thumbs at your clit, moving in slow, gentle circles until he finds the spot that makes your body twitch under his ministrations, grinning against your lips as he plays with the bundle of nerves. He waits until you’re panting and moaning before easing one finger, then a second, into your tight, slick hole. 

“Oh, baby,” he moans, pulling away from your neck to watch his fingers fuck your cunt. “Maker, you should see this, your filthy little hole taking my fingers so fuckin’ well, pretty thing.” 

“Anakin,” you moan, your own hand straying to his cock and wrapping your hand around his shaft. Your hand matches the rhythm of his fingers in your cunt, making him drop his head to the pillow as all thoughts flee him except the feeling of your pussy and your hand wrapped around his cock. “Want you inside me so bad,” you whimper, stroking him lazily before reaching to squeeze and tug at his balls. 

“Can’t say no to that pretty voice of yours, princess, not when you ask me so nicely,” He says, pulling your panties off from your thighs, down to your calves, where he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your ankles before tugging the cloth off entirely. You’re still donning the remnants of your shredded dress, but you’re too dizzy with lust to care. 

Anakin settles between your legs again, sliding his hands under your thighs to gently manipulate you upwards. His bare cock slides through your slick folds, the head catching on your clit and making you groan in unrestrained want. You reach out to grab his body, dizzy with desire, dragging your hand down his abdomen to angle his cock right towards your aching hole. 

He hums with barely-restrained want when his tip is fit into your slick entrance, shallowly thrusting the fat head in and out while you adjust. “Feels like I belong in here,” Anakin grunts, slowly easing the rest of his length into you. “Taking me so well, princess. Maybe I should’ve done this earlier.” 

You laugh almost deliriously in response, pulling him down to your level to kiss his mouth fiercely. It’s messy, lips and tongues melding together imperfectly as he drives his hips into you. His voice shapes itself into your name, moaning breathlessly as he finds sweet relief in you. 

“Why’d you have to feel so fucking good, huh? Makin’ me feel like switching to the Dark Side was worth it,” Anakin groans. His hips drive into yours sharply, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot with each move. He finds a rhythm with ease, sinking deep into you with each stroke of his body. 

“Anakin,” you babble, unable to string together a coherent sentence as your body takes it all in — the heat and pressure of his body on yours, his hands roaming up your body, the feeling of him inside you, so deep that your pelvis is flush against his. You can feel your slick dripping to your inner thighs, to his balls, making a mess of it all. Worth it.

“What was that, princess?” He laughs at your fucked-out face, pressing a kiss to your temple. You can feel him smiling against your skin, rocking his body into yours, hear the smack, smack, smack of his hips against yours. 

You clench around him as you feel yourself near your climax, and Anakin groans, but his rhythm remains unfaltering, relentless in his pursuit of pleasure— both yours and his. He thumbs at your clit, pushing you over the edge as an orgasm spreads across your body. Pulsing warmth spreads from your cunt, drowning you in waves of pleasure as your vision whites out at the edges. Anakin’s only barely able to pull himself out of your tight heat, painting your stomach with his cum. 

He finds himself laying down by your side, basking in the afterglow with you. It seems to him that there’s altogether too much to say, so he’ll say nothing at all. He finds himself running his thumb over your cheekbones gently as you blink sleepily at him, finds his heart leaping out of his chest when you cradle his jaw with your hand. He’d like to think that means something, wants it to mean something so desperately. And when he leans in to kiss your hair, his mouth says the things his voice will not, his lips moving almost imperceptibly against your skin. 

I love you.

He hopes you know it, somehow.

[koshkamartell]

Chapter 1

chapter warnings: pervy!Joel, pervy!Tommy, slut shaming, alcohol consumption, mention of drug use, masturbation.

Joel Miller was frustrated.

Sure, he was almost always grumpy. He usually wore a scowl on his face and he was never short of a biting remark for anyone who dared annoy him. People knew not to bother him or engage with him unless absolutely necessary because of his quick temper.

But the frustration he had been feeling lately was more than just a facet of his surly temperament. There was an obvious reason as to why Joel was meaner than usual - although he wasn't completely cognisant of it himself - and it was because he was sexually frustrated. Completely and infuriatingly sexually frustrated. His mind and body had been forced into survival mode for so long that anything done for the sake of pleasure or joy was frivolous, almost incomprehensible. Even after settling in Jackson Joel could never quite let his guard down. He hadn't made friends or even entertained the thought of dating, and so Joel continued to remain repressed, tightly wound, and irritable.

His younger brother, Tommy Miller, was adept at navigating the storms of his older brother's character and had been Joel's main source of support in the town. Tommy understood the depth of pain Joel had endured and survived throughout the apocalypse and therefore forgave Joel's attitude to a certain degree. Until one day it had all been too much to tolerate.

Joel and Tommy had been working on a carpenting job repairing a set of porch steps for one of the houses. Joel had accidentally hit his thumb with the hammer he was using, causing him to throw the tool across the porch and snarl like an angry dog. Once Joel stopped swearing and blaming Tommy for distracting him and making him strike his own hand, the two brothers walked over to the Tipsy Bison for a drink.

"Ya know, you're actin' like a real asshole lately," Tommy grumbled inbetween sips of beer. "Even more than usual."

Joel just scoffed and took a shot of his whiskey, but purposely avoided meeting Tommy's eyes. He hated when his brother was right.

"Maybe you wouldn't be so cranky if you were gettin' some action," Tommy mused with a teasing little smirk.

Joel frowned at him, his cheeks tinging pink with embarrassment. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, man. You're moody as hell. Wound up tighter than a damn rattlesnake, tryin'a pick fights over nothin', always complainin'." Tommy shakes his head. "Got too much pent up energy. Nothin' a good fuck wouldn't fix."

"Well, maybe I wouldn't be if people around here weren't so goddamn incompetent," Joel snaps back, but there's no malice in his voice. He feels embarrassed and exposed by Tommy's observation. "Got nothin' to do with....that."

Tommy chuckles and tilts his head slightly to the side, his brown eyes shining with a hint of mischievous. "When's the last time you had a woman?"

"None of your business," Joel mutters, turning away from Tommy.

Truthfully Joel cannot remember the last time he laid with a woman - he knows it would have been with Tess, years ago back in the QZ, but he had very little memory of those unremarkable instances of physical closeness. Those times with Tess were not ones of intimacy but rather opportunities for both of them to fuck away their stress and pain. There had never been any desire for more emotion or connection, atleast not on Joel's part.

"Well, maybe it's about time you get yourself back in the game, big brother. Whole new world of datin' and different kinds of people now." Tommy's voice is softer, more earnest now as he eyes Joel.  "Whatever you're lookin' for, it's out there. Romance or just some company."

"Ain't lookin' for anythin', Tom," Joel mumbles before downing another shot of whiskey.

"Okay," Tommy concedes with an offhanded shrug. "Well, if you're ever interested in blowin' off some steam, I know someone who could help."

Joel shoots him a confused look. Tommy's lips quirk into a smug smirk and he leans over the table to quietly answer Joel's unspoken curiosity. Joel instinctively copies his action, turning his head slightly so he can hear better through his good ear.

"There's a woman in town, lives by herself. A widow. Real easy to get into. A few of the guys I know pay her visits, get what they need without any bullshit."

The realisation of what Tommy is insinuating hits Joel with full force. His face contorts with disdain.

"A whore?" Joel hisses lowly, his eyes narrowing on Tommy's.

"Not exactly," Tommy admits. "Don't have to pay her or anythin'. Just take her on a date or some shit. Hell, I think after a while the guys stopped even botherin' with dates. They just go there to fuck her. I hear she gets real horny, like a bitch in heat or somethin'."

Joel's hand tightens around the shot glass on the table. He's disgusted by what Tommy has said, appalled to think of a bunch of men using a woman so carelessly, that a woman would even be so desperate as to allow herself to be used. He's repulsed by the whole thing. Yet there is a tugging sensation in his lower belly that he cannot ignore.

A whore in Jackson.

Joel may be disgusted, but he's also undeniably aroused and intrigued.

I hear she gets horny, like a bitch in heat.

Joel's cock twitches in his jeans. He clears his throat and leans back into the booth, shaking his head. It is disgusting. Filthy. There's no way he would ever meet a woman like that.

Tommy grins and nods his head, the idea already set into motion. "I can set it up for ya."

"Don't," Joel growls. "Told ya, I ain't interested. Especially not in some whore."

That's the end of the conversation and nothing more is mentioned about you. Until two weeks later, when an unexpected meeting happens.

It's been a rough day on patrol for Joel. First, he was paired up with a rookie ranger who was too anxious to steer his own goddamn horse confidently. The rookie almost ended up getting caught in one of the traps set to catch raiders, then they accidentally took the safety off their rifle and fired it into the air. Joel was furious and it took all his restraint not to kill the guy. When they returned to Jackson Joel stalked straight over to Tommy's and Maria's house and demanded the man never work a patrol shift again.

The effects of stress consistently manifested itself in the same ways for Joel; the muscles in his neck and shoulders would tense up and his back would ache, his jaw would clench and his hands would fidget. Today all the chaos from the day weighed heavily on Joel and had taken a toll on his body. Tommy could see the suffering in Joel's eyes and felt bad; after all, it was his responsibility to organise work duties regarding patrolling and thus he felt partly to blame. Although he hadn't predicted any potential issues when he had assigned Joel and the rookie together, Tommy still wanted to make it up to Joel. He tried his best to assuage Joel's ire by dragging him over to the Tipsy Bison for some drinks.

Joel had initially resisted entertaining Tommy's idea but after an hour of playing several rounds of darts and pool, he was actually beginning to loosen up and relax. The alcohol mellowed his mood and eased the agony in his lower back, granting him enough relief to enjoy himself. He even made a bit of small talk with a couple of Tommy's friends that had ended up joining them.

At some stage during the evening Joel was standing in the corner of the bar casually watching one of the pool games. Tommy sidled up next to him with two glasses of whiskey and passed one to Joel.

"Judgin' by your face, I'd say this wasn't such a bad idea after all," Tommy grinned.

"Guess I was overdue for a night out," Joel admitted as he accepted the drink. "But kickin' your ass at darts always makes me feel better."

Tommy barked a laugh and clapped his hand on Joel's shoulder. "Fuck you, man. Ya only won the last round outta sheer luck."

"Bullshit," Joel smirked. "You lost because you got distracted flirtin' with Priscilla."

At the mention of her name, the brothers both looked over past the bar to try and get a glimpse of the kitchen area where Priscilla, the waitress at the Tipsy Bison that night, had disappeared to earlier. There was no sign of the red head woman who had been batting her eyelashes and giggling at Tommy, but only Clyde, the older heavyset bartender who knew all the regular patrons by name.

"Can't help when a woman wants a piece of me," Tommy chuckled playfully.

Joel rolled his eyes. It was typical of Tommy to be a little arrogant when it came to women. Joel remembered the days pre outbreak when Tommy would be reeling in one night stands on a regular basis (when he wasn't getting into drunken fist fights). He had known just what to say to charm a woman, how to apply an effective balance of flirtation and detachment in order to pique her interest. It seemed Tommy's skills were still alive and well even after the outbreak. His older brother, however, had always been the opposite - less wild and carefree, more responsible and mature, not at all interested in something as hollow as a one time sexual encounter.

How and why Maria managed to pin Tommy down and marry him was a mystery to Joel. Although he didn't particularly like the woman, it made Joel uncomfortable to witness Tommy flirt with another women when he was married to Maria.

"Well ya better quit it before Maria finds out and gives you a piece of her mind." Joel warned. "Sure she'd deck you one before you could even come up with some lame excuse as to why your hand was on that girl's ass just now."

Tommy snorted scornfully and downed a mouthful of whiskey. "What she don't know won't hurt her. Besides, a man's got needs."

Joel just shook his head. It wasn't his business, anyway. He was about to challenge Tommy to another game of pool when Tommy suddenly nudged his side with his elbow.

"Hey, hey, look," Tommy whispered hurriedly to Joel. "That's the woman I was tellin' you about."

Tommy titled his head toward a figure that had just strolled in. Joel followed Tommy's line of vision and when his eyes landed on you for the very first time, his heart skipped a beat.

You took a seat on a stool at the bar, shifting to smooth your dress under your ass. You were wearing a simple linen dress with a jacket that gave no indication of what was hiding underneath, and you had worn black boots on your feet. The outfit was mundane, nothing special. Modest is the term his old fashioned southern mother would've used, bless her heart.

Although Joel hadn't concocted much of an idea of how you might have looked inside his head, he was surprised by your appearance. Perhaps he expected you to be more provocatively dressed, with your physical assets on display, enticing whoever might choose to go home with you that night.

Idiot, he chided himself.

When you turned your head at a certain angle Joel was able to get a glimpse of your face. He was struck by how pretty your features were. Even from the distance of where he sat at the booth, he could see you were beautiful. No wonder you had men trying to pursue you - getting into bed with you would be a fucking dream.

Throughout the next half an hour Joel surreptitiously watched you as you sat alone at the bar while you nursed a glass of beer and occasionally chatted with the bartender. You seemed comfortable and confident, a sweet little smile etched on your mouth. But Joel noticed the way your shoulders sagged a little, how your fingers toyed with a bracelet on your delicate wrist. These minute details signalled that you weren't as carefree as you wanted to appear, that maybe you were somewhat nervous in this surrounding.

Why was he so interested to understand more when he doesnt even know you? Get a fucking life, Joel internally reprimands himself. You don't even know this woman.

It isn't like he would ever meet you, either. There's no way in hell he would let Tommy introduce the two of you. He had no intention of approaching you, either. He was not going to walk up and introduce himself and try make conversation with you. What the hell would he say, anyway?

"Hi, my name is Joel Miller. I heard you're an easy lay and love to fuck."

No. Joel was resigned to just watching you instead, like a strange voyeur who didn't even know your name. He justified his little secret surveillance stunt as a means of distraction from the obnoxious conversation around him, from the annoyance of Tommy and his crew laughing loudly and talking shit. He was content just to observe.

Until another man swaggered across the bar room floor and made his way over to you.

And who the hell is this guy?

Joel's hawkish gaze burned into the man as he watched him approach you, leaning against the bar with an arrogant grin on his face.

Is this one of your regulars? Have you been waiting for him to show?

The man came close to your face and said something to you, but Joel couldn't read his lips from so far away. You jerked back and turned your body slightly to the left, away from him, a clear rejection. The man didn't seem detered by your change in posture, though; he stroked his fingers over your shoulder and continued talking, even though you flinched from his touch.

Everything about him exuded a sleazy energy that incited a simmering anger in Joel's stomach. You weren't interested in his guy at all but he just wasn't giving up. Even though you pulled away and shook your head, he leaned closer and whispered something in your ear. Whatever he said had its intended affect; Joel saw your face crumple before you hurriedly slipped off of the bar stool and scampered out of the bar. The man remained, unmoving but chuckling to himself with what looked like cruel satisfaction.

What the hell just happened?

Joel didn't even think before he stood up from his seat and strode toward the saloon style doors, like an invisible magnet being pulled to follow you. He did not stop to question just why he felt an overwhelming need to chase after you and check that you are alright, for he was impelled in such a way that he himself cannot fathom.

Joel exited the bar and followed your silhouette into the darkness of the evening, forgetting all about Tommy and the others.

You are not even half way down the main street before Joel quickly catches up to you with long strides of his legs. He thinks to reach out and touch your arm to get your attention but he doesn't want to scare you. Instead, he approaches your side but stays a respectful distance from you.

"Excuse me ma'am, are you alright?" He asks gently.

You stop walking and turn to face him, your eyes wide and brimmed with unshed tears. Now he is up close and can see your face in more detail, Joel feels an immediate pang of attraction to you. He is momentarily startled by how your eyes shine under the light of the streetlamp.

Pretty.

You instinctively take a step back and eye him warily, your brow furrowing slightly.

"I'm sorry," you reply, voice a little croaky with restrained emotion. "Have we met?"

Oh, that voice. You sound like a damn angel.

Joel swallows thickly and gives a shake of his head. "No, we haven't. My name's Joel. Joel Miller. I'm Tommy's brother."

You blink and sniff, a pathetic little sound, then give him your name in return. "Hi Joel. Yes, I'm okay."

It's a lie, Joel knows. You aren't crying but it is obvious that you aren't quite okay. Joel clears his throat and stands with his hands on his hips, suddenly feeling awkward. He doesn't know what to say, but he's also curious about the interaction with the man at the bar.

"I, uhm, I saw that guy in there, looked like he was botherin' ya."

You purse your lips and glance down at your shoes. He studies your body language intently as you wrap an arm around your middle and scuff at the ground with the tip of your boot. "Yeah, he's not a very nice person." You respond, low and soft. "But it's okay. I mean, I'm okay."

Joel nods. For some reason he feels compelled to ask for more details, to know just what was said to you to illicit your reaction and make you run away like that, but he holds his tongue. You are strangers, after all.

"Um, okay then," you nod back curtly, feeling just as awkward as Joel. "Thank you. Goodnight."

"Wait, please." Joel inwardly cringes at the sound of his own voice, how his request sounds more like a plea than anything else. He hasn't spoken this many words to a woman for a long time and he feels incredibly self conscious, but the chivalrous part of him doesn't feel right that you are walking home alone when you're hurting. "You want me to walk you back home?"

His offer seems to immediately sour the interaction between you two. Something flashes in your eyes and a sound escapes your lips, something between a sigh and a scoff. There's an invisible wall suddenly put up, a palpable boundary that radiates from the change in your energy and the furrow of your brow. You are angry, annoyed. Insulted.

"No, I'm good thanks, Joel." Your clipped reply comes as you whip around and resume your journey home. You mutter something to yourself that Joel cannot catch. He stays frozen to the spot for a few seconds, slightly bewildered by what has just happened. He soon springs into action, that possessive pull urging him toward you once more, and he swiftly follows you again. But this time he does dare to reach out to touch you, gently placing his hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, whoa. What's goin' on? Did I say somethin' wrong?"

You fling around to meet his gaze and glare up at him. "You can cut the chivalrous act," you snap. "Because it isn't happening, not tonight. Got it?"

Joel isn't discouraged by your defensive attitude. In fact he finds your assertiveness makes you even more alluring. Maybe you have a little more bite than what your appearance suggests. 

"What are you talkin' about?" Joel asks softly, his hooded eyes staring into yours.

"Yeah, right," you snort. "Like you're really not pretending to be concerned about me just so you can get in my pants."

The accusation hits him like an arrow to the chest and his mouth hangs open in shock. The insinuation that his kindness is a only pretence to acquire something sexual from you offends him immensely; it is his turn to feel indignant now.

"Excuse me?" Joel growls out. "I was just makin' sure that creep didn't step outta line!"

His reaction visibly takes you by surprise; the look of resentment quickly disappears from your eyes and your features soften, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth as you listen to his words. You almost look sheepish.

"I got no such intentions," Joel states with a shake of his head. "'M sorry to bother you, g'night."

He's about to turn away when you suddenly reach out and grasp onto his wrist, giving it a small squeeze before quickly letting it go. He freezes in place at the contact, momentarily dazed by your touch. He can't remember the last time a woman touched him and the whole situation feels surreal. He clears his throat and waits for you to speak, too embarrassed to meet your eye now, opting instead to stare down at his boots.

"Joel, no, I'm sorry," you sigh heavily. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's just...well, I don't really have many friends here. And sometimes people get the wrong idea about me."

The wrong idea. What could that mean?

Despite not knowing, Joel feels a twinge of empathy for you. He is no stranger to judgement or being on the receiving end of someone's preconceived prejudice. He's reminded of Maria's hesitancy to accept him in the community when he first showed up, how some of the residents refused to even look his way, the whispers around town that he was a cold blooded murderer who would reek havoc on Jackson. Deep down it still hurts him to think about.

"It's alright." Joel murmers. "I'm sorry, too. Probably scared ya a bit, just comin' up outta no where."

You hum softly in agreement. "It's alright, really. It's nice that someone cares enough to ask."

A surge of relief rushes through Joel to see you are no longer upset. There is something about your smile, the tiny upturn of the corners of your mouth, that gives Joel a strange thrill of gratification. No one has ever had such an effect on him before; no one has ever made Joel want to prove his quality of character, to show his genunity to.

"Still wanna walk me, or have you changed your mind?" You inquire a little teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

Joel can't help but let the hint of a smile ghost his lips. "Still happy to. If that's what you want."

"I'll lead the way."

Under your guidance, Joel chaperones you through several streets across town to the area where you live. The journey takes less than ten minutes and neither of you talk much. Your energy is refreshingly relaxed and calm, and you seem satisfied to just gently hum and occasionally stare up to admire the twinkling stars in the sky. Joel, however, is silent, his jaw clenching with tension; his mind is preoccupied with the echo of Tommy's voice.

They just go there to fuck her.

That is certainly not what Joel's goal is tonight, yet he cannot shake that low, sly intonation of Tommy's word from rattling around inside his head. Just how many guys have walked to your home using this very same path that Joel walks on now?

But something just isn't clicking for Joel. If you were such a slut, why were you so affronted by the mere possibility of him expecting more from you? From what Tommy told him, you should be more than willing to have a man ask to take you home.

Maybe Tommy was one of the people who had the wrong idea about you.

"It's just over there," your voice broke through his thoughts, directing him to the turn down the next lane.

Your neighbourhood was one of the more secluded residential parts of the commune, primarily comprised of cottages and small houses. Joel follows you halfway down the street to where your own cottage is located, nestled between an empty plot on one side and a modest looking house on the other side. The whole quarter looks vastly different to his own large two storey home and the others that surround it. Joel's neighbourhood is without a doubt more aesthetically pleasing and closer to the town centre, making it alot easier to access whatever supplies or services he needs to.

Maybe it was just a shit luck of the draw, Joel thinks. Families always take priority in regards to housing, after all.

The first thing he notices about your cottage is the bed of flowers in the meagre garden of your front yard. It is charming, a scant feature of beauty in an otherwise unremarkable habitat. He vaguely wonders what your garden looks like in the light of day, if the flowers are even more vibrant than they are under the lone street lamp on the sidewalk.

"Well, this is me," you say softly, trailing up to the porch. Joel grunts in response, lingering a little behind you.

The exterior of your cottage appears weathered and in need of a coat of paint. Joel doubts the foundation is durable enough to withstand the cold Wyoming weather. He makes a mental note to talk to the committee about it at the next meeting.

You turn to face Joel and notice him eyeing the broken swing that hangs pathetically on your porch. "It's always been like that." You grimace. "I've been meaning to get it fixed, but it always slips my mind."

"I can do it." Joel blurts out without thinking. "I can fix it."

"What? Really?" You raise your brows, surprised.

Joel nods resolutely. He approaches the swing and bends down to examine the splintered planks, running a hand along the frame to check for more cracks. "Won't take long to do. Just need some new wood, maybe a coat of paint."

"You know how to do that kinda stuff?" You question curiously.

"Mm-hm. Was a contractor back in the day," Joel murmers. "Can do it whenever you want."

"How's this Sunday?" You offer almost immediately.

Joel's head snaps up to look at you, eyes wide, briefly stupefied by your eagerness. You give him a grin and a little shrug, and Joel feels a tinge of pink bloom over the apples of his cheeks.

"Uhm, yeah, okay," Joel clears his throat. "Sunday mornin' alright with you?"

"Perfect." You gift him a sweet smile of appreciation. "Well, you know where I live. Thanks for walking me home."

Joel just nods as he straightens back upright, his eyes shifting to avert his gaze  back to the street. "G'night."

"Goodnight, Joel," you all but purr before opening your door and slipping inside.

Joel meanders back to his own house, feeling dazed. He recounts his interaction with you over and over in his mind, recreating the nuances of your body language, the silky lilt of your voice, the way that firey sparkle danced in your eyes when you challenged him. Your words replay over and over, the sound of his name floating from your mouth, your barely audible humming.

When Joel gets home he fucks his fist until he climaxes with a startling intensity and his warm cum spills over his pillowy stomach.

[pikahlua]

Fourteen Days of MHA: Day 1

Home

WARNING: Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood spoilers (seasons 1 and 2)

You: Huh!?!?!?!?

Oh yeah, it's time for a little mini-meta.

Okay, well, we're not going to get into the ENDING yet, but there's actually a lot going on in MHA that looks eerily familiar if you're an FMA fan. MHA itself is in many ways a referential work, and I don't think all of these parallels are coincidences (though surely some are).

Let's talk about the symbolism of the home.

My Hero Academia has three major examples of "home" that it highlights as symbols: those of the villains Tomura Shigaraki, Himiko Toga, and Touya Todoroki. The villains view their homes as symbols of oppression and pain. We know the home is seen as the image of all that oppression based on how various characters treat the houses themselves.

When Touya returned home after his miraculous survival, he found the home hadn't changed as a result of his death. The "scene" there always looks the same.

And when Endeavor tries to atone, Endeavor acknowledges that the "house" he raised his children in is full of bad memories to the extent that he decides to build his family a new home where they can live without him.

Touya's opportunity to demonstrate his feelings about his home arises with Himiko Toga. She returns to her abandoned childhood home out of curiosity and finds it full of hatred and derision, symbolizing her experiences there.

Touya does her a "kindness" by destroying the house.

Then he reveals that doing so, to him, is a way to get back at Endeavor--at the man who created Touya's own broken childhood home.

This scene in particular evokes the famous imagery of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood of the Elric Brothers burning down their own childhood home.

The act of destroying their own home is so important to them that Edward chooses to commemorate the date by engraving it inside his pocketwatch, "Don't Forget 3.Oct.11." To the brothers, this act is a symbol of their resolve--of their chosen path to atone for their sins and restore their bodies. There can be no going back home if there is no home to return to.

In other words, the purposeful destruction of one's home represents a threshold, a point of no return. By destroying their homes, the villains of MHA demonstrate their conviction for the paths they've chosen.

The problem is, there's another reason one might destroy their own home.

To run away. To hide. To forget.

Why does Himiko call Touya's act of destruction a kindness, even if Touya denies it? Because he has destroyed the largest reminder of the pain of her childhood.

The League of Villains seek to destroy the world because they were rejected by the world and wish to reject it back. Those homes were the world to them at one point, when they were children. To them, the world is just an extension of the suffering they experienced.

Tomura wants to destroy the world to justify his existence as a destroyer, but in reality he doesn't want to face the fact that he killed his family by accident.

The tragedy of his childhood was so traumatic he repressed the memory and only found his concrete motivation to destroy the world once he remembered his past in Deika City. As soon as he remembers that house, he wishes to destroy it again. It's already been destroyed, but the memory of it continues to hurt him long after. By destroying the world, maybe he can forget it again. Maybe the pain will make sense and he won't have to think about it anymore. Maybe he'll stop being a crying child deep down.

The villains seek to destroy their own origins, which is by nature a self-destructive cause. Paradoxically, they will end up destroyed in the end no matter if they succeed or fail in their goals. Either the world will be destroyed and they along with it, or they will die trying.

To save Tenko's heart, Izuku has to bring that memory of the house to the surface. He has to recontextualize it to validate Tenko as he is.

And the recontexualization is All For One.

By contextualizing Tenko's life as a product of All For One's machinations, it gives Tomura a new reason to destroy that memory and that house: to destroy All For One.

And with that comes a new justification for Tomura's existence.

The destruction of All For One.

[housethemd]

Autistic House Headcanons

Because come on. Obviously.

- House often stims with objects (his cane/ball/anything he can get his hands on) but he used to stim with just his hands/body. John House would get really mad about it when House was a child however, so he represses those urges a lot.

- Sub headcanon: Sometimes when House and Wilson are having fun/laughing/having a good time (see: when House is happiest) House will flap his hands as a happy stim. He doesn’t even notice he does it, but Wilson does and it makes him so happy to see House expressing himself like that.

- Monster Trucks are one of House’s special interests. He can name the trucks, their stats, the whole nine all from memory. It’s why Wilson doesn’t want to admit he doesn’t like them. He knows how important they are too House, and furthermore how important it is for House to have someone to share his special interest with.

- House has issues with sensory processing. He hates his lab coat, prefers comfortable clothes and sneakers, and is very particular about his food. One of the reasons he avoids the clinic because he finds the atmosphere (people always coming and going, multiple conversations happening in the same space, bright lights, etc) very over stimulating. He has a love hate relationship with touch (see next point for details.)

- House has some sensory seeking behaviours. His motorcycle and his ball both feed these desires. He likes going fast on his bike, making tight turns, feeling force and gravity against him. He likes throwing is his ball, often quite hard against other things (walls, cupboards, etc) to make it bounce back into his hand. He likes how it feels when it smacks into his palm. House likes pressure. He has a hard time with touch because they are often gentle and light, and those types of touches make his skin crawl. Firm touches, that he is made aware of ahead of time however, he loves.

- House has a hard time noticing his body’s needs. Since the infarction it’s worse because he always in pain. He doesn’t notice he’s hungry until he’s starving (or until Wilson has food and it reminds him eating is a thing.) He doesn’t realize he’s tired until he’s exhausted. He’s chronically dehydrated because he forgets water exists and spends his whole day drinking coffee.

I have a ton more so if you want them let me know! I might write some fics involving these.

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy I started drafting this when it was Friday everyone! Can you believe there's just three weeks left to go before we're back with BEENADO?! Here's another round of the fic I've been reading this last fortnight to tide you over in the meantime. You can find previous rec lists here.

7 September 2024

Baking is a Science but I Studied the Arts by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels the reason why I'm late posting this week is that I opened up AO3 to start gathering links, realised this was completed, dropped everything and read it start to finish. Sugar Daddy Tommy is ready and willing to pamper Eddie with trips to Vegas, and Eddie is in need of a distraction from all his pining over his best friend. Buck's feeling a little envious of Eddie and Tommy's new friendship, but with an open line of communication Tommy's happy to introduce him to his bisexual awakening, and unlock a new level of kink along the way. But of course, there's crossed wires, and neither Buck or Eddie actually know who the other's mysterious new casual boyfriend is. Deliciously indulgent, sexy, and feel good polyamory with 9-1-1 what is your emergency levels of misunderstandings and self discovery along the way. Lincoln's buddietommy threeway fics just always hit the spot.

Summer's End by @dunnonorlly back on my Eddie's summer of introspection without Chris bullshit, with a wonderful self recommendation that I'm so glad was brought to my attention. I love fics which really showcase all the ways this ensemble love each other and there's such a gorgeous wealth of extended firefam offering support here, including a particularly impactful Eddie and Bobby dynamic, with his advice and experience shared, and deep understanding from Maddie. Talking things through with those he trusts, and some beautifully written gentle steps towards finding peace and embracing love with Buck at his side and his family reunited.

Counting Pulses by tinyydancerr also recommended to me by dunnonorlly, this is an alternate take on season 7 written early on in the series, in which crucially Eddie has OCD, based on the author's own experiences and carefully woven into all the idiosyncricies that make up Eddie Diaz. It's a beautiful and painful character exploration that allows Eddie to examine his own past and present with fresh eyes, in the hopes of moving to a future without tripping up on all that's held him back. I particularly loved the backstory elements, and how his mental health and Catholic guilt create a maelstrom he's painstakingly riding through life. Such a moving fic. The same author also has a GORGEOUS anniversary Henren fic Up, and Down, and Around which sees Karen through Hen's eyes, with a rollercoaster of emotions.

about the present by @runawaymarbles if there's one thing you need to know about me it's that I LOVE me a timeloop narrative, and wow does this two parter The Scroll of Saint Barnabas and Theoretical Corpses, Laughing deliver. "The day of the shooting, Eddie got stuck in a time loop. But that was three months ago. He's completely fine now." In which Eddie absolutely has PTSD, but when you're caught in a timeloop where you see all of your loved ones picked off by a sniper, and every attempt you make to stop it just ripple effects someone else to be harmed, what do you even do? Plus along the way there are confessions they won't remember, secrets that are impossible to keep locked up forever, firsts that they'll be forced to forget, and overwhelming survivors guilt. An absolute masterclass in consequences, understanding, and healing together through the hurt.

Being Eddie by @cal-daisies-and-briars sticking with the timey-wimey theme, I also read this Being Erica inspired fic, in which a mysterious therapist grants Eddie the opportunity to go back in time to fix a list of his regrets, confronting repressed memories, and gaining an understanding of himself and the people in his life he feels like he's wronged along the way. Of course the butterfly effect is in full force, and sometimes changing the past means losing a future and a love you're growing to cherish.

like a river that doesn't know where it's flowing (i found where i'm going) by @queerdiazs VIVE LE MOUSTACHE! 'After coming out as gay, finally, Eddie has a well-deserved hot girl summer witnessed by his closest friends and family. Everyone is supportive and encouraging, except for Buck. What could that possibly mean?' Truly full throttle embracing the concept of latter in life coming out second pubity and slut era Eddie, this is so much fun, so delicious, and Buck is full on out not having a good time. Eddie can't help that the moustache makes him so irresistible! (I also had a great time with their fic no one else on earth because I love me some Eddie vs Josh).

Stay Until the Morning by @semperama oh my god, once again smacked in the face by my demiromantic Eddie and resulting emotional trauma feels. This is established (almost) buddie, written for the @summerofbuddie "breaking cliches" week. The author says it best: "The cliche that's broken here is that friends-to-lovers is as simple as two people realizing they love each other and then it's happily ever after. In this instance, things are a little more complicated!" I really really deeply appreciate this examination of simply finding your person doesn't magically fix all the things that have reinforced your emotional barriers and mental walls, and Eddie has a lot to unpack around how he's approached sex and relationships as does Buck. Small but mighty, this packed a punch.

suddenly the only thing i saw was you by @diazisms finally ending on a wonderful sapphic rarepair wildcard, this is a 5+1 fic featuring May Grant and Adriana Diaz! Bless you mysterious Diaz sisters for being such a rich fictional ground to play with - In this, Adriana is dropped off in LA for college, feeling out of place having taken a year to work. She bumps into May Grant, a beautiful stranger in a coffee shop. As they grow closer, they soon discover they have more in common than they thought. I loved this so much.

Okay that got long, but as usual insert call out for more henren fic here. Feel free to self rec! And please share and reblog :) See you next week, probably with HOTSHOTS recs bahaha!

BEES!

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the ask game (3)

au where all robins develop a mental link after fighting some magical criminal of the week. what would they see in each other's minds? what secrets and repressed feelings do they discover? how would they deal with it?

for the ask game!

oooh, i love telepathic links that end up revealing secrets. especially with a family like the Batfam, who are usually so convinced they're good enough at reading each other to not have many secrets kept. so weird reveals are always fun

if i did this, i'd do DamiTim. just because of all the like, "deep dark feelings that are being hidden" for Robin shipping, DamiTim is the most fun for me. you expect DickTim or DickJay or JayTim, even DamiDick. but there's something that's so enjoyable about Damian having his feelings forcibly outted. not just to Tim, but to everyone. the way it'd be an active landmine none of them knowing what to say but all feeling each other's reactions. i honestly think Damian would try to punch somebody about it. (also, if you do a history of TImSteph where they've had sex, Damian would be directly linked to Steph's memories of how Tim was in bed, so that's fun as both something horrifying and enlightening just to screw with his feelings some more.) would they end up together? in my head probably, but it'd be weird and likely toxic bc how do you date someone you know inside out and know exactly what they think of all your flaws and what parts of you they obsess over. the answer is not very well but hey, the sex is good-

i think Jason *directly* feeling how everyone felt about his death would really rock him. he's heard all the apologies, but part of him isn't convinced there's truth to them. so to be crushed by Dick's *grief* over his death would be a come to jesus moment for him. but on the less fun flipside, you have him feeling how Dick feels about him *now*. because Dick doesn't really *like* Jason and deep down, sees Jason as a lost cause. that's his "deep dark secret". and Jason would feel and know that from the one person who he still wants to believe in him. i really do think Jason would have the Worst Time with all this, overwhelmed with everyone's intimate and complex feelings over his death. Jason is a very defensive person when it comes to his death and how reactionary he gets when other people make it about them, not him. so for Jason to have to constantly deal with that in his head, i truly do think he'd lash out a bit. the arguments. yelling at Dick and feeling Dick's guilt and snapping bc Dick has no right to feel guilty now. feeling that Tim viewed Jason as a failure. it's just a damaging mindspace to be in and man do i think Jason would take a While to recover.

oddly though, i think it'd be a good bonding moment for Steph and Jason. we really don't get much exploration of Steph and Jason bonding over dying. bc sure, Steph didn't actually die, but she *did* experience the social death where everyone believed she was dead and mourned her as such for a good while. she also felt *directly* responsible for her own death. a lot of blame falls on Steph for War Games (for the Doylist reasons of sexism but yk) and Jason feels responsible for his own death for walking into a trap. but unlike Jason, Steph had no suit in a case, no memorials, her name held no infamy. so i think she deserves just a bit of righteous fury about how dramatic Jason can be while she just has to move on bc hey, it's not like she *really* died. and she buries those feelings well, but not well enough to hide them from a mental link. and Jason, who hasn't really considered Steph before because he was so wrapped up in his complex over Tim, confronts those feelings with her. if anyone is going to know how he feels, it's going to be her. you could do it platonic or romantic, but i do think when Jason sinks to his lowest, she's the one who snaps him out of it, both with tough love and genuine compassion for his situation.

for the less serious crack of it all: they're all going to have far too intimate knowledge of each other's sex lives. everyone's gonna know Dick has fucked Slade. everyone's gonna know Jason has fucked Talia. in my heart, i believe Tim has slept with Anarky (Lonnie, not Ulysses) and everyone would *know* that too. absolute judgment all around. it's the spider-man meme of "wait you've done WHAT with WHO" and honestly, it gives a nice distraction for the more serious feelings. it's a palette cleanser they can default to. like when the fighting gets a little too serious and they're cutting too deep for comfort, someone's going to blurt out "well at least i didn't fuck Deathstroke." and the whole moment goes awry with laughter. bc i do think, at the end of it once they get through the worst of the angst, they'd be closer for it and self-aware of the ridiculous nature of all this. it's enlightening, in a way to see how they all felt about their time as Robin and the baggage/trauma they hold. even the ugliest feelings they hold for each other don't completely suffocate the fondness/respect.

that said, knowing the baggage/trauma. oof. i don't think Dick has ever fully opened up about his history with Mirage/Tarantula/Liu and now it's forced to sit in the open. Damian has never admitted the worst of being raised in the League. Tim hasn't fully faced the suffocating image of his dead father and his deep-seated want to kill Boomerang. all those ugly truths they stamp down bc well, either you're a vigilante or you're a well adjusted person, are out in the open now. and it's ugly and gruesome to force those thoughts to be shared. they all want to comfort each other for different reasons, while simultaneously not wanting their own trauma to be acknowledged. it'd be fun to see who'd instinctively react to whose trauma first. because it's an overwhelming rush of information, and you just naturally get pulled in certain directions. i think Damian would react to Dick's history of sexual abuse first, whereas Jason would be reacting to the murderous rage TIm is trying to fight off. Tim is reacting to just how much guilt Steph carries about War Games and all of it is very crunchy. there's so much they'd all have to talk about and it'd take days for them to address it all, between the arguments about the ugly parts. would they come out stronger for it? yes. but only if they didn't kill each other in the process. i hesitate to do a "and they come out one big happy family" ending, bc it's not very in canon, but i do think the bond of the Robin mantle is something special. even when the link is broken, they hold onto a freakish understanding of each other. they react and move in sync, can fight together without needing words. are they emotionally on the same page/have they forgiven each other for the worst of it? absolutely not. but they've got each other backs. it's a very much "if you called i'd drop everything to save you. but also we don't have it in us to hang out casually." bond, which i think is deeply underrated in fanfiction. sometimes, you can care about people but you have to do it from a distance.

[heliads]

So happy that you added top gun maverick to your fandom list. If you’re up for it could you do a Rooster x reader enemies to lovers where he’s in love with her but doesn’t want to get attached to anyone cause what happened to his dad and his repressed feelings manifest as him teasing and picking on her. She takes it like a champ and throws it right back at him (which only makes him fall for her more). One day she gets hurt (she can be another pilot or something else if you’d prefer) and she’s expecting him to make fun of her for fucking up but instead he’s very serious about taking care of her. Then they both confess their feelings for each other.

i am always up for top gun

masterlist

y/c means your callsign btw

In a world as crazy as that of the US Navy pilots, you’ve learned to treasure the brief moments of peace. They come few and far between, usually overshadowed by missions of great calamity. Those you can find, though, are certainly wonderful indeed. 

You’re in the midst of one of such instances of tranquility now, staring over the railing of a balcony high up in one of the administrative buildings. It offers you a beautiful view of the ocean, which is not too far off in the distance. It’s just you and your best friend Phoenix. Also the pilot you hate most of all briskly walking your way. 

Rooster. 

No. 

Thus another blissful moment is ruined. You turn to Natasha with a look of utter horror, and she has to clap a hand over her mouth to stop from breaking out in laughter. You glance around for a chance to flee, but Bradshaw’s too close, there’s nothing you can do but face him.

His footsteps stop behind you, and your knuckles tighten on the balcony railing. “Rooster. How wonderful of you to ruin my morning.”

You don’t have to look behind you to know that Rooster’s fixing you with the same smug grin he always seems to wear whenever you’re around. “Y/C. Still searching for ways to be faster than me? I admit, the ocean is pretty big and beautiful and all that, but it still might not be deep enough to hold all the secrets you’d need to beat my records.”

You snort. “A puddle would hold all the secrets I’d need to beat you. I already do that.”

You turn around at last, and Bradley folds his arms across his chest, the perfect picture of military indignation. “Is that so?” He asks slowly, “because I seem to remember Maverick struggling way more to take me out yesterday morning than he did for you.”

“I recall it being the opposite that afternoon,” you reply. “I wouldn’t blame you for having a bad memory, though. You’re bad at everything.”

By your side, Phoenix makes a choking sound that’s most likely her trying to disguise another laugh. “Keep it down, you guys. We only get one morning off from practice, and I’m trying to enjoy it without the constant sound of you two sniping at each other.”

“You don’t have to worry about Rooster sniping at me,” you say pleasantly, “he’d never hit. Just like in a plane.”

You think you see Rooster’s jaw drop, just a little. “So not true. I’d kick your ass in a dogfight any day if Maverick would let us fight each other instead of him.”

You arch a brow. “Then how about you ask him to let us fight? You’re close to him, aren’t you? Go use your advantage for an actual result instead of just trying to get a better showing than me. At least that’s a reasonable goal.”

Bradley scoffs. “That so? I think you’d go down in about half a second.”

“Not a chance,” you declare, “I’d have you in my sights in less time than it takes you to do a roll.”

“Prove it,” Rooster says, “I’d hate to think you’re just talk.”

During the course of the conversation/expressions of deep hatred, you and Bradley have slowly gravitated towards each other, unconsciously taking a step forward in an attempt to get the upper hand. Right now, the two of you are practically breathing down each other’s shirts, neither willing to back down first.

It takes Natasha sighing exasperatedly and shoving the two of you apart for the situation to ease. “Back off, you two. Is it possible for you to stop fighting for two seconds? You’re worse than Hangman.”

You chuckle. “That’s a pretty terrible comparison. Alright, Nat, let’s go somewhere with a better view. I’m getting tired of this one at the moment.”

You widen your eyes in mock horror as you say it, and Rooster rolls his eyes. Ignoring him, you link your arm around Phoenix’s and lead her away. 

Natasha starts grinning once Bradley is out of earshot. “You guys are insane, you know that? At some point, you’re going to have to stop flirting with each other and actually go get drinks or something.”

You nearly choke on your own indignation. “Flirting? Natasha Trace, you must be out of your mind. I’m not flirting in the slightest.”

“You must be serious, you’re using my full name,” Phoenix muses, “but you’re wrong. You guys have more tension than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “tension because we hate each other. Bad tension.”

“Good tension,” she argues, “because you love each other dearly.”

You shove her on the shoulder, but the action only serves to make Natasha’s smile broaden. “You can’t say anything to convince me otherwise,” she reminds you, “I know what I see.”

You roll your eyes. “You might have to get your vision checked if you’re that blind.”

Despite your comebacks, you can’t be annoyed with Phoenix forever, even if she’s way off in her predictions of what is to come between you and Rooster. She’s your best friend, both among the pilots and outside of work.

That’s why she must know better than to think that you and Bradley would ever be interested in each other that way. First of all, Rooster would never allow that to happen, your own feelings be damned. He’s been a lone wolf since day one. Sure, he’ll talk to his friends, and get drinks with a big crowd just like anyone else, but he’s not looking for anyone closer than a buddy from work. That much is certain.

There are rumors, of course, about why that would be. Some whisper that Bradley lost his father in an airplane crash and so he refuses to let himself get attached to any one pilot out of fear of history repeating itself. Others say that he’s so competitive about getting the top result that he wouldn’t want to weaken himself by tying himself to another pilot.

Regardless, you know one thing for sure:  Rooster is not the kind of person to fall for you. Ever. From the moment he met you, Bradley’s been teasing you nonstop. The two of you engage in verbal warfare every time you’re stuck in a room together for longer than a minute. During aerial practice, the two of you risk your necks to outdo each other, and back on solid ground, you’re firing comebacks at each other like missiles.

Thus, the force of Bradley’s obstinance alone could thwart any idea of yours. There are no ideas of yours, though, none in the slightest. Rooster is a thorn in your side, a too-clever piece trying to stop you from crossing the chess board and beating him once and for all. If you have ever looked at him with different eyes, ones that shine instead of glare, that must be blamed on too many drinks or too many late nights. Anything else would be traitorous.

So, you turn your focus towards doing better, always doing better. Maverick’s demands for his selected group of pilots are a hair short of perfection; seeing as you’re one of them, you have to cross that line, be flawless as no other fighter pilot can be. You are the best of the best, but you must prove it every single time you crawl into your cockpit.

Maybe that’s why you end up pushing harder than you should during daily practice. Maybe that’s why you ignore every warning thrown your way that you’re going to get in trouble. In the end, you do, but not over a disciplinary violation. Instead, the danger headed your way is physical.

You didn’t crash. You feel like that should be stated another dozen times. Your plane was never impacted, nor was anyone harmed. The whole thing happened so quickly that you’d swear it was just a figment of your imagination were it not for the radio logs played over and over again, showing just what you did.

More specifically, the comms show what you didn’t do, and that was stay conscious during the flight. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends just trying to keep your place ahead of the other pilots, and it’s finally slowing you down instead of speeding you up. You were coming out of a sharp dive when the exhaustion took its toll.

You passed out then and there. Maverick’s shouting over your comms didn’t do anything to wake you up. Your eyes opened when you were far below the hard deck, plummeting towards the ground. It took every bit of skill in you to pull the nose of your plane up and save yourself from fiery impact.

Even after you landed, your trouble wasn’t over. You barely managed to climb out of the cockpit before you were passing out again, tumbling over the edge of the plane and falling towards the hard ground below. Your head would have struck the concrete if it weren’t for someone managing to catch you, and of all the people to be your savior, it was Rooster.

That still bewilders you. You ended up staying in the medical wing for a couple of hours with an IV to get your stats back to normal, but you’ve been cleared since then, let go with a warning to take it easy. From the moment you regained consciousness and learned what happened, you haven’t been able to stop wondering why Bradley would have been the one to catch your falling body and not any one of the other pilots.

For one thing, he would have had to act quickly to notice and grab you before your head hit the ground. For another, he would have had to be by your plane in the first place. That means Bradley was waiting for you, something he has obviously never done before. The whole situation makes no sense, and your mood isn’t exactly lifted to see Rooster waiting for you by the door of the med wing when you finally get out.

He’s been leaning up against the wall, but straightens up when he sees you. “Y/C. Good to see you upright.”

Your head is still a little fuzzy, and you really, really don’t want to hear him sniping at you, especially not after the results of the day. You don’t lose control, not when you’re in a plane. You can already picture him calling you out for that little lapse, so you decide to cut to the chase and cut him off before Bradley gets the chance.

You hold up a hand before he can say anything else. “I don’t want to hear it,” you warn him.

Rooster blinks in surprise. “Hear what?”

You laugh bitterly. “You’re here to make fun of me for passing out, obviously. If I hear a single joke about me falling for you, I’ll kick your knees in, how about that?”

“Well, I’d prefer if my knees stay intact,” Rooster says slowly, “besides, that’s not why I’m here.”

You stare at him, confused. “Why the hell else would you be here?”

Bradley spreads his hands. “To check in on you. You’ve got us all worried, Y/C. I just happen to prefer you alive rather than dead, and I wanted to make sure you were going to stay that way.”

This takes you by surprise. “Really?”

He laughs. “Is it really that much of a shocker that I might care about if you’re alright? I saw you fall when you were in that plane. I thought you wouldn’t be able to save yourself. I haven’t been shaken like that since–”

Bradley cuts himself off abruptly, but you sense what he was trying to say. No one has clear memories when they’re that young, but losing your father would do something to remind you of what it’s like to hurt.

You reach over and gently place a hand on Rooster’s back. “I’m okay,” you assure him, “due in part to someone making sure I stayed that way. Thanks for catching me.”

“Thanks for catching yourself when you were in the air,” he replies back, “that would have been harder for me to stop. Just don’t make it a habit. I’m not used to doubting you.”

You laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be this nice to me. Keep doing it, will you?”

Rooster’s smile is soft when you look back at him. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

It occurs to you that Phoenix might have been right. You’ll have to check in with her later and ask what other revelations she’d been keeping from you. In the meantime, you’re perfectly content to walk back with Bradley, to talk and be happy with him. You don’t think you need anything else. Not even a top finish.

top gun tag list: empty for now!

[jedi-enthusiast]

I was innocently trying to work my way through a fic and then the author was like "Mace Windu discourages Jedi having emotions" so I just. noped out of there.

Me, replying to this a month late because I have a shit memory and routinely forget to respond to things? It's more likely then you think...

I'm gonna be honest, I fucking hate when people make the Jedi out to be "emotionally repressed" or "not allowed to have emotions," especially in fics and especially when it's untagged (like seriously y'all, there are "flawed Jedi Order" and "Jedi Order Critical" tags on Ao3 for a reason, use them so I don't get halfway through a fic only to be smacked in the face with anti-Jedi bullshit).

But one thing I hate the most is when people always seem to make Mace Windu out to be the one enforcing this policy or as some cold, heartless asshole who looks down on everyone.

Like, where in canon is he shown to be like that??? Nowhere!

It's such a fucking disservice to his character to frame him that way, and I will forever hate it.

Also, I think it's so funny and interesting how the people who usually paint Mace Windu (a kind, calm, level-headed, empathetic person) as a cold heartless jackass, are also the same people who paint Anakin Skywalker (a fascist, man-baby, tantrum-throwing, child murderer) as some "sweet misunderstood baby who just wanted to love his wife and be happy uwu."

Gee, I wonder what could possibly fuel those characterizations...

[jben073]

Grace Chasity headcanon rambles!

Some silly Grace hcs for @nighthaterfrfr!! I tried to mostly avoid any of mine that you mentioned something similar to in yours bc we had a good deal of overlap! :D

(Just to preface, one of my biggest headcanons is that Grace is autistic so there’s a good chance that some of these may be influenced by that! I did try to pick ones that are more applicable to canon though! [But if anyone wants any of those, I have about a million :3])

When Grace was a young child in elementary school (or Sunday school), she very innocently kissed Alice Woodward and felt something™. (She entirely represses this memory for YEARS.)

^ During her eventual sexuality crisis, despite not having talked to Alice for years outside of polite conversation if they ran into one another, Grace reaches out to her for support/to ask questions because she was the only out queer person that Grace knew and trusted enough not to out her. (Alice big sister mode activated.) 

^ (They’re so silly, they’ve literally never interacted outside of a throwaway line about them knowing and possibly disliking each other but to me they're friends who fell apart and eventually find each other again when they're both more grown as people.)

^ Also, ignore me indulging my other biggest hc which is that Grace is a lesbian.

Grace took piano lessons as a child and is actually quite good because she wanted to be the pianist for her church’s masses when she got older! She stopped taking lessons in high school, but she keeps up with playing in her free time to maintain the skill and occasionally help out with music at her church.

^ Richie constantly tries to convince her to learn anime openings and music from games that he plays for him (he begged her to learn Megalovania for weeks until she finally gave in).

She has never celebrated Halloween because her parents think it’s satanic so Ruth and Richie (who definitely still go trick-or-treating in high school) make a point to bring her some of their candy on the following school day.

^ She definitely doesn’t cry about this gesture later when she goes home!!

She is an absolute monster while playing board games, like she gets REALLY aggressive about them.

^ (definitely influenced by Angela's chaos on smosh games, especially the “be a little more gentle!! >:(” clip)

She can’t go to sleep (intentionally) without getting a kiss goodnight. At home, her parents kiss her on the forehead before bed and if she’s at camp, she has to get a kiss on the head from Girl Jeri if she wants to sleep well.

^ It disrupts her routine which makes it harder for her to wind down!!

^ I like to think that before the events of Abstinence Camp, she thought of Boy Jerry and Girl Jeri as older sibling figures.

She has never been to a sleepover because she’s never had good enough friends to be invited to one :(

^ The nerds + Steph very quickly remedy this!!

^ (quick ramble related to the last hc) During the first group sleepover, Steph wakes up in the middle of the night to get a drink, realizes Grace is still up, and after Grace sheepishly admits her dilemma following Steph’s prompting for an explanation, Steph very casually plants a kiss on her forehead and then goes back to sleep. Grace’s face is beet red after this and now she can’t sleep for an entirely different reason.

^ They're in love to me!!!

LIB related

(Based almost entirely on Blinky’s line about watching Grace and the nightmare about Max/Richie that implies she has the gift.) 

^ Grace has been connected to the Lords in Black since long before we see her, Steph, and Pete summon them in NPMD.

^ Much like Lex was friends with Webby as a child and forgot, Grace was friends with the LIB when she was young but grew out of it.

^ (I have a whole little overanalysis/hc set of things for this hc if anyone wants to hear :3)

After she starts using the Black Book, her appearance starts to very slightly change so that she always looks just a tiny bit off.

^ Her teeth are just a touch too sharp, her ears have the slightest point to them, and her eyes almost seem to shift in colour (depending on which LIB is influencing her).

^ But hey, it must just be a trick of the light!! She's so normal!! Dw about it!!!

She will occasionally feel the sudden compulsion to bite others (Nibbly is feeling silly!!)

^ She does not act on this… most of the time :3

One more silly one to end on

She once owned a Tamagotchi and became so deeply stressed over the state of this virtual creature that she made herself sick from anxiety. 

^ Karen and Mark confiscated the toy very shortly after this.

Anyway ramble's over now but my 45 page google doc of Grace hcs continues to grow every day bc I am fixated hard on this silly little show :3

edit: had to add the '^' thing because the bullets didn't indent properly for some reason!! every one that has that is attached to the previous one without it!

also idk why on mobile the sleepover hc and the Alice hc got cut short?? The sleepover one is supposed to say that now she can't sleep for an entirely different reason and the end of the second bullet says (Alice big sister mode activated).

[bblovetarot]

{୭} What do you need to release?

ʚ ═══･୨ꕤ୧･═══ ɞ Pick a Pile ʚ ═══･୨ꕤ୧･═══ ɞ 

. ༄paid readings . ༄

。°⚠︎°。follow your intuition when choosing a pile. if you're drawn to more than one pile, that's okay! you may have messages in more than one.

。°⚠︎°。tarot readings are not 100% accurate, and do not dictate your future. please keep in mind that you have free will. these readings are also general and aren't specific to one person, so please take what resonates and leave what doesn't! 

Pile 1

Pile 1, it seems like you've been caught up in overthinking a recent relationship that ended, questioning the reasons behind it and reflecting on patterns in your love life. The recurring theme of meeting similar types of people and relationships not lasting has caused you anxiety, potentially affecting your sleep schedule. Some of you may be asking, "Why do I always attract the same kind of relationships, and why don't they last?" The universe is urging you to step out of your head and ground yourself. For some, you may already have answers, while others might still be seeking clarity. Balancing feminine (heart) and masculine (mind) energies is crucial for clear thinking. Meditation, journaling, reading, music, dance, and yoga are all ways to ground yourself. Finding what resonates best for you is important. For many in Pile 1, a spiritual awakening has occurred, particularly related to relationships. A mother wound may have impacted your relationships, leading to an insecure attachment style. For those unfamiliar with attachment styles, researching this aspect can provide valuable insights into your behaviors and patterns. This moment is transformational for you, Pile 1. While it may feel daunting, remember that the universe supports you. Seeking the guidance of a therapist could be beneficial if you feel overwhelmed. Releasing the fear you've been holding onto is a crucial step, and for many of you, it seems like you've already begun this process. As you release fear, an important decision awaits you. This decision has the potential to lead to more committed and fulfilling relationships, especially if that's what you desire. In a broader sense, this decision will positively impact your long-term future. To make clear-headed decisions, finding balance within yourself is essential. If you're seeking change, trust in the process, be patient, and believe in yourself and the support of the universe.

Pile 2

Pile 2, it's time to release the grip you have on a past relationship or someone you still harbor feelings for. Whether you are currently separated or entertaining thoughts of reconciliation, the universe is urging you to let go of the idea that this person is a "twin flame" or "soulmate." The relationship left you feeling hurt and possibly betrayed, and you might have shed tears over it. If you've been repressing these emotions, it's essential to confront them and allow yourself to feel. Memories of this person or past relationships may resurface, and you may feel ashamed or try to push them away. However, avoidance won't release these emotions; it merely suppresses them, waiting for an opportunity to resurface. Take the time to sit with your emotions, allow yourself to feel, and if needed, give yourself permission to cry. If you've been using distractions or toxic coping mechanisms to avoid the pain, it's time to release those patterns. There's a strong emphasis on avoiding reckless behaviors in this pile. Overindulging in risky actions, overspending, or excessive self-sacrifice without proper boundaries will only lead to more despair in the long run. Spirit advises caution and encourages you to look before you leap. Reckless actions might provide temporary relief but won't contribute to long-term healing. For those still entangled in this situation, the universe prompts self-reflection. Are you being fair to yourself? Are you living in alignment with your true happiness? It's time to release old patterns and people from your life. The universe is guiding you towards a different path, and this requires a leap of faith. Trust in yourself, listen to your heart, and believe in your ability to make the right decisions. While the mind may deceive with doubts and insecurities, your heart and intuition hold the truth about what you truly deserve, want, and need in your life. Trust in your inner guidance and take the necessary leaps when the time comes. If it means leaving certain people behind, don't let that hold you back. Some individuals are not meant to follow us on our life's journey, and new connections will emerge to enrich your path.

Pile 3

Pile 3, it seems that you've been putting a considerable amount of effort into something, whether it's related to work or a relationship. However, despite your hard work, it has reached a point where things feel stagnant or unfulfilling. You might have wished for success, but now that it's here or hasn't arrived, you find yourself detached from the outcome and even apathetic. The universe is signaling that it's time to release whatever has become stagnant or stale. This release is not meant to be permanent, but rather a temporary break. The guidance is to take a step back, surrender to the situation, and refrain from making impulsive decisions. Continuing to push forward without a break might lead to burnout. There's a need for you to sacrifice the urge to take immediate action and instead focus on surrendering to the circumstances. Allow yourself to take a break and be in the energy of receiving. The universe suggests a period of rest and relaxation to rejuvenate your mind and spirit. If taking a vacation is possible, consider doing so, as it could be a healing experience. It's revealed that you've been overworking, possibly influenced by competition or external pressures, which has led to feelings of depression and a lack of motivation. Now that this phase has passed, surrendering and giving yourself the space to rest will allow the chaos in your mind to subside. By embracing the energy of receiving, you'll find yourself in a better place. It's time to raise the white flag, take a break, and let yourself receive the positive energy and opportunities that are coming your way.

[aotopmha]

Dawntrail final zone spoilers!

(General thematic thoughts, actual side character post planned at some point.)

I think one of the takes that has stood out among the many I've seen about Dawntrail is someone saying "just because you emotionally resonate with something doesn't mean it is good".

And this is antithetical to everything I believe about stories.

The entire point of a story is to invoke feelings within you.

A story is bad if it doesn't invoke feelings within you in a way that you feel is satisfying.

Does it make you happy, sad, angry the right way; in a way that resonates with you?

This is why "good storytelling" is such a subjective topic to me, it depends so much on your own experiences.

I've been seeing dismissiveness with equal amounts of love for what I view to be the strongest thematic thread of the story: loss and saying farewell.

It's very much leaning on Shadowbringers' and Endwalker's theming; grief is but a facet of loss and saying farewell, so it is not "new", in fact a little bit of a retread, yet still incredibly effective to me.

It is essentially further exploring the ideas of burying any negative feelings instead of processing them properly, as with Hermes and the Niburuns.

You can remove the memories, but the feelings are still there, essentially repressed and unprocessed.

The final zone (and Solution 9) is tied to the principles of the Yok Huy and their value of forgetting being equal to death.

It is tied to the principles of Hanuhanu who celebrate regardless of the difficult times they go through.

And it is tied to the stubborness of the Mamook to stay stuck in their ways and never seek another solution, which prepetuates an horrible system.

Sphene is a reflection of Wuk who has not and wishes not to act according to these lessons, as the AI copy essentially following protocol she is.

Her solution for keeping the system running is taking the lives of other worlds and her solution for combatting loss is erasing it completely, which is just not how human nature works.

(Which also aligns with the path the Ascians took and Golbez, adding to some retreading; diluting your existence by consuming souls is actually even brought up as a parallel to the 13th.)

But as we go through and reintroduce the natural way of life by granting the citizens rest, some find closure through silly moments. Some find closure through an earnest, honest talk. Some find closure through fulfilling what they want the most.

And the very simple reason why it was so effective to me personally is because I have been through a very similar "loss", even if it was a very different situation.

There has been another criticism circulating that the last zone took too little time, but to me every single one of those sections was nothing but meaningful line after meaningful line that felt honest and powerful.

(To me quality always trumps quantity and I wish this principle would have been more consistent throughout the entire story.)

And to me, this is why it hit. It felt authentic to my experience of loss in terms of the feelings on display. And that is what good writing is to me.

Something that accurately reflects the human condition in my eyes. Be it villain, hero or any type of character inbetween, if I believe it, it is good.

And the more I've thought about it, the more I've reached the conclusion that's probably all there it is to all of the extensive arguing about any piece of media.

"Do, I myself, believe these feelings in this story?"

Everything else truly comes after.

Plothole X, inconsistency Y. None of it matters if the feelings are real and effective to you.

But character could've done X! Yeah, but I think what the character did makes sense.

You can even disagree with all of the technical stuff and what is an inconsistency or plothole or whether there even is one.

In light of all of this, whenever I see someone talking about an objective way of judging stories, it always comes across as insecure.

What makes this one person the arbitrer of truth above others?

Well, in my eyes, nothing, since, well, it's all feelings and the most those guidelines can do is organise them, which is also very subjective.